Whos Veggie In I'm A Celeb
So, you’re glued to the telly watching celebrities squirm in the jungle. Let’s talk about the unsung heroes: the vegetarians and vegans. They’re the ones who stare down a with...
So, you’re glued to the telly watching celebrities squirm in the jungle. Let’s talk about the unsung heroes: the vegetarians and vegans.
They’re the ones who stare down a withered testicle with pure, unadulterated horror. And honestly? It’s hilariously brutal to watch.
First, let’s get one thing straight. The Bushtucker Trials are a nightmare for everyone. But for a veggie? It’s a special kind of hell.
Most trials involve blending up a “smoothie” of fish eyes, kangaroo anus, and fermented anything. A plant-based contestant sees this and thinks: “That’s not food. That’s a biohazard.”
They don’t just gag because it tastes bad. They gag because it’s meat. Their brain screams “no!” before their tongue even gets a vote.
Remember when they got a plate of witchetty grubs? For a meat-eater, it’s a protein shot. For a herbivore, it’s a philosophical crisis.
“Is this a bug or a vegetable?” they plead. Spoiler: it’s a bug. And it’s wriggling.
Here’s the quirky fact that makes this fun: many of these chefs and campmates go full survival mode. They will force-feed themselves a bull’s penis for a star, but their soul dies a little each time.
Take a deep breath. Let’s talk about the “Oh, it’s just a coconut” myth. Nope. When the trial involves blending a whole fish, the veggie gets the worst of both worlds.
They have to handle the slimy, scaly bits. Plus, they can’t even enjoy the rice and beans back at camp without smelling like a seafood truck.
What about the camp cooking? This is pure gold. The veggies often become the unofficial chefs. Why? Because they’re the only ones who can make a brackish water stew taste like almost a decent dinner.
They’re the ones chopping the mystery root vegetable while the carnivores fight over a charred rat. It’s a weird form of jungle diplomacy.
“You eat my maggots? I’ll make your rice taste less like gravel.” It’s a silent, hilarious trade agreement.
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Let’s not forget the famous “I’m a vegetarian, but NOT today” moment. It happens every single season. A contestant declares they’ll eat anything for a star. Then they cry.
It’s not breaking a promise. It’s breaking a pact with their own stomach. And the audience loves the drama.
You want a specific example? Think of a contestant who’s a big, tough bloke. He says he’s a lifelong vegetarian. Then a kangaroo penis appears. He closes his eyes, swallows, and looks like he just lost a bet with his own soul.
That’s the moment. Pure, unscripted, hilarious misery. That’s why we watch.
Now, let’s flip the coin. Some veggies approach trials with savage strategy. They negotiate.
“I can’t eat that,” they say. “But I’ll hold it in my mouth for ten seconds if you give me two stars.” It’s like watching a hostage negotiation, but with a fermented duck egg.
And the other campmates? They’re secretly jealous. The veggie gets a free pass on some of the grossest challenges. Meanwhile, the carnivore has to chew a camel’s foot for a single point.
It creates a bizarre hierarchy. The vegan queen suddenly holds all the power. She’s the only one who can refuse a testicle and get away with it.
Why is this topic so fun to talk about? Because it’s a cultural collision. The polite, ethical lifestyle of being veggie smashes directly into the primal, grub-eating reality of the jungle.
It’s like a yoga instructor trying to keep calm while a crab pinches their nose. The comedy writes itself.
There’s also the incredible hypocrisy. A contestant will say, “I’m a strict vegetarian. I only eat plants and tofu.” But then they’ll scarf down a witchetty grub.
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“It’s a bug, not a mammal,” they rationalize. Sure, pal. Whatever helps you sleep in your hammock next to a spider.
The best part? The viewers at home go crazy on social media. “She ate a grub! Is she still a vegan?” The debate rages on Twitter for hours. It’s pure entertainment.
Here’s a quirky detail: the production team knows this. They specifically design trials to bait the veggies. They love the reaction.
“Here’s a plate of cow’s tongue. Oh, and it’s covered in ants.” The director is in a booth laughing. We know it.
But let’s give credit where it’s due. Some veggies handle it like absolute champions. They go all-in, swallowing the spawn of satan with a smile.
Then they immediately vomit into a bucket, chug some water, and say, “That wasn’t so bad!” It’s heroic. And completely insane.
These are the ones who win over the audience. They’re not just surviving the jungle. They’re surviving the morality of eating a live snail.
Finally, the campfire conversations. Imagine debating whether a plant-based diet is ethical while chewing on a kangaroo testicle. The irony is so thick you could spread it on a rice cake.
“I wouldn’t eat a cow,” says the veggie. “But this? This is a star.” It’s the most British thing ever. A compromise between ethics and glory.
So next time you watch I’m A Celebrity, keep your eyes on the veggie section. They’re not just struggling with the jungle. They’re struggling with their own soul.
And it’s the funniest, most fascinating part of the whole show. Pass the grubs. But maybe not the beaver anus. That’s a step too far, even for a carnivore.
