Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Three #2

In the Bible, Paul tells the Corinthians that the body is a temple.
In 'Psychotherapy', from the Subterranean Jungle album, Joey Ramone says "I am a teenage schizoid; I am a kid in the nuthouse".
In televised modelling competitions, as in life, I'm siding with Joey on this one.

This week's episode was apparently all about the body, fitness, and good nutrition. From my couch perspective, however, it was all about being a nutjob freak. There's alcoholism. There's anxiety. There's self-doubt. There's Brazilian waxing.
Welcome to the Cheap Wine And No Three-Day Growth episode of Australia's Next Top Model.

· Never before, not even in a Big Brother house, have there been so many Crimes Against The English Language. Aside from clanging errors in grammar, syntax, pronunciation and vocabulary, and Joydhi's repetitive vowel-slaughter, there's Paloma's daily language massacre. She speaks like she's chewing on a helium-soaked golfball, resulting in a high-pitched, lithium whine that Anna-Nicole would've been proud of. If she wasn't dead.

· Kara, the new girl replacing Jaimi, barely makes a dent in the show or my psyche. The sum total of her appearance so far includes:
o Extremely average photographs
o Jordan saying to camera "Oh More Gourd, she comes strutting in like she's all that"
o Cassandra warning her that "these girls are complete bitches, man", and
o Paloma telling us that Kara has "too much Supre clothes". Don't pay any attention to Paloma, though. She has too many bad brain.

· Early in the episode, we're treated to an intensely confusing Kitchen Drama, in which multiple ish-yous seems to be occurring all at once. From what I can gather, Cassandra is getting rat-arsed and is halfway through a bottle of vodka, Anika is tutting about the pigsty the house has become, and is washing dishes (at least, she's pretty sure she is, as she can't see past her buoyant and plentiful ba-zooms), and Jordan is waxing lyrical about somebody having a screeching tizz over some Milo. It's really quite a lot like things are all the time at my house, except that my house doesn't contain any jailbait. Eventually Cassandra passes out, and we go back to a less Tarantino-esque storyline.

· Joydhi visits Scrag Central to talk about bodies and nutrition, and stresses that modelling is about more than just having a pretty face. We all know it's also about cocaine dependency and being master of one's disdain, although Joydhi doesn't say so explicitly. She introduces Andreas The Personal Trainer, and I'm temporarily incapacitated as all the blood rushes to my… er… away from my brain. Andreas is like a cool, long glass of Do Me. He moves his lips and sound comes out, and then he takes off his shirt. Thank you, Andreas.

· The modules are weighed and measured, and it turns out that Alice weighs slightly more than oxygen, and Jane weighs slightly more than that. Standing together, they look like a Giacometti sculpture, or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like some sad and angry recently-sprayed Silly String. They're like, skinny n' that. Andreas takes all the scrags through their paces with a beep test, which I've never done, but I'm told is the fitness equivalent of a Brazilian wax. Jordan is openly flagrant about pretending to have chest pains just so she can sit under a tree, and most of the girls have all the stamina of a suicidal soap-bubble. Anika, no doubt rendered muscularly robust through years of lugging those gargantuan mammaries around, does astoundingly well, and Andreas commends her, all the while obviously imagining what I might look like naked. Bikram Yoga is next, and Jordan again gives a half-arsed effort, which for a girl with only half an arse to start with is really quite lazy.

· When the modules return to Scrag Central to relax, they're greeted by a Surprise Waxing Technician, which is a bit like opening up a box of chocolates and finding a rabid dog inside. The girls all get Brazilian waxes, which I've never done, but I'm told it's the hair-removal equivalent of a beep test. Screams. Tears. Curlies ripped out at the root. Good times. Good times.

· Now, without further ado, I bring you this week's Palomelodrama. The nuts and bolts are as follows. Try to keep up:
o Cassandra, being the feisty, rebellious slapper she is, has been sneaking out of the house at night to meet her boyfriend for some clandestine rogering. Cassandra tells this secret to some of the modules, but not to Paloma.
o Paloma finds out this undeniably juicy piece of gossip, and makes it all about her, essentially having one of her turns, based on the point that nobody told her someone else's secret. I know. I know. I don't write the script, mate - I just report the news.
o Paloma, from the comfort of her lower-bunk foetal position, shrieks the following in random order:
"I DIDN'T KNOW NOTHING ABOUT IT!" (mind the ironic grammar, pet).
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!!" (six double bunks and it's your room?)
and
"EVERYONE HATES ME NOW!" (yes, sweetheart. yes they do).
o Meanwhile, the other modules, and the make-up artists, and the hair stylists, and the judges and fifty invited guests wait for two hours while Paloma shakes her crankies out.
For fuck's sake.


