Spray water on a seed, and it will bloom and grow.
Spray water on a new car, and it will bead and glisten.
Spray water on a shirtless man, and there goes my afternoon.
Spray water on this bunch of wanna-be models, and you’ve got yourself a Baha Men hit.
For god’s sake, get an umbrella. It’s the Mingin’ In The Rain episode of Australia’s Next Top Model.
· A work-experience girl visits The House Of Scrag to deliver a box full of butterflies*, which makes most of the girls squeal with delight, and makes Rebecca shriek in terror, because she’s afraid of birds. I love that that’s an actual sentence. A Joydhi-Mail explains that the butterflies represent metamorphosis, although Leiden is too busy licking one of the butterflies to notice the connection. I love that that’s a sentence. A couple of the girls guess that the allusion to ‘metamorphosis’ might mean that they’ll be getting makeovers this episode. A group of patients in a hospital’s Lobotomy Recovery Ward slap their foreheads and say “You think?!”
· The modules present at Mahogany salon, where they’re met by Joydhi and JP. Joydhi is apparently there because she’s passionate about hair. She has hyooooge ishyoys with models who have bad haircuts. She says this with a straight face – difficult when an Afghan Hound has recently fainted on her head. JP explains to each girl how her coiff will morph, which in most cases is “not much”, with the following exceptions:
o Leiden’s hair is cut even shorter and bleached platinum blonde, and she emerges as a cross between Brigitte Nielsen and someone feminine.
o Belinda’s hair is cut quite short, and isn’t great. She moans that she hasn’t received her new contact lenses in the post yet, but I’m not sure what the hairdresser’s excuse is.
o Jamie, previously criticised for being a bit too ‘men’s magazine’, is given long blonde hair extensions, which is like Mark Rothko trying to make his paintings less realistic, or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like Bindi Irwin being advised to up the energy factor in her next shit video.
o Alamela (to be pronounced in monotone, like a robot, whilst making hilarious robot actions with robot arms, just to make the hilarious robot comparison last as long as possible, and to say the word ‘robot’ as often as possible, robot) is given a short, smooth bob, which is a massive improvement. For a robot.
o I’ll let you make up your own mind about Alexandra, and whether she’s a complete arsehole or not (Hint: Alexandra is a complete arsehole). She’s given a sharp, Cleopatra-esque bob (seriously, people – if a girl already looks like she’s packin’ testosterone, do we really need a blunt fringe? Soften. Soften), which she pretends to like at the salon, but then complains that ‘it’s a look I’ve already done’. Back at the house, she goes through her photo album, crapping on about how she had the same haircut a year ago, and calls the stylists ‘pigs’. She then calls her boyfriend (although on the screen it’s typed as ‘boyfriend?’) and cries about her haircut. Her boyfriend says “If I was in that show, I’d know a lot better than those fuckwits”. Alexandra. Honey. You’re a man, and your boyfriend’s gay.
· Challenge time is upon us, and it’s Scrags Ahoy! Charlotte and JP tell the girls that they’ll be dressing in fifties outfits (which are, almost without exception, adorable) and strutting down a catwalk on a navy ship in front of a hundred sailors. Charlotte then tel... what’s that? Alexander’s still complaining about his hair? Crying and holding onto JP’s shoulder? Without a hint of irony, she tells JP she needs to move on. Yes, Alexander. Yes, you do. Arsehole.
· The catwalk challenge, like a scrag just out of the salon, has a couple of highlights:
o JP squeezes in a quick plug for Holeproof undies (I know there’s a joke in there somewhere), by handing out flesh-coloured briefs and offering the complicated instruction “make sure you put them on underneath to start with”.
o Belinda is ‘packing herself’, and rightfully so, as her contact lenses still haven’t arrived, and she’s walking blind. She looks like she’s walking the plank with an inner-ear infection on a pirate ship that’s made of butter and marbles.
o Demelza is a bouncy, flouncy sex kitten, and milks every jeer, leer, and crudely-pitched tent with a flirtatious flip of her skirt. Alamela comments that “you don’t flash your knickers at sixteen years old to a bunch of sailors”. She almost has a point, that nutty robot. She must have learned that from reading New Scientist.
o Alyce’s boob nearly falls out. Leiden remarks that “I didn’t see Alyce’s boob come out today, but I’ve seen everyone’s tits in the house”.
o Alexandra drags her massive jaw (and by jaw, I mean undescended testicles) down the catwalk, sending JP into paroxysms of admiration. I didn’t even know he was gay.
o Alamela is transformed into sexy robot, partly because she’s given the skimpiest outfit to wear, and partly because she says “the sailors seemed very enthusiastic about having models on their vessel”. Somewhere in the distance, the Benny Hill theme tune plays, and I lose all interest in sex.
· There are two challenge winners – the ‘sailor’s choice’ and the ‘industry choice’. The sailors pick Demelza’s underpants (I really wish I’d chosen different words there), and the judges pick Alexander’s boyish charm. The two winners are sent on an eleven thousand dollar shopping spree in three different locations, whilst the losers are sent to clean the house (from “top to toe”, according to Joydhi Bjelke-Petersen). Now, although I know watching people who aren’t me shop and clean should be interesting, I’m momentarily distracted by psoriasis.
