By Fanatic and Advocate

Important Notices:

This is a work of fiction in the genre of parody. Parody means: 1) a pair of d's; 2) a literary or musical work in which the style of an author or work is closely imitated for comic effect or in ridicule; 3) a feeble or ridiculous imitation. Personally, we're shooting for number two.

This means several things: 1) CBS can't sue us for copyright infringement as parody is clearly within the exception rule. Nah nah nah nah nah. 2) Obviously, this is a lampoon of "Survivor", the ridiculous stunt series of the summer. But, hey, it's beating 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire' in the ratings, thank the gods above! 3) Big note: We are not going to be politically correct in this series. If you like PC humor, don't read this. If you still read this and don't like it, don't write us about it. We plan on bashing stereotypes (hey, they exist for a reason, folks) and exaggerating about as many people and places as possible. It's all in the name of humor. If it ain't your cup of tea, swim on, matey, this here is our island.

Now, just because CBS can't sue us for copyright infringement, we can and will sue you. This is an original work of fiction. Fanatic and Advocate own the copyright. (See below for the complete copyright statement.) Think about our pseudonyms, folks. Fanatic - insane, crazy, obsessed; Advocate - another name for an attorney. Add to the mix the fact that Fanatic is also an attorney …and you don't want to screw with us on this issue. Enough said.

This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. There are adult themes and language, nudity, sensuality, sexuality, alternative lifestyles (including depictions of homosexuality), and the like. We believe that most parents would consider these elements to be too strong (for viewing by persons less than 18 years of age). If we were a film, we would have an "R" or an "NC-17" rating.

Episode 4: Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head

It was cold, kinda like the Clintons' marriage bed, but at least the island had hopes of warming up in the future.

The castaways stood on the beach, shivering, waiting for the next challenge to begin. They were dressed in swimsuits and T-shirts, looking out at the murky blue ocean and the gray sky overhead.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Bill whined. As if hearing him, lightning streaked across the sky. "Is this safe? I mean, statistically speaking? Shouldn't we wait until tomorrow for this?"

"Sissy boy," Marty muttered under his breath. He didn't understand why they even had to do challenges. The Beta Team was worthless. Couldn't they just vote all of them off at once and be done with it?

"All right!" Joan called out, jumping into the middle of the loose circle. "Is everyone ready for our second challenge?" Lackluster responses met her enthusiasm. She frowned. Perhaps they should attach cattle prods to the cameras to generate some excitement. A good zap or two might pick up the energy level. "Here are the rules: each team is to swim out to its team's flag. Once there, you need to dive down to the ocean floor and get the treasure chest. The first team to bring its treasure chest to the shore wins the competition. The winners will get immunity and the contents of the chest. The other team will lose a member."

I like the contents of her chest, Ryan thought lecherously, studying Shannon intently. She hadn't seen the luscious little blonde for almost twenty-four hours, far too long for Ryan's peace of mind.

Shannon caught the look in Ryan's eyes and smiled shyly. Well, she thought it was a shy smile. Ryan thought it looked a little like gas. She decided she would find Shannon a natural remedy for it on the island.

"Go!" Joan shouted, ruining the moment.

The teams raced toward the water and then stopped.


"It's cold!"

"Jesus, it's like ice!"

The fifteen castaways all toed the water and looked balefully at Joan. Several members' eyes glazed over as they enviously thought of David, the first castaway voted off the island. They just knew the pudgy, future cult leader was sipping margaritas in some tropical resort, courtesy of the BTBC, laughing at their misery.

The producer couldn't believe her shitty luck. What would it take to get these losers into the water? The storm couldn't have made the tropical waters that much colder.

"Helloooo? Can someone help me blow up my floaties?" Arturo's voice sang out.

Shannon looked at the hairdresser who was trying to inflate the brightly colored, plastic rings around his upper arms. "Come here," she called him over, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, Channon, thank you. I know these are not what you want your lips around, but …"

She slapped the Brazilian's arm. "Behave, Arturo."

"Get in the water!" Joan urged, making shooing motions behind them. The wind picked up, blowing sand in the contestants' eyes, eliciting more complaints.

Ryan sighed. Oh well, she needed a good cold dunking since seeing Shannon again. Without further hesitation, she plunged into the ocean and began stroking her way toward the Alpha Team's flag. Reluctantly, the other castaways followed her lead.

