Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters (except Jeff Probst) are properties of Tolkien. The Survivor concept and ideas are properties of the Survivor Management Team. I hope Jeff Probst doesn’t mind being included in my little parody here. I just cannot imagine any other person hosting the Survivor reality show. So if you’re reading this, Mr. Probst, take this as a compliment to your highly gifted skills as a host. Any resemblance to anybody out there is highly unintentional.
NOTE: This is just a work of the imagination. Repeat – Just a work of the imagination!

Take 12 strangers eager for a million gold pieces, put them on an exotic island without basic amenities and no contact whatsoever with the outside world… What do you get? You get an award-winning hit of a reality TV show! You get…

SURVIVOR XIX: THE FELLOWSHIP OF BORNEO

Theme song from Survivor plays in background, with the occasional Uruk-Hai drum sounding in the distance.

Jeff Probst voice over: Welcome, folks, to yet another season of Survivor. This time the powerful and oh-so-rich producers of this show, namely the Elves from Lothlorien and Rivendell, bring the show back to the original site of the very first Survivor season… The mysterious islands of Borneo!

Camera pans to show view of entire island from above. A tiny black speck is spotted in the very middle of the ocean. Camera zooms in…

Jeff Probst v.o.: And now we shall meet our 12 Survivors… [Camera zooms in some more, until 12 figures floating in the middle of the ocean come into view.] And there they are! Their first task will be to swim to the island. No boats, no floating devices, no magic! The first to make it to the island receives the award of… er, being the first to make it to the island! Yes, that’s it! On your marks, get set, GO!

The 12 figures are seen swimming frantically to the island shores. Within minutes, 1 figure is seen far ahead of the rest of the Survivors, swimming effortlessly towards the shore. 1 figure is also seen lagging behind the rest. Camera zooms to Jeff Probst standing on the beach shores. He is reclining on a beach chair, sipping from what looks like a horn and is munching on lembas bread. Sunglasses on, donning a blue denim shirt and knee-length khakis, he is smiling, looking towards the horizon. The first Survivor arrives. Jeff stands, walks towards the Survivor, and shakes his hand.

Jeff: Looks like our very first Survivor to arrive is the King of Gondor himself, Aragorn of Arathorn! [Aragorn stares into the camera, no emotion on his face.] Here, Aragorn, have yourself some lembas bread. Oh, look, the second Survivor is here. [Jeff runs over to the second Survivor.] Why, it’s Boromir, son of Denethor. Well done, well done!

Boromir: [Glares at Jeff.] Give me back the Horn of Gondor.

Jeff: [Looks puzzled and confused.] What? I didn’t take any Horn of Gondor.

Boromir: You were drinking from it! The Horn! You were drinking from the Horn!

Jeff: [Looks sheepish.] Oh, that was the Horn of Gondor? [Nervously offers the horn, complete with pineapple juice and straw and a pineapple slice hanging precariously on the edge of the horn.] Would you like some pineapple juice?

Boromir grabs it from Jeff, nurses the horn, examining it for any scratches. Jeff backs away from Boromir, approaches the third Survivor who has just washed up upon the shore.

Jeff: Oh! Why it’s the representative chosen by the producers themselves. It’s the ever-so-popular Legolas Greenleaf! Welcome, Legolas, mae govannen, mellon nin!

Legolas totally ignores Jeff. He is busy wringing his hair dry, and brushes imaginary lint off his green cloak. Then, seeming to see Jeff for the first time…

Legolas: Do you have a hair-dryer? My hair needs drying… The ravages of the sea water and the scorching sun… [He shudders.]

Jeff: Er, awfully sorry, my dear elf, but this is Survivor. There are no hair-dryers provided on this show, nor any other electrical appliances.

Legolas: But, my hair! I need that hair-dr —

Jeff whips out a scroll from within his shirt. Opens it, holds it up to the sunlight, and murmurs to himself.

Jeff: AH! Here, under clause 1178 of the Survivor Participation Contract, it says no hair-dryers or any other electrical appliances.

