Courtesy of CBS

For me, the best thing about the March 21 highlights tape of Survivor Out Back was watching in glee again as Mike-o the Psych-o Skupin collapsed into the campfire and broiled the skin off his hands. Okay, I know that harsh attitude won't earn me any points as the compassionate conservative my dogs think I am. But, gosh darn, fellow sufferers, Mike-o stabbed Piglet, after all, with those very same hands. And under the laws of Texas, home state of the President who believes "hispanically" is a word, a place where you've got to give an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, the bloodthirsty motivational speaker from Michigan got off easy. This is the same creep who could have brought anything to Aussieville as his personal luxury item, but chose war paint. The second best thing was that I was able to use this potentially wasted hour to oil my saddle, sharpen my ice skates, and iron my underwear.

The third worst thing about Wednesday's reprise was that there wasn't any competition and therefore no one to walk the Walk of Shame from Down Under to New York, where the bootees are fed to a disgruntled David Letterman to abuse in his own boyish way during Late Night's weekly Parade of Losers.

The second worst thing about the highlights tape is that it reminded me of how truly putrid is Survivor II compared to the original. The players are sexless, camera-hugging bores whose only interests are the endorsement deals they might sign after this yawner closes in April. I know you can never go home again but I miss Rudy and Richard and Susan and Colleen. They may not have been the buffest of castaways, but at least they were eccentrics--human beings, actually, albeit not very nice ones.

But the worst thing about this grotesque CBS ploy to wring more cash out of its advertisers is that it came at a time when I had managed to successfully erase most memories of episodes one through eight in order to free what is left of my brain's storage capacity for the next Fox entry into dramality television. I'm talking about Boot Camp, of course, set for the evening of March 28. While the wanks of Survivor Out Back were going hungry because they couldn't light a fire, or flailing helplessly in the Herbert River because they couldn't swim, or freezing in the rain because their pitiful debris shelters leaked, real men and women were being force-marched through their paces by sadistic drill sergeants who understand the entertainment value of real pain.

So lock and load, people, and make sure you say it loud and clear: Sir, yes sir!