Standing on the shore, Joan was sure she could hear the chattering teeth of the contestants. Rain began to pelt down, the drops large and cold. She wished for an umbrella. Or a paper one in a large drink.

Alpha Team made it to the flag first and began diving down to the treasure chest. In short order, they began moving it closer to the shore. Yun-kyung swam in front of the chest, carefully sweeping aside any animal or plant life that might be injured by the swimmers as they pushed it toward shore.

Tony and Jason came up for air at the same time. "Think the chest has cigarettes?" Tony hacked, shaking his head and scattering salt water everywhere. "I could really use one."

"What about your patch?"

Tony pulled down the neck of his T-shirt, revealing three of the medicinal patches attached to his collarbone. "I think they're less effective when wet."

"Let's get going, girls," Marty growled when he came up for air.

Rolling their eyes, they followed him back underwater.

The Beta Team finally gathered at its flag. Joe nodded to Tanesha. "Okay, why don't we dive down first and see if we can get the trunk moved a bit."

She shook her head vigorously. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Black hair."


She indicated her head. "Black hair. I didn't bring conditioner as my luxury item. Do you realize what salt water does to it?"

Arturo sighed dramatically. "It is terrible! Terrible! I know!" He started to reach out to touch her hair only to have his hand slapped away.

"Are we just going to dog paddle here forever?" Dawn asked, getting tired.

"I'm going back to the shore," Desiree announced and began slapping her stick thin arms against the water's surface. Shannon wondered how she managed to float without any body fat.


"Because Alpha Team already has their chest on the shore," Joe observed.

All seven pairs of eyes turned to shore, confirming their loss.

Bill nervously scratched his jaw. "Well, that and the Class II typhoon headed our way."

* * *

Shannon was impressed that Bill knew the correct meteorological name for the funnel-shaped cloud quickly headed in their direction. As she was pelted by the rain, wind and flying debris kicked up by the storm, however, she decided to focus less on vocabulary and more on finding shelter.

The Alpha Team and production crew had already disappeared from the shore. Shannon stared at the empty, abandoned treasure chest. Bastards. This is just not fair. They have all the good team members. Shannon suddenly felt like she was back in grade school with the freaks and geeks on the losing kickball team.

As if in sympathy, Shannon's calf cramped up. "Jesus!" She took off, limping across the soggy sand toward the jungle, as the wind drove the rain nearly sideways against her, the droplets against her skin feeling more like BBs than water. At the tree line her team scattered, running for shelter under the dense forest canopy.

In the distance, above the roaring wind, Shannon heard a high-pitched scream that she immediately recognized as Desiree's. She closed her eyes in irritation, hoping she'd last long enough on the island to get to cast a vote against that skinny bitch. Who the fuck cared how many carbohydrates plain white rice had? They were starving! If she wanted to eat buckets of it, she would!

Blending with Desiree's panic filled cries was a higher, more feminine sounding wail. She shook her head in amazement. Arturo. The man didn't have one damn drop of testosterone in his entire body, she was sure of it.

A loud crack drew Shannon's eyes upward as a gust of wind snapped the top off one of the tall jungle trees. Shattered limbs came crashing down all around her. But before she could move, a strong arm appeared out of nowhere, wrapped around her ribs and yanked her away from the falling branches and into an alcove mostly sheltered from the wind and rain. Another hand clamped over Shannon's mouth as a cameraman passed a few feet in front of her, the light from his camera shining through the darkened forest like a search light.

Shannon's first reaction was to struggle against her captor. But when the hand splayed across her belly tightened its hold, molding their two forms together, and soft, wet skin rubbed against hers, Shannon came closer to melting than screaming.

When the crewmember had disappeared from sight, the hand slowly dropped from Shannon's mouth and the blonde felt something hard poke her in the lower back. "You had better not be Pete, the cameraman," she gasped. If Pete felt this good pressed against her, she was skipping counseling and going straight for the bottle. "And what I'm feeling against my back had better not be an indication of how glad you are to see me."

The body behind hers chuckled, jostling Shannon. "Pretty snippy, considering I just saved you from being crushed, aren't you?" a voice burred directly into Shannon's ear.

