Hey, if it’s Tuesday, this must be Severe Thunderstorm Warning Bug night on TV! Every week, 2 minutes into TAR, it’s the SAME goddamn thing. At least the local affiliate knows better now than to interrupt the show with stupid storm warnings that I just have to ignore as hard as I can.
This may not be a good policy on my part, especially if a tornado sneaks up on me from behind. Fortunately, the basement is nearby, and I could still watch the show on the new TV card software David has on his computer down here (snicker). Yeah, that would be a smart move.
Oh, my GOD. Charla and Mirna gone. And with that, it’s official: a Roadblock is a task that only Charla may perform (especially if it’s something disGUSting). Mirna only performed one roadblock in their Race career, and even then she tried to get Charla to do it because she was “afraid” of the little calves in Argentina. Yeah, that’s right, the calves that were quite a bit taller and much, much faster than Charla.
Dang, this team was irritating yet endlessly entertaining, and I’ll sure miss my weekly Desperanto lesson. This week, we learned the Arabic for “Don’t help these Americans, they’re violent,” and once again were shown that an exotic accent makes English understandable in every country of the world. Roll those R’s on Nairobi, habibi, the nice man from Gulf Air will understand you better.
My new favorite team to LOATHE with blazing television-viewing eyes of fire is Colin and Christie. Everyone else that’s left is reasonably pleasant, with the exception of the annoying Godels (Brandon, shut up already about God. You’re embarassing Her). And I was confused by Nicky’s inability to run… maybe she’d have done better to wear something other than tight-ass jeans? In Egypt and Africa? She looked wiped out.
But oh, the loathing for Colin was more than fulfilled tonight at the Roadblock, which was another eating task where a Racer had to open, measure and cook most of an entire ostrich egg, then eat it. Hey, kids! Next week, dysentery! Yay!
That’s right, Mr. Intensity; dump your ostrich egg on the mat, try to scam the taskmaster with a 3/4 full bowl, then attempt to scoop spilled egg up off the mat to make up the difference. Try again with another egg: this time, watch intently as half your eggwhites slither over the edge of the bowl just to get away from you. Now have a nice meltdown and throw stuff around because you wish us to know how incredibly intense you are about doing this shit perfectly.
And yes, this 5-gallon bucket’s for you, Mr. Intensity Giant-Scrambled-Egg Cooking Man.
Thank GOD the sound editor chose not to use the tape from Colin’s body mike when he was repeatedly inspecting the bottom of his bucket (thoughtfully provided by the management of the Kavishe Hotel). That I could not have taken, and I suspect it might have touched off a Complete and Total Barf-O-Rama with the other Racers in the eating arena.
Everyone managed to get through the eggs eventually, but the Twin (Kami, for sure) that took on the task whined and complained that it was too much. Sadly for the Desperantos, it wasn’t enough too much to keep the “fast girls” from completing the task ahead of them.
What do you wanna bet that was the Windiest! Pitstop! Ever! that night? Heh!
Trendspotters will note that while last season was TAR4: The Year of the Poo, this season we have TAR5: The Agony and the Eggstacy!
