Survivor: Abyss Island – Finality and First Meal

This is where tree mail happens. Look! A fresh serving of Survivor poetry awaits.

Day 39 is here! Just in time, too, to help me ring in a new rash. No one can ever accuse me of not doing all that is required. By this same time tomorrow I’ll be on my way back to civilization. So sorry. I lived.

Tonight looms my final immunity challenge and, win or lose, the final tribal council. What horrors, disappointments and further humiliations await? Tune in tomorrow for the recap post.

So it’s the wee hours of the early morn on Day 39 and I’ve just been awakened by my host. There’s bonus tree mail.

Last and Final Tree Mail

Congratulations, you’ve made it to Day 39.

Pack your camp up and get ready to go. Your hostest with the mostest is taking you to a celebratory breakfast this morning at 7 a.m. During breakfast you will honor your fallen teammates … wait … there were no teammates. Well whatever, enjoy your breakfast cause you’ll need your energy for the last and final challenge of Survivor Abyss Island.

May you be crowned the Sole Survivor.

That last sentence almost sounds, dare I say it? Encouraging? Suddenly I’m very afraid.

For 39 days tree mail has arrived in the bathroom. In an empty toilet paper roll. No kidding. That’s how it goes down in the Abyss. A couple years ago my wife gave me a tree sculpture she made out of black obsidian that was named The Abyss. In a clever move she borrowed the piece as a way to literally delivery “tree” mail on a regular basis.

The first tree mail was way back on Day 1 when I was shocked to discover there was a surprise challenge. A mountain bike challenge, no less. That was the moment I realized I had probably created a monster by entrusting my wife with the title of host.

Assuming I survive tonight, the next order of looming business is something I’ve come to think of as First Meal.

What is First Meal? It is an event of almost Biblical proportions. It is the first meal I’m going to eat after I get back. Planning and dreaming about First Meal has become the singular focus of my existence.

Gentle hobbits. Sing with me. Sing it like a dwarf:

In restaurants dark
Beyond the creep
There is a meal
That never sleeps

A meal foretold
In days of yore
With beef like gold
That numbers four

Was it wrong to allow my baby to wield of a position of power between me and my food? Perhaps. At times she can’t help but mistake my begging and whining as political attacks, even after she seemingly went out of her way to torment me with her meal choices. Is it just me or have the last 39 days been a little beefier than normal? My constant haranguing may have strained the relationship but it too will probably survive.

The pressure on me to come up with something suitable for First Meal is intense. What should it be? I’m looking for suggestions here. An order of Fred Flinstone’s brontosaurus ribs?

As always modesty is key. I thought maybe a Quadruple Bypass Burger and order of flatliner fries from the Heart Attack Grill. The burger is only about 9,000 calories so it should make a playful and delightful amuse-bouche.

For some reason, though, the best plan my hungry creativity can come up with is homemade fried chicken. I also considered a Cornish game hen or even an entire turkey. Yeah, that sounds pretty damn good.

Also high on the list: A wheel of swiss cheese or even just a standard household stick of butter. Mmmm, butter. And, one way or another, some Ben & Jerry’s is getting in there, too.

Maybe what I should do is run naked through the streets repeatedly yelling, “Oh my goodness, oh my damn! Oh my goodness – they goin’ HAM!” Then I can get all up in that double-cheeseburger. This plan offers sublime simplicity. Sometimes it is best to stick to the basics.

Oh, Saint Paula Deen and the Gods of Gluttony Goodness and Gravy, please hear my plea! I’m down on my knees beseeching you for your divine wisdom. What should I eat? Gravy? Of course. But what else? The pressure is too great! I don’t know how to decide.

Should I just sprint to the nearest McDonalds and ask to swig from their grease trap ala Sideways? Please give me a sign! I need a modern day miracle here. Or maybe just Miracle Whip.

Let’s do this!

In the name of First Meal and all that is holy and delicious, Amen.