Damn, she feels good! Shannon couldn't suppress the shiver that chased down her spine as hot breath tickled her ear and cheek, drying a small patch of skin. The moist heat disappeared from her back and Shannon shivered again. She turned around to see Ryan smiling smugly, obviously quite pleased with herself.

Shannon's eyes went wide with disbelief and her fair eyebrows disappeared behind wet bangs. Her gaze zeroed in on Ryan's crotch and the obvious bulge. OH. MY. GOD! The hottest woman on earth is ... Her mind refused to complete the sentence. Austin Power's voice screamed out in her head, "She's a man, baybee!" Shannon squeezed her eyes tightly shut. NOOO!!!!! Nietzsche was right!!

Ryan's expression grew puzzled. Why is she looking at me that way? She followed the shorter woman's eyes down her own body. "NO!" she blurted out. "It's not... um... what you were feeling was my knife." Now that they weren't pressed together, Ryan had to raise her voice to be heard over the howling wind. She pointed to the bulge in her pocket, which had shifted into a rather unnatural position.

Well, unnatural for Ryan.

"See?" The tall woman pulled the knife out of her pocket, expertly flipping open the razor-sharp blade. Ryan couldn't help but eye it affectionately. "Want a closer look?" She enthusiastically thrust the knife in front of Shannon's face.

The blade was so close that the younger woman's eyes actually crossed as she tried to look at it. "Um... Wow. Yeah... That is... um..."

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" Ryan's throat closed around the words. Talking about her knife always got her a little choked up. She watched carefully as Shannon continued to stare at the blade. Years ago, Ryan had heard a woman proclaim that once you'd met someone who could love your cat, you would know you had met 'the one.'


Ryan hated cats.

But a woman who could appreciate a precision-honed, life-saving instrument…

"She?" Shannon interrupted, as her hand drifted down to massage her cramping calf.

"Of course. You have a name don't you? Why shouldn't she?" Tiffany. A pretty name for a pretty knife. The survivalist hesitated to share the name, correctly believing it wouldn't be accepted gracefully.

Shannon didn't feel like debating Ryan's logic. She was still giddy over the fact that Ryan didn't have a penis, and didn't feel like stirring up trouble. Shannon bit her lower lip. How do you compliment someone's knife? "It looks reaaaaally sharp," she offered valiantly.

Ryan ducked her head bashfully. She didn't want Shannon to see the tears in her eyes.

"C'mon." Shannon grabbed Ryan's arm, limping a few steps deeper into the alcove. Sitting down, she carefully stretched out her leg and looked out into the jungle, where sheets of rain were pouring through the trees, creating huge puddles on the forest floor.

Now that she was alone with Ryan, Shannon didn't quite know what to say. 'Gee, your breasts look terrific in that skintight, wet tank top. I'd be happy to lick them dry,' just didn't seem like an appropriate icebreaker. But time was of the essence! How often could she expect to be trapped alone with tall, wet and sexy?

Shannon grimaced and grabbed her leg as her calf muscle seized up again. "Oww!"

"Let me." Not waiting for permission, Ryan dropped to the ground and pulled Shannon's leg across her lap. With sure hands, she began massaging the cramping muscle.

Shannon let out a low, throaty groan as Ryan's fingers dug deeply into the tender tissue. "Ohhh, that feels..." Green eyes rolled back in their sockets in pure pleasure.

Ryan swallowed dryly, willing her hands not to shake. "I'm Ryan."

Ryan's comment seemed odd until Shannon realized that even though they'd spoken on several occasions, they'd never been properly introduced. "I'm... ahhh… a little higher. I'm Shannon." The blonde flashed Ryan a quick smile before her face twisted in exquisite agony. "Right there!"

"Here?" Ryan pressed a little harder with her thumb and was rewarded by Shannon arching her back and expelling a languid hiss of pleasure.

Every drop of blood in Ryan's body stampeded southward. I must be strong. I must be strong. Ryan opened her mouth but no sound came out. Swallowing, she tried again. "Is that better?"

Shannon nodded vigorously as she continued to twist under Ryan's relentless assault, her T-shirt working its way above her stomach.

Ryan stared openly at well-defined abs that bunched and released as Shannon moved. Oh God! Ryan's own belly clenched tightly as a wave of arousal washed over her. Why was I being strong again?

