Oh, if only I could've been spared THIS.
You can't un-know, though; once you're evicted from the garden you can never go back to blissful ignorance. Unless of course you take the Pi route and use a power drill. One day you'll see me with a clumsy bandage around my head and a dopey grin, and on that day you will know that I have discovered how to drill the images of Probst's proboscis and Seacrest's tongue out of my brain like rotting teeth.
Seriously--where the HELL is he in that photo? A swinger's bar in 1975?