I missed last week--I'm a Tigers fan, I was in mourning--but, apparently, I didn't miss much.
Rocker cut a deal with his new best pal Jeremy to protect each other's helpless women folk.
But Val, who apparently has a permanent seat in the front pew at the church of Why Tell A Small Lie When You Can Tell Two Really Big Ones, rendered Rocker's aid useless when she claimed to have two immunity idols, even though she had none because she couldn't be bothered to do more than take a cursory glance around. I search more thoroughly for the Chapsticks that the family cat jacks from me. Val will not be missed.
This week, Rocker made a target of himself with a public demonstration of the boorish behavior that made him a reviled sports figure and contributed to the sullying of his baseball career.
A man telling a woman that "if she were a man, he would knock her teeth out" is cause for concern, not an opportunity to gossip about said man's controversial past. I'm looking at you, Jeff Probst.
Fortunately, most of Rocker's tribe were as disgusted with him as we are and sent him packing, with the immunity idol that he was too arrogant to play still in his pocket.
If Julie McGee had any sense, she would have sent him packing too.
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