Shannon's movements began to slow as the muscle spasm loosened and she blew out a deep, relieved breath. "Much better." Her face became serious as she reached out to grasp Ryan's hand, giving long fingers a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, Ryan. And not just for helping me with that cramp, but for before, too. I don't know if I would have been quick enough to get away from those falling branches."

Ryan dragged her gaze upward, settling on Shannon's eyes. "You're very welcome."

Shannon's stomach growled loudly. Before the blonde could apologize, Ryan leaned forward and pressed her ear to Shannon's belly.

The younger woman's breathing hitched at the unexpected, intimate contact.

"Sounds hollow." Ryan couldn't resist rubbing her cheek across skin that was even softer than it looked. "There are some banana trees a little northwest of your camp. The potassium will help to prevent cramping." She placed a soft kiss on Shannon's stomach before sitting up.

"Okay," Shannon croaked, licking suddenly dry lips. "Thanks again."

An awkward silence grew between the women, but neither woman was anxious to give up her physical contact with the other. Shannon's leg continued to rest on the taller woman's lap while Ryan's hand was held securely in hers.

"You're a writer?" Ryan finally asked warily. Was it possible Shannon was exactly what the castaway brochure promised? She had to find out once and for all before she could allow her heart to be completely lost to this woman.

Ryan had always scoffed at the notion of love at first sight. That was merely an invention of a government that wanted a herd of complacent, lovesick cattle to govern. But, if this is what it felt like to be Grade A Choice, Ryan was ready to be branded!

"Yes. Well, I want to be." Shannon's breathing paused as the hand on her leg began stroking her skin with a feather light touch.

"What do you write?"

Shannon's eyes were riveted on the fingertips dancing first along her calf, then her thigh. She wondered briefly if Ryan was even aware that her hand had begun to move. That touch was doing marvelous things to her senses and Ryan's words simply rolled over her.


"Hmm?" she hummed dreamily. Shannon's gaze darted upward. "Um... I'm sorry. Did you say something?" A faint blush began to creep up her chest and neck.

"I asked what you wrote." Sky-blue eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. Why was Shannon hesitating? "Quick! What's a dangling participle?"


"Answer me!"

Shannon's eyes went wide. Was this some sort of a pop quiz?

"All right then. What's a gerund?"

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Shannon snatched her hand back.

"And you call yourself a writer," Ryan snorted disgustedly, pushing Shannon's leg off her lap and jumping to her feet. "Uncle Sam's gonna have to do a lot better than you to trip me up, honey!" Branded? What was I thinking?! She took a step away but was stopped by Shannon's strong grip on the back of her shorts.

The blonde glared at the survivalist. Using Ryan's shorts for leverage, she pulled herself up. "Are you going to tell me what you're talking about, or do I have to guess?"

Ryan's face twisted into a sneer. "I don't have to explain myself to a spy!"

"You're insane!"

Ryan snorted again. "Like you're the first person to say that."

"Why would I be spying on you?" Shannon asked reasonably, letting go of Ryan.

"Because..." Ryan's mouth clicked closed. She chuckled evilly. "Oooo, you're good. You'd like me to tell you, wouldn't you?" Shannon was craftier than she had suspected.

God, she wanted this woman!

Ryan gritted her teeth and called upon her iron will. She tried to tell herself that a million dollars was too much to risk for a bout of hot, sweaty, jungle sex with Shannon. Ha! Like that reasoning had a chance! No. I can do this!

The brunette turned to leave when Shannon shouted, "A participle is a verb ending in '-ing', and is called dangling when the subject of the '-ing' verb and the subject of the sentence don't agree. As in, um, 'Staring at the tall dark stranger with undisguised lust, the typhoon finally veered away from the island, leaving the writer wet and aching.'

"A gerund," she continued, with growing inspiration, "is a noun formed from a verb. As in, 'Aching seemed a small price to pay for the privilege of seeing the way her luscious breasts strained against the wet tanktop.'" Wow! And to think she had been regretting sleeping with her freshman grammar professor for all these years.

Shannon's words stopped Ryan dead in her tracks. She had no idea if what Shannon said was correct, but it did sound impressive and pretty raunchy. Ryan mentally shrugged. For the love of God, it was only money!