Legolas grabs the scroll, scrutinizes it. Then, upset, he throws the scroll down and storms off. Jeff looks after him, pure bewilderment on his face. Then something in the distance catches his eye. He squints, and his eyes widen. He runs towards the sea.

Jeff: Hey, you! Yes, YOU with the silver dress and tiara. Get off! You’re supposed to swim here, not hire a boat! Get OFF that boat!

A tall, willowy woman slowly emerges into the view of the camera. A look of aristocracy on her beautiful face, she is busy looking at her reflection in the mirror she holds in her dainty hands. She is standing in a slimly built boat. At the front and end of the boat are two people paddling with slim oars. They reach the beach, and the front paddler leaps from the boat and offers his hand to the woman. She steps gingerly onto the beach, and walks gracefully towards Jeff. She turns her eyes on the dumbfounded host.

Jeff: You have just broken the contract, Lady Arwen! No boats! Get off my show!

Arwen: [Sniffs and stares down at Jeff with a withering look.] You can’t kick me off this show. Daddy paid for this show… If you kick me off, I’ll tell Daddy, and he’ll withdraw his money from this show. [Adjusts her tiara, looks into her mirror. Jeff stares at her, mouth agape. Then he swallows hard, gathers his composure.]

Jeff: Very well. You can stay. But another wrong move, Lady Arwen, and even all the elves in Middle Earth won’t be able to do anything to have you stay on MY show.

Suddenly, Jeff is ambushed by a group of Survivors. He collapses onto the ground. Annoyed, he looks at his attackers. 4 pairs of big eyes stare at him.

Jeff: Why, it’s the hobbits! How did you make it here?

Pippin: Lord Faramir helped us. We couldn’t swim, our hairy feet kept pulling us down, so he put each of us hobbits on his back, around his neck, and swam for the beach.

Jeff: Well, how noble of Faramir. But where is he?

Frodo: He’s still swimming. He’s going back for the other lady. She can’t swim, too… Her hair keeps pulling her down.

The camera zooms in to the ocean once more. There are only 4 figures left swimming in the ocean. One solitary figure is still lagging behind. Camera zooms in to Faramir. He is holding a lady, one arm around her neck, and he swims towards the beach, the other arm slicing the water furiously and his legs kicking at the sea. The lady is struggling furiously, fighting against Faramir. Finally, after several minutes, he lands on the beach. Exhausted, he lies on his back, his breath coming in short shallow gasps. The lady seemed none the worse for the ordeal of having her neck towed like a truck pulling along a car, and she walks, or rather, runs towards Jeff and the hobbits.

Jeff: My lady Eowyn! You’ve made it! Well done…

Eowyn: [Modestly waving away the compliment.] Well, yeah. I would have made it sooner, but this weird guy suddenly came up and started pulling me by the neck! Look! [She tugs at her collar, revealing a red handprint at her neck.] My beautiful white neck… Ruined! By some silly man who thinks he’s rescuing me! Did you know, I was only trying to soak up some of the nutrients of the sea, enjoying the scenery when he came and attempted to murder me! And he thought he was trying to help me… Hmmph! [Sends death glare at Faramir, who is still lying on the beach, trying to catch his breath.]

Jeff and the hobbits stare at her, not knowing what to say or do. Jeff snaps out of it first.

Jeff: Er, well… I guess he just thought you were having a little trouble in the water…

Eowyn: TROUBLE?! Hmmph! The Shieldmaiden of Rohan knows not the meaning of trouble! Give me that! [Snatches Jeff’s sunglasses and puts it on.] Now that’s better… I can’t stand the heat!

She looks around, then spots Aragorn sitting on a log, smoking his pipe. A look of interest crosses her face, a smile on her lips. She walks off towards Aragorn, leaving Faramir, now up and rested, to stare after her longingly. The hobbits, seeming to understand the situation, shake their curly little heads in sympathy.

Sam: Poor Faramir…

Frodo: Poor misunderstood Faramir…

Pippin: Poor love-struck, misunderstood Faramir…

Merry: POOR?! You call him poor?! He’s the son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor! He’s going to be the Prince of Ithilien! And you call him POOR?

