Previously: Over the side of the boat, mateys! Aye, you'll be walkin' the plank! Except without the plank! Or the walkin'! The Drake and Morgan tribes washed ashore in Panama just long enough for Rupert to abscond with some of Morgan's booty and Morgan to emerge with bupkus in the booty department. (Incidentally, The Booty Department is the name of J.Lo's next album, which she is desperately hoping to release before the last four remaining people on earth who don't despise her change their...oh, never mind. Too late.) The teams reached camp and got underway, and Morgan didn't need a wall to fall on them for them to figure out that they were overmatched. Surprisingly, a wall fell on them anyway. The immunity challenge was a rout and Drake rolled away with it, unfazed by mud, sticks, or Morgan's rampant and highly strategic nudity. In the wake of the big loss, Nicole's luck didn't hold up any better than her dress, and she found herself on the crap end of Peachy's snuffer. Snuff! Goodbye, Nicole.
Credits. Arrrrrr! I wonder if this is the first time there's been a gun in the credits. I tell you, we're making history, here, folks. Not just any history, either. Angry, violent history with exploitation of the environment and the crushing of the weak. Hey, now we can be in all the high-school textbooks!
It is Night 3 at Morgan, or so the captions tell us as we stare at the ashy gray sky and the fuzzy full moon. We're in for a long stretch of night-vision camerawork here, because midnight at Morgan is a dark, dark time, both literally and figuratively. Lill stares miserably into the fire, visualizing how much better this would all be if it were more like a Boy Scout Jamboree. I think she's singing camp songs in her head. ("My father is a fireman! Heeeeee...puts ouuuut...fiiiiires!") Maybe she just wants there to be fewer biting insects and more s'mores. Tijuana sits hugging herself and staring into the fire, which she would like you to think is because she is fully occupied thinking deep thoughts about electoral politics or how to genetically-engineer the skinless potato, but which is probably in fact the result of her deep conviction that it's only worth lifting your arms if you're going to wrap them around the most totally awesome person within reach. She voices over that the nights have been "breaking [her] down." Ah, yes, those punishing nights. All two of them. She complains that it's cold outside, and that it's hard to sleep. There is further auto-snuggling.