· Quote break! As compensation and as thanks for cleaning the house, Alexander and Demelza offer the losing girls a bag full of clothes as a present. Well, a bag half full of clo – well, not so much half-full as quar... okay, an underwhelmi... Alexander and Demelza offer the losing girls three shitty tops and a fuck-ugly skirt. Leiden, trying to control her obvious mirth, says to camera “That bag was BULLshit”.
· Hmmm... I’m feeling out of sorts. I think what I need is a photo-shoot, some water sprayed in my face, and the gayest “straight” man alive. Spookily, the modules arrive at a shoot directed by JP and Napoleon Perdis. Napoleon likes his girls moist. Because he's totally not gay. Each girl is to sit under a saturating spray of water in a bra and undies and have a close-up photograph taken, to the sound of supportive, constructive styling advice from Napoleon such as “To be honest, you’re starting to bore me” and “One of your eyes is looking lazy”. So how’d we do?
o Caris is absolutely stunning. Full stop.
o The powerpoint angles of Kristy’s face make all the water collect and run off somewhere around the middle.
o Alexandra is all severe jaw and three-day growth. Nup.
o Rebecca, having blinked her way through an admittedly decent photo shoot, is overcome with humility as she bounces back to the other girls announcing that it was “Soooooo good!”.
o Alamela’s delicate circuitry can’t handle the water, and even though she’s given two chances to get it right, is really a bit crap. Under her breath, she mutters “11011000011”.
o Leiden looks awesome. Awesome and scary. Awesome and scary and angry. She paraphrases JP’s styling advice as “I can’t look sexy for shit. It’s like, I’m gonna go and like, fuck you, but kill you after”. Like a great big bogan praying mantis, bless ya.
o Emma is very tall, and marginally less boring than last week. Not interesting enough for three sentences, though.
o Belinda’s eyes look great – to us. To her, they’re just a big blur.
o Alyce tries a bit too hard, but is otherwise quite good. Unfortunately, at this stage of the game, ‘quite good’ means ‘no jokes’. Next.
o Demelza sort of sucks at this. Napoleon tells her so, and you can tell she takes it well because she sobs in the bathroom for the rest of the day. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
· Suddenly it's Leiden's 19th birthday, and all the of-age scrags head off to the local yacht club which is deserted save for a handful of mildly grotesque gentlemen. Consequently, the girls have little to do but slam shots and pash each other. Alexander has other ideas, and chews the face of an unsuspecting nearby ugly bastard with her giant predator teeth. Run, nearby ugly bastard! She'll steal your essence! Later, she confesses the indiscretion to her boyfriend on the 'phone. He seemed marginally more upset about her haircut.
· At home, there are seventeen-year old boys, and their idea of fun is being in a gang called the Disciples, high on crack, and toting a machine gun. Meanwhile, in songs not written by Prince, at home Demelza has planned a surprise pirate-themed birthday party for Leiden which, aside from birthday cake eventually being smeared on every available human and non-human surface, is exactly as interesting as every party without beer is.
· It's elimination time, and my two favourite outfits in the hangar this week are Joydhi's remodelled skydiving jumpsuit, and Alamela's silver robot outfit. Joydhi reels off the prizes, which I think include a manicure set and two pieces of toast, and introduces the judges. This week it's Charlotte, who mimes 'face lift' in a self-aware and yet still frightening way, Shiny Alex Perry, who looks like someone put expensive sunglasses on a garlic bulb, Napoleon Perdis, who loves his wife very much, and Jackie Meiring, who shot this week's photographs. For this, she should not be proud.
· There's no two ways about it – these photographs are… I don't… I have no words. I'll have to make one up – these photographs are GRONK. Every. Single. Photograph. Blows. This is the kind of photographer you hire when you need to prove to your boss that you were too sick with the plague to come to work yesterday. Emma looks like an upset trout. Alexander looks like a constipated ginger boy. Belinda looks like she just got a parking ticket. As each shot is shown, all the girls and judges flinch in horror and grimace through the pain. Woeful.
· I'm colourblind, so I had to ask my housemate what colour Joydhi's cheap-arsed clipboard folder is. She confidently replied "fuschia". How rock and roll is my house?! Anyway, after some deliberation, Joydhi reads out names from her cheap-arsed fuschia clipboard folder until only Blind Belinda and Powerpoint Kristy are left. Joydhi gives them each some completely meaningless criticism – Belinda is a kooky, beautiful girl who can't deliver, and Kristy looks like a model, but needs more than that. What – does she have to smell like one, too? Eighteen years pass, and Kristy is given the flick. Bye, Kristy! Mind you don't try to plug your new ghd straightening iron into your face on your way out!
Next week, the girls are frightened by crocodiles, snakes and clowns, the bitch factor is turned up a notch, and everybody summons their inner slut with a spot of pole-dancing. Fears. Tears. Legs around your ears.
* Next time a guy asks me what I like in bed, I’m totally using this phrase as my answer.
For a bit of mutual blog-love, check out PetStarr's take on the whole thing over at Bland Canyon.