· This week's challenge involves our girls being "living works of art", or strumpeting around in lingerie, wrapping themselves around a picture frame, and keeping still for five minutes while guests have a good perv. The undies were, to be honest, gorgeous, and despite some unfortunate poses that I'm dubbing the "Hello, Boys!", the "Frontal Art Wedgie", and the "Spraying My Territory", all the girls did well. Paloma in particular seems to really understand posing and modelling, which is something of a relief as the basic rules of human adult society still seem to elude her. The modules ask her how she thinks she went, and she squeaks "The judges said I looked amazing".

· Steph H wins the challenge, and despite claiming last week that I could barely tell the Stephs apart, I now have a system. All I have to remember is that Steph F is a pretty girl with an unchanging stare, and that Steph H is a supermodel who might even win the whole bloody thing. It's a subtle difference, but helpful. Steph gets a thousand bucks worth of fancy smalls, and a day spa pamper-fest with four other modules, being Jane, Steph F, Jordan and Sophie. I know watching the victors enjoy their prize should be interesting, but I'm momentarily distracted by a gnat in distress.

· The remaining modules are required to cook a healthy lunch for the household, which looked to me like Baked Snapper with a Vietnamese Salad, but which Danika seems to think is Feral Fish With I'm Not Eating That. Paloma doesn't participate, because she's lying in bed trying to find more molehills, and eventually surfaces to explain her depression and anxiety problems to the girls. I'll summarise: "I'm not responsible for anything I do or say. You fat moles."

· Photo-shoot time, and our scrags are dragged to meet Joydhi, who announces that tomorrow's headlines will read "Swimwear SHOCK! Meares Promotes Own Label!". The girls change into some sometimes-gorgeous-sometimes-blah Tigerlily cossies and take it in turns to arch their backs and look sexy in frigid water. Or look frigid in sexy water. Or something. To be completely honest, every single girl looks gob-smackingly gorgeous, and I'm seriously struggling to find something bitchy to say, even though Steph F had to re-shoot her mildly lack-lustre frames. Sophie, who looks more and more like a prettier version of Kate Moss every week, rocked it, as did Paloma, Jordan and Cassandra. Alice even manages to look like her bones are wrapped in actual flesh, and she don't half scrub up norce. Steph H was almost disturbingly good, and Anika worked her copious chest-melons like a champion, causing Joydhi to comment that she looks like she's been drawn by a man. A man who can draw, presumably. Jane managed to look almost girly, and despite Danika's mediocre face, her body makes me cry.

· Elimination rolls around, and both Paloma and Cassandra are sure that the other will be eliminated. They both get a stern Talking Toi from Joydhi – Paloma because of her lateness, and Cassandra because of her boozy root romps in the dead of night. Joydhi drones through the prizes, which I think include a toy telephone and a brow-lift, and a mini-challenge is announced in which the girls have to change into jeans and a t-shirt and make some interesting body-shapes. Don't be ashamed if you're thinking this sounds like a boring thing to do. It is. Well, it is until Sophie takes her shirt off and gets her norks out. This just shows that she completely understands my philosophy of life – if you're not altogether certain that you're going to stand out from the pack, a bit of nipple goes a long way. No wonder she's my new best friend. The judges wet their pants in rapturous approval – even Shiny Alex Perry, who may or may not have been able to actually see through his squinty little eyes. Maybe his real eyes are on top of his head, where his sunglasses always are.

· Photos, which are all stunning despite the odd starving rib-set and undead stare, are sorted through, the standouts being Alice and Steph H. The judges deliberate, and Charlotte is the only judge who seems to be rooting for Cassandra – ironic, as Cassandra herself could root for her country. Charlotte claims "There's something in those eyes", to which Shiny Alex Perry responds "Yes, but there's something in those thighs". I love people in the fashion industry. They have like, a thousand different ways of calling someone a fat bitch.

· Joydhi calls out name after name until only Paloma and Cassandra are left. Cassandra is told she has warmth and spirit (particularly vodka), but that she's a rule-breaker whose heart isn't in it. Paloma is told she rocks in front of a camera, but that her attitude bites. Paloma instantly adopts an "as if I'm leaving" expression, and she's spot-on, as Cassandra is given the arse. Bye, Cassandra. Try not to sneak out on your way.. er… out.

I'm getting in early and calling the final 3 as Steph H, Sophie, and Alice. If I'm wrong, I'll pretend I was just leading you in some vacuous folly. I rock at pretending stuff like that.

Next week, we have my reason for being on this Earth – the Makeover E` pisode, in which almost every module is guaranteed to hate the haircut she's given, with the appropriate accompanying hissy-fits and death threats. Shears. Tears. I can see your ears.