Jeff: [Walks over to the dazed Faramir.] Faramir son of Denethor! Are you alright?

Faramir: She’s so… So beautiful!

Jeff: You mean Eowyn?

Faramir: Her name is Eowyn? You say her name is Eowyn? [Enters world of his own, totally unaware that Jeff is watching him.] Alas, Eowyn fair… That you would lay your lovely eyes on this humble man… Alas, alas… [Mutters under breath to himself. Then suddenly aware of Jeff’s eyes on him, he stops short, blushes.] Ah… Hahaha… You didn’t hear that, okay, Jeff? You did NOT hear that…

Jeff walks away, smiling. This was indeed going to be one of the most memorable Survivor seasons ever! The ratings, the awards, the fame… Stars blinked in his eyes. He was going to be famous! A fan club of his own, screaming girls…. Aaaaaaahhh….

Unknown voice: Hey, Jeff. Have you forgotten about the other Survivors? There are still 2 more in the ocean.

Jeff: [Snaps out of his daydream.] Ah, yes! There are 2 more… And here comes Gandalf the White… [Squints.] Is that he riding the waves? On his STAFF?! My goodness! What is this show coming to? I said, no magic! Aargh! I give up! There’s nothing I can do to stop them from doing whatever they want with their skills and gifts…

A white wave explodes above Jeff, and water splashes all over him. A grinning Gandalf appears. Jeff glares at him under a lock of dripping wet hair.

Jeff: Can’t you ever make a normal, quiet entrance for once?

Gandalf: [Chuckling and stroking his beard.] No, young Jeff… A wizard never makes a normal, quiet entrance. It’s required of a wizard, expected even. Also stated in the Dummies’ Guide To Wizard Etiquette, young Jeff. So no, I never make a normal, quiet entrance. Always the dramatic… Always.

Jeff: Alright, so Gandalf’s arrived… Who’s the last Survivor?

A round barrel of a figure manages to crawl up to the beach. Running, Jeff arrives as the last Survivor huffs and puffs, obviously fatigued from the swim.

Jeff: Folks, welcome our final Survivor… Gimli of Gloin!

Gimli: Any self-respecting dwarf – puff puff! – should never have to go through – puff puff! – what I have just gone through… Huff huff!

Jeff: And now, folks of the Earth and Middle Earth, a live telecast from the island of Borneo, as we begin the 19th season of Survivor! Which Survivor will outlive, outplay, and outlast the other Survivors? Only time will tell! Gather around, Survivors!

The Survivors approach Jeff. Faramir has his eyes fixed on the fair Eowyn, whose icy stare is on Aragorn of Arathorn, who only has eyes for the Lady Arwen, who is admiring her reflection in her mirror. Slowly, Legolas edges his way to Arwen.

Legolas: [Speaking in Elvish.] Can I borrow your mirror?

Arwen: I beg your pardon, but you may not. I need it more than you do.

Crestfallen, Legolas slowly edges back to his original spot. Before their very eyes, Jeff takes out a plastic Tupperware from within his shirt. The Survivors look at each other warily.

Jeff: And now, we will split you all into 2 groups, each consisting of 6 members each.

Gandalf: [Whispering to Boromir.] He thinks we can’t count! [Boromir sneers in agreement.]

Jeff: We will now draw lots to determine which of you will go into which group. Those who draw the blue slip of paper will be in the Rivendell tribe, and those with the red will be in the Lothlorien tribe.

Gimli: [Snorts in disgust.] And you couldn’t think of a better name for the tribes? Filthy elvish names!

Legolas and Arwen shoot dirty looks at Gimli. Jeff clears his throat nervously.

Jeff: Er, the producers chose the tribe names.

Gimli: The producers?! [Snorts again.] Dirty elves.

Legolas: [Draws out his bow, aims 5 arrows at Gimli.] I would have you know, dwarf, that elves are not dirty… Far from that! We take extreme pride in our personal hygiene, unlike some tribes who would prefer walking around with rusty axes in dark damp caves.

Gimli: [Draws himself up to his full height – which isn’t much – and puffs out his chest, face slowly turning as red as his beard.] Are you talking about the dwarves, elf?

