Spoiler-free bitchout

To the 19-year-old Model What’s-Yer-Face on Survivor, the One Wearing the Guys’ Boxer Shorts and Giving Neck Rubs and What Have You:

Listen, honey. You’ve never had to work for anything in your life, primarily because men just give things to you. You think this is because you are simply awesome, and you also think that you deserve this easy life because you are very pretty. Flirting and playing coy, well, that’s how you pay for stuff, when you have to pay at all. I can forgive you thinking this, because you’ve never known any other way, and we all gotta use what we’ve got, am I right?

But I have to draw the line at your instant loathing of, and constant plotting against, the older woman on your tribe. You disliked her on sight, because she is Old and therefore totally useless and gross, and you’ve pulled out all the weapons in your arsenal to get her eliminated as soon as possible – you’ve played your youth against her age, your pliability against her solidity, your (totally generic) beauty against her averageness, your giggly conspiratoriality against her directness. You’re working only on the men – you know not to waste this shit on other women. And it works, for the most part.

I have news for you, though: You’re not going to be nineteen forever. Time is a fucking bitch. And no matter how hard you chase the dragon – Shatner knows what horrors of Botox and cutting and yet-to-be-imagined anti-aging shit you’ll eventually submit yourself to – unless you die young, you’re going to be her age someday. For your sake, I hope you develop some other life/coping skills, because your only currency’s going to start dropping somewhere just past your next birthday; only a little at first, but a lot more and a lot faster later. And the real bitch of it is, this game you’re running is UNWINNABLE: There will always be another fresh young nineteen-year-old coming up after you.

Just thought you should know.