In a conversation with Tijuana, Osten notes that, among other things, their fire has all the warmth of Bryant Gumbel's birthday party, and he thinks they could shiver a little less if they improved it. He goes on to explain in an interview that he will probably get pneumonia. Unfortunately, Osten has not heard the news that cold weather's causal link to pneumonia is highly questionable. The group settles down to try to go to sleep, but it appears that the floor of their shelter is so badly constructed that it actively repels sleep by thrusting sticks up into their necks. Andrew comments that the group has been suffering from sleep deprivation, having had about an hour or two of sleep total over the three days. He says that if they don't get it solved, people will start hallucinating. He does not add, "Suffering from, for instance, delusions of grandeur and boatloads of denial over the fact that most leaders are eventually devoured by their ungrateful erstwhile toadies."
We now see Ryan S. apparently sitting on a log, slumped forward in a most disheartening attempt to sleep sitting up. Boy, it's a bad shelter that doesn't make a better pillow than your kneecaps. In an interview apparently done the next morning, Ryan S. tells us that he doesn't remember sleeping at all. He says that he thinks he'll be all right once he gets some water and food, but in the long run, he needs to find a new sleeping plan. "This isn't working for me," he says, as we return to the night before and see him sitting with a concerned Lill. Osten approaches and sympathetically puts a hand on Ryan's shoulder, before rather less sympathetically voicing over, "Skinny Ryan, his best day, doesn't equate to what I can do on my worst day." Wow, yeah. I hate it when other people don't equate to what I can do. Osten, in case you haven't noticed, desperately needs to stop constructing his sentences with Tinkertoys. Or at least he needs to stop mixing real Tinkertoys with pencils and spools of thread. "That's no knock to him," Osten continues. "He just physically -- he has nothing to offer. He just doesn't have what it takes to get it done." As we all now know, Osten, of course, is the master of having what it takes to get it done, so be sure to file that remark under "True (Totally)" rather than "Ironic (Bitterly)." On Night-Vision Cam, we see Ryan's not-at-all-knocked, nothing-to-offer, not-equating-to-Osten face in extreme and unflattering night-vision close-up.
Morning comes. A pirate flute offers its melodious Tootle of Greetings. Rupert and Trish are taking a waterside stroll over at Drake, where it's nothing but sandy beaches, shared skirts, and that warm sense of community that you can only get from sharing each other's intrusive stench to the point where you can't smell yourself. Rupert tells Trish that last night was much better than the night before as far as his "whole state of mind," and he then tells us in an interview that he's "loving life, loving this place, and loving the position [he's] in." Heartily munching on what is apparently his Iron John moment, Rupert jumps up to pull some branches from a tree, and as he bounces on a branch with his skirt happily flapping in the Panamanian winds, we see London. We see France. We may even see parts of Luxembourg and the Netherlands. That right there might be the Equator. Anyway, Rupert talks about how he's in a lovely location with nice people, and that he's surrounded by "beautiful souls." And Shawn. Speaking of whom, I'm afraid I had a very brief encounter with impure thoughts about Shawn's pirate pants along about here. I apologize. In a separate interview, Rupert says that while his tribe isn't "truly lazy," some members are having problems here in paradise. We see Shawn squander a bunch of coconut milk by slopping it down his front, earning himself some ribbing from Best Bud Burton. It would seem sort of excessive to pick on people for being lazy when they're literally not intellectually advanced enough to nourish themselves without a sippy cup, so I sort of see Rupert's point.