The way he said elf made Jeff shudder. This was supposed to be a family show, not an all-out bloody war between dwarves and elves! He quickly stepped in between Legolas and Gimli.

Jeff: Er, right. On with the show, folks. Here, Gimli, draw a ticket!

Gimli: [Takes out a blue slip of paper. Snorts.] Bah! Rivendell it is!

Slowly the Survivors drew out little slips from the Tupperware container.

Legolas: What is the meaning of this absurdity? I will not be put into the same tribe as a grouchy dwarf!

Sam: Hey, this can’t be! I’m not with Mr. Frodo! I want to be with Mr. Frodo! He needs a bodyguard!

Merry and Pippin: Objection! Objection, Mr. Probst! Why are we in separate groups?

Aragorn: [Pulls Jeff by the collar. Waves his red ticket in Jeff’s face.] Here, switch my paper for me. I want to be with the Lady Arwen.

Arwen looks at her blue ticket, and throws it away. She holds up her mirror once more, not noticing the glares Eowyn is shooting her way. Eowyn is also holding a blue ticket. She looks longingly at Aragorn’s red ticket, then frowns at her blue one.

Eowyn: [Yelling.] Would anyone care to switch a blue ticket for a red one? Blue for red! I WANT A RED TICKET!

Faramir walks up to Jeff, taps him on the shoulder.

Faramir: [Holding up his red ticket.] Couldn’t you have helped me a wee bit? Couldn’t you have put me in the fair Eowyn’s group? Couldn’t you?

Jeff looks like he is going to burst into tears of frustration. Already, he is tugging at his shortly-cropped dark hair. Standing by themselves in one corner, crossing their hands and watching the chaos unfolding before them over the tickets, are Boromir and Gandalf.

Boromir: So, what did you get?

Gandalf: Red. And you?

Boromir: [Shows his red ticket.] Cheers, wizard. Maybe we can just stand at the side and let the idiots do all the work. Them being idiots and all, maybe they won’t mind…

Gandalf: The joys of being wise are numerous, firstborn of Denethor.

The duo watch on as the 10 Survivors form an increasingly menacing, ever-enclosing circle around Jeff. They are shouting, all distressed and upset over the course of events except for the demure Arwen who is obviously more absorbed in her reflection. Finally, Jeff snaps.

Jeff: [Yelling, his face red with anger.] ENOUGH! THAT’S IT! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! NO MORE GROUPS! NO RIVENDELL! NO LOTHLORIEN! GIMME BACK THOSE TICKETS! GIMME!

He runs around, snatching back the tickets. He holds the little slips of paper to his chest.

Jeff: It’s mine! Mine! MINE! My precioussssssss…

A silence engulfs the group as they stare at the host quizzically. Then simultaneously, as if on cue, they all burst into wild applause. The hobbits break into a dance and a song, arms linked to each other as they skip around Jeff.

Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin: [Singing at the top of their little lungs.]

Yeah, yeah! Yeah, yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah!
Yeah, hurrah! And hurrah, yeah!
No more tickets, me and you,
No more tickets, red and blue!
There shall be no separation,
There will be no disappointment!
We shall all be so together,
We will all have fun forever!
Yeah, hurrah! And hurrah, yeah!
Yeah, yeah! Yeah, yeah! Yeah, yeah, YEAH!

Boromir: [Shaking head.] Silly hobbits.

Aragorn, Eowyn, Faramir, Legolas, and Gimli have relieved expressions on their faces. Jeff yells for silence, motioning everyone to gather around.

Jeff: Okay, as you all know, this is a special edition of Survivor, and we know that you all have quests and other what-nots to do back in Middle Earth, so this season will only last for 10 days so as not to take up too much of your time. Which means, you will all have a Tribal – er, I mean a Fellowship Council at the end of each day to determine who leaves the island. And you all will be on the jury to determine the Survivor who goes back with the one million pieces of gold. Is that clear?

They all nod their heads. Except Pippin. He looks really confused. Slowly, he raises his hand in the air.

