The glint in his eye confirmed it for me. Jeff Probst is the antichrist, no doubt about it. Last night, on Survivor, the suffering group were determined to vote out Stephanie. She's strong. She's determined. No doubt about it! Stephanie had to go or she might win this thing. Then Jeff, the devil incarnate, got to work. Perched on his seat, surrounded by shrines to the power of evil like WWII guns and helmets, wrapped in darkness and fiery torches, it was just like home for him, i.e., down below where it's hot.
He cajoled; he suggested; he manipulated. He reminded Janu of how unhappy she was on the island. Add in a dash of provoking Stephanie to cry about the prospect of leaving and presto, with a snap of his fingers Janu volunteered to leave, canceling out the need to vote and thus saving Stephanie from certain disaster. Now the challenges will be tough with Stephanie in the mix–lots of suffering, eh, Jeff?
I knew he looks too gleeful during Survivor challenges, when those folks are killing themselves to win immunity, jumping off cliffs or eating wiggly things that are still squirming when you bite down, he announces the play by play like it's a day at the circus, savoring every bite. He loves it! Diabolical twists in the game are his favorite dessert, and OH, snuffing out torches is absolute orgasm for the devious fellow. This man relishes suffering. Let's face it–that torch-snuffer is simply a pitchfork in disguise.