Ryan whirled around, and in two long strides pinned Shannon up against the alcove wall, first with her hands, then with the full length of her body. Their eyes locked for an instant before Ryan leaned forward and slowly traced Shannon's lower lip with the tip of her tongue, taking her lip into her mouth and sucking gently.

Shannon gasped, then groaned loudly at the feeling of Ryan's hot mouth teasing her.

Ryan responded with a moan of her own as she threaded her fingers tightly in pale, wet hair, crushing their mouths together in a frenzied attack of hot, slippery tongues, nipping teeth and soft, hungry lips. God! Shannon's mouth tasted even better than it had in her dreams.

"Stop!" Shannon commanded raggedly, tearing her lips from Ryan's and pushing the darker woman away with the palms of her hands.

Ryan's nostrils flared as she stood panting in front of Shannon, clenching and unclenching her fists. "Something wrong?" she asked weakly, dreading the answer the way Tammy Faye Baker dreaded makeup remover.



"I want to go first." With that, Shannon dropped to her knees in front of Ryan and slid her hands up the back of the taller woman's shorts. Giving Ryan's ass a good squeeze, Shannon pulled Ryan's hips to her face, using her lips and teeth to nip and kiss Ryan through her damp cotton shorts.

Ryan's entire body shuddered and she grasped Shannon's shoulders, hoping her knees wouldn't buckle.

Shannon was wetter than she had been before she came in out of the rain. Damn, this was good! Spurred on by Ryan's throaty moans, she began grinding her face into the survivalist's center while forcefully kneading Ryan's buttocks.

"Okay," Ryan managed to let out on an unsteady breath. The sweet looking blonde was a hellcat! Excellent! "You can go first if ya want."

"Mmm… Hmm…" Shannon mumbled, lowering her mouth to Ryan's inner thighs and dragging her tongue upward, sliding it under the edge of Ryan's shorts and swimsuit.

A light flashed in the jungle in front of the women's hiding place and Ryan bit her lip. "Shannon, that is so…"

Shannon turned her head toward the light. "What's that?"

"It's nothing. Nothing! Just ignore it." Ryan stroked Shannon's hair, doing her best to ignore the sounds of people approaching. Anyone who comes in here dies! Tiffany will see to it.

Shannon pulled her hands from Ryan's shorts and let the older woman help her to her feet. She didn't even have a second to steady herself before Ryan swooped down, giving her the deepest, wettest, most sensuous kiss of her life.

If Shannon had been a Southern belle, she would have swooned in Ryan's arms. If she had been black, she would have high-fived Ryan. If she had been Catholic, she would have felt guilty and crossed herself. But Shannon was a white Protestant from the west coast so she did none of those things. What's a WASPy girl to do?

Ryan's lips moved to Shannon's throat, and her hands slid under the shorter woman's shirt. "We don't have to stop."

"OH GOD! Okay…" Shannon threw her head back, giving Ryan better access to her neck. "No." Fuck! "We do, Ryan."

"We don't. Whoever it is will go away."

The exact words from Rita's note flashed in Shannon's mind, shattering the moment. "You can't be gay!" she whimpered pitifully.

"My mother said the same thing." Ryan dipped her tongue in the hollow of Shannon's throat. "But she got over it. I certainly did."

The light passed closer to the alcove, shiny across the wet rocks at the entrance.

Shannon shook her head 'no' but thrust her hips against Ryan. "You… You don't understand. I… um… yeah, it opens in the front … I can't be gay."

"Sure ya can, baby," Ryan muttered against Shannon's skin, unhooking her bikini top. "You're doing soooo well. It's easy. I promise."

Ryan closed her eyes in frustration when she heard several other voices joining Pete's.

Shannon heard the beginnings of a growl from Ryan and laid her hand against the taller woman's chest, rolling her eyes when Ryan's hand moved down to her big ass knife. "You can't kill them all, Ryan."

"Why not?"

Several castaways and cameramen found their way into the alcove at that moment, capturing on tape their rather intimate position and disheveled clothing. Pete thrust a camera in Shannon's face, only backing away when he received a withering glare from Ryan.

Shannon shrugged. "I'm sure there's some reason."

Tony stepped around the cameraman and began pacing wildly in the alcove. "I can't take this anymore! Give me a cigarette!" He stopped and faced Pete, a fellow chain smoker, twitching at the aphrodisiac smell of wet cigarettes.