Pippin: Excuse me, could you say that again?

Gandalf: [Hitting Pippin over the head with his staff.] Hold your tongue, Took, you idiot. [Looking at Jeff, slowly doing strange gesture of waving his hand across Jeff’s face, like a Jedi Master.] It’s all clear, Probst.

Jeff: [Dazed.] Yes, Mithrandir.

Jeff keeps quiet, dazed look still in his eyes. The Survivors stare at him, then glare at Gandalf.

Aragorn: Gandalf, what have you done? Wake him up, man!

With a grand sweep of the hands, some flapping of his white sleeves, Gandalf’s fingers comes to rest in front of Jeff’s face, and he snaps his fingers. Instantly, Jeff pops out of his daze.

Jeff: [Shakes head.] Right, what was I saying? Yes… And you will all be competing for your Individual Immunity – er, Immortality, I mean, and with this, you cannot be voted out of Fellowship Council. And this… [Reaches into pockets and pulls out a round crystalline ball.] …Is your Immortality Necklace.

A collective gasp is heard from the Survivors. They all slowly back away from Jeff. He looks at them, puzzled.

Gandalf: [Gasping for breath, clutching his heart.] Where did you get that?! That’s… That’s the Palantir! The eye of Sauron! Put it down before it kills us all!

Jeff: [Laughing, plays with the Palantir.] This silly little thing? Nah… It’s just a miniature of the actual thing… Doesn’t work, just adds to the atmosphere and ambience of the entire Middle Earth set and theme thingy…

Everyone visibly relaxes, gather around Jeff once more. Sheepish grins flashed between Pippin and Gandalf.

Jeff: Right, and now your first challenge… Build yourselves a shelter. You will be given no additional tools but those you already have on you, and remember, I’ll be seeing you all at Fellowship Council tonight. Good luck! [Walks off, whistling the theme song with hands in pocket.]

The Survivors looked at each other.

Aragorn: Well that’s it. What now?

Boromir: [Sounding incredulous.] Didn’t you even hear what he was saying? He said we have to build ourselves a shelter! Sheeeesh, for a king, you really are dense sometimes!

Faramir: So where do you wanna build the shelter?

Legolas: I was thinking somewhere high, and beautiful, and peaceful…

Gimli: We’re not in elf land now… There is no way I’m going to live on a tree like you uncivilised monkeys!

Arwen: I don’t mind where we stay as long as it’s clean and beautiful…

Eowyn: I don’t mind where we stay as long as we’re all together… [Smiles sickeningly sweet at Aragorn, who pretends not to notice and starts examining his sword in an attempt to ignore her.]

Pippin: Why don’t we build our shelter there? [Points to a hill in the distance.]

Gandalf: For once a wise remark from you, Took.

Merry: Right, let’s go! The faster we build the shelter the faster we get to eat!

Gandalf: Okay, Gimli, you go and chop some logs up with your axe. Aragorn, Boromir, and Faramir, go slice up some leaves for the roof will you? Legolas, go shoot down some food. Hobbits, go collect any wood you can find, and twine. We need lots of those. Ladies, would you mind clearing up the hill? Just too many stones lying about…

Aragorn: Hey, who died and made you king?

Sam: Yeah! And what will you be doing anyway?

Gandalf: [Importantly.] I will watch for the Orcs.

Gimli: [Snorts.] Orcs?! What Orcs? We’re not in Middle Earth anymore! We’re in a competition, in Borneo! Who ever heard of Orcs in Borneo!

Frodo: You’re just shirking your responsibilities, as usual! Like the time you pushed the Ring to me!

Merry and Pippin: [Tsking and shaking their heads.] Bad wizard… Lazy wizard…

Gandalf: Okay, okay… Enough of the bullying already! I’ll build a mailbox, alright?

Arwen: [Sniffs.] And what, prithee tell, would a mailbox do for a place like this? Expecting some mail from Radagast? [Giggles.]

Gandalf: [Crossly.] At least I’m doing something!

Still bickering amongst themselves, the 12 walk to the clearing on the hill. They set about doing their own jobs.

*not completed*
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