The following events are not an endorsement for Jeff Probst’ death, but rather my exact opinion on how he will die when that time comes.
*****
Jeff Probst made sure not to disturb anything as he silently navigated over the broken glass covering his apartment’s living room. If this was a serious break-in, he would need all the evidence intact, and if the intruder was still around, he wanted to make sure they didn’t know he was there. This wasn’t the first time someone had broken into his apartment, but it would be the last. He had first noticed something was wrong when the door to his modest Los Angeles apartment was ajar, despite the fact that he had locked it hours ago when he left.
From the shatter of the glass, he knew that the intruder must have come through the window. Intriguing. The open door would suggest they had already left, but he wasn’t going to take his chances. He positioned his keys into his hand, creating a make-shift dagger protruding through his knuckles – something that Richard Hatch, Season 1 winner of Survivor, had taught him. He wished Richard was around at that moment, as he had been known to be useful in a scuffle. Not that Jeff was looking for any trouble, but he’d been through enough rough situation in his life, including a stint on Mad Tv, to know that trouble would find him whether he liked it or not. He stalked through each room with the sneaking skills he had learned from years of evading Somali pirates while filming Survivor [unverifiable].
His thick, calloused palm slowly pushed the master bedroom door open. His eyes, ten times stronger than the average person’s, took in every detail as the opening door created a wider plane of view, inch by inch. The hawk DNA he’d let a shaman inject him with had come in handy more than a few times, and was well worth the night terrors that developed from the procedure [unverifiable].
After a quick, yet thorough search, he found there was no one there. Other than the glass, nothing would even suggest a break-in. Jeff knew that a thief worth his weight wouldn’t stick around too long, and usually wanted something specific, just like Rupert when he stole the Morgan team’s shoes in Survivor: Pearl Islands. He knew this from his years in the thieves guild, though he gave that trade up years ago [unverifiable].
He kept his apartment’s furnishings modest since he never knew when he might have to bug out, but there were certain treasures he kept, both for pleasure and duty. If there was any reason someone would want to break into his apartment, it would be for his treasures.
Surprisingly, his jewelry drawer, full of gifts from kings and pharaohs, was left untouched [unverifiable]. As was the piece of alien technology, masked behind a painting. It continued to float, completely unbothered [unverifiable].
It didn’t make any sense. There was seemingly no reason why someone would have broken into award winning host and television personality, Jeff Probst’s apartment. Kneeling on the ground, he carefully fondled the broken glass. That’s when he smelled the gas.
His pupils shrunk to the size of pin-heads as they focused on the trembling, broken gas line in the kitchen. He hadn’t checked the kitchen because it was a woman’s area, and he was a devout misogynist.
The explosion of flames wrapped Jeff like a blanket. It was the most pain he had ever felt, and he’d been through tribal council! His fine Italian garments fused to his flesh wherever it hadn’t charred off completely. His amazing eyesight disappeared as the flames tickled his eyeballs until they were nothing more than burning embers in his skull.
As his flesh curled off of his bones he was enveloped by white light, and he heard the booming voice of God, “The tribe has spoken.”
His body was lifted up by God’s grace and taken to his next adventure…
*****
I implied that he died, not that he never comes back 😉