Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series 4 #5

There are no good euphemisms for the female genitalia. Go on. Cock your head