After some commercials, it's dark. Four AM on Day Thirty-Eight. Jeff hops off a boat, barefoot and flashlighted. He comes to the Rattana camp bearing not gifts, but a bright, cloud-busting smirk. He flashes a light on Rich and wakes up the camp. He tells the group to get up, put on something comfortable, and come on over to the boat. Rudy looks over groggily, wondering if there are any laws against killing a game-show host. They go on a long boat ride, although it's never made clear why a long ride was necessary when they've only just crossed to another beach. It's not like they had to hit the Survivor Bar this time. In slow motion, they come to a long strip of sand. They sit and Jeff explains that they are passing through a final rite of passage that leads to their last immunity challenge. First, they must walk through some palm fronds while the natives chant, "Sandovar," which translates roughly into, "We work for scale." Then, the survivors must pass through a place where the torches of the previously booted-off castaways stand. Jeff asks that they take a moment to reflect. Jeff, why don't you take a moment to pucker up and reflect on my -- ... as we were saying, the next step is to walk through some hot embers burning at twelve-hundred degrees. Do what? Then, the final insult: They have to lump mud all over themselves again as they do this. So what's Kelly going to do without Sue to rub all the mud off of her naked body? It's sad even to think of it.
In slow motion, Rudy, Kelly and Rich walk through. The "natives," who look like muddy extras from a J. Crew photo shoot, wave the fronds, chanting. We come to the torches, and as each one is shown, we get a little sad montage of each fallen comrade. Let's listen to what they have to say, shall we?
Sonja: I would really prefer that you stop referring to me as either "the ukulele lady" or "that one old chick that got booted off the first week on Survivor." I survived cancer, you know. And if there's ever casting for Golden Girls: The Next Generation, you know Mark Burnett's got my number.
B.B.: You've already forgotten me. It's okay. I barely remember my own name.
Stacy: I got voted off early, so what? At least my legs aren't withered and scarred like that one chick's.
Ramona: I [bleaaghh...] want to say that [buuuurrrffff] my time on the [aaaaacccckkk!] island was filled with [gurgle, spit, hhhwwwwwwaaarrkkk] struggle, but... [unintelligible, choking sounds].