BB: “This doesn’t make sense.” RIP Scottie

the end of level 6

Scottie is gone. But a battle back, next week, followed by a double eviction, the week after, has been confirmed. Of all the misfit toys, cast off the island, Scottie is the biggest comp beast, and still has a good chance of making it back from the jury – even if Julie Chen doesn’t seem to think so (“See you at the finale, Scottie!”)

Meanwhile, the first embers of the Level 6 civil war are already starting to spark (like the BB house oven). Musical chairs-type scrambling ensues! JC is not going to be at the bottom of Level 6 & Independents, Co. (circa, Summer of Steve, 2018). He is already angling, through the deep, dark #Tangela warp-hole, that Brett poses the biggest male threat, to Tyler, and even now, Brett is suspicious of the fake Tangela and Faleigh alliance.

JC admitted what I already suspected (it’s alright JC!): he’s jealous of this #Tangela nonsense and wants it to stop. If I was a Tyler fan (I do respect Tyler, but I still consider him a “villain”) I would also want this Tangela nonsense to stop. This is the most critical part of the game. Foutte is going up in flames, and the real battle is only beginning!

Angela, my Ice Queen, Elsa in ten years, has won HOH again. What will she do?? The simple answer would be to put up Hay and Fessy. Make them pay for their absolute stupidity. Watch one of those complete morons go home.

level 6 tears itself apart

However, much like if Hammock Brett had won HOH, like Level 6 originally planned, this week – Angela is faced with a decision. So far, Brett, Angela, and Kaycee have all been playing “our game,” for Level 6. But Tyler has always been playing “my game,” and merely helping out Level 6. He never stopped being an independent, Level 6.

Does Angela throw village idiots Hay and Fessy up on the block? Or does she make a big move, and target Brett and Tyler? This could be her last chance. There are too few slots left. Yes, Level 6 doesn’t care about Bay and Rockstar’s jury votes, but as more Foutte members join the jury, they will form a voting bloc, with their own definition of reality and their own demands for justice. By the time the Level 6 people hit the jury, the narrative, for the finale, will be set, and it will be too late.

Now is the time, Angela, my Ice Queen, to act like a true #Queen, or even brave Firewoman Sam, and drive a stake through vampire Tyler’s metaphorical heart. Find that silver ice pick, quick. Tyler has decided, in the DR, that he is not taking Brett to the Final Four. Tyler isn’t even taking Angela to the Final Two. He’s taking Kaycee.

So, think fast, Angela. There are only two types of people in the world: people who do things, and people who get things done to them. Be proactive, not reactive!! JC is drawing up contingency plans. Sam has dumped Brett. Angela should be circling the wagons. The bonfire of Level 6’s Gotterdammerung is just heating up.


Cracks in the Firmament

fire and ice

Dani could see Bear Claw cabin through the dormant tree branches. She grabbed hold of a clump of brittle bramble in her gloved hand, to steady herself on the muddy shore. The trail couldn’t be far away – or at least Dani hoped so, because she couldn’t stand ducking and weaving through the underbrush. The thin, dry branches snagged on her wool cap or conspired to bend over double, under the weight of her hand, before springing forward to smack her in the eye. It was harder for her because she was tall, almost seven feet, a former starter on her high school basketball team.

These days she studied pi mesons at Caltech, with her college buddy, Cara. Pat was her life. Pat could read her faster than the blurbs on the jackets of her new novels. Dani turned back toward the cabin. The pale green copper chimney was nestled above the trees. Now, if she could just watch where she put her feet, she might get home without rolling her ankle again.


One moment, she was facing the cabin and the next moment, she was watching Pat disappear through a dark, blue hole in the ice. The moment stretched; Pat’s arms seemed to lengthen and undulate in the air.


Dani waved at her. Pat smiled at Dani, before glancing toward the cabin. She had always eyed Cara, Dan’s friend, a track star in college. But she didn’t think Cara would ever fancy her. Cara had a sly, fast, devilish, cosmopolitan look, that suggested that she favored Italian women in pastel pantsuits.

Pat had rather flat, limp hair. She wore a sagging black winter coat, so that she could buy Dani the newest cerulean smoking jacket to impress her friends at their local alumni club. Cara had a new color for her socks at every dinner party and subscribed to Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar.

“We’re almost there,” Dani was saying, up on the bank, between the trees.

“Sure thing,” Pat had answered.

The cracks had been too faint to hear.

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