"I can't, man. You know the rules."

"Fuck the rules! The rules said nothing about a fucking hurricane coming to kill us while we're here!"

"Actually," Bill piped up from his spot out of the rain, "assuming that wind speeds reach the requisite 74 miles per hour, this is a typhoon. Typhoons are the same thing as hurricanes but are called by a different name in Asia. During this time of year, you can expect an average of 3.4 typhoons to hit each of the islands in this chain. One of those would be devastating enough to-"

"Shut up, nerd!" Tony shouted and stepped threateningly toward Pete, grabbing a large fallen tree limb as he did so. "Give me a cigarette! Now!"

Pete looked over for some help from Ryan and Shannon, but found them to be otherwise engaged. Torn between taping some good girl-on-girl action and saving his own hide, he reluctantly lowered the camera and reached into his jacket pocket. He tapped out a cigarette and extended it to Tony.

"Keep it," Tony replied, taking the pack instead. Like Rain Man looking at fallen toothpicks, he could instantly calculate the number of cigarettes left in the pack: twelve. That might last him an hour.

* * *

Fifty-three minutes and eleven cigarettes later, Tony stood outside the tribal council area. The Beta Team had just sat down and was preparing to vote one lucky castaway off the island. Sucking on his cigarette, he started walking into the forbidden crew area. Stepping into it meant instant disqualification and a return to Marlboro Country.

He almost felt bad about abandoning his team. But, this way, it would keep the competition even. Now the Alphas would only be up one member.

* * *

"You are here to act on your solemn duty as a tribe," Joan intoned. "Tonight you must lose someone."

Tanesha rolled her eyes. God, she was tired of worthless white people! "Bring on the vote!"

"Do any of you have something you would like to share with your fellow tribal members?"

Bill dutifully raised his hand.

"Yes, Bill?"

"I was wondering what your meteorologists had to say about the probability of another Class II typhoon hitting the island within the next thirty days? According to a few preliminary calculations I made while we were hiding in our shelter, I believe that …"

Joan frowned. That geek was a bigger ratings killer than Al Gore in a Speedo. "Anyone else?" She paused for a millisecond. "No? Let the voting begin!"

Joe led the way to the voting booth. He picked up the marker and wrote down Desiree's name. Looking at the camera, "She really needs to go."

Tanesha was next. "Desiree is really the worst, but I want that skinny white bitch to stay here until her hair falls out." Her vote for Bill went into the box.

Dawn followed and wrote down Bill. Shrugging, she had no explanation.

Arturo wrote down Bill. "I want Desiree to stay so I can try out a new skin conditioner I am making from papaya extract here on the island. If it works for her here, I think she might endorse it when we leave." He clapped his hands together gleefully.

Shannon stalked into the voting booth. This was a simple decision. If she couldn't vote Joan or Pete off the island, Desiree would have to do.

Desiree came in next. She voted for herself. "I have a career to consider." Tears welled in her eyes. "I haven't been able to shave my legs for days!"

The camera panned down then jerked abruptly to the side as Desiree assaulted the cameraman. "Don't film them, you idiot!"

Finally, Bill entered the voting booth. He stared longingly at the marker, unconsciously caressing his empty pocket protector. And to think he had missed the annual Star Trek convention in St. Louis for this! His heart lurched painfully. This was the year they were finally going to admit the Spock-Scottie subtext, too! Bill quickly scrawled his own name on the paper, poaching the marker in the process. He felt much better now.

* * *

"I lost? What do you mean, I lost?!" Desiree shrieked.

Joan was confused. "No, you didn't lose. Bill lost. He has to go."

Bill had already left. He was running happily down the pathway to civilization. Shannon hadn't seen him move that quickly before. Well, except for the time he was worried about being eaten.

"Which of you didn't vote for me?" Desiree wheeled around and pointed a long, skinny finger at Shannon. "Did you vote for me?"

"I most certainly did."

"Did you?" she asked Arturo.

"I am so sorry, chica. But, no."

Desiree launched herself at the Brazilian.

Shannon sighed. The BTBC wouldn't be in last place for long with this type of programming. Look at what WWF Smackdown has done for Fox.

<fade out>

As always, thanks to our wonderful editing team and our web designer. You guys make our lives easy and make us look good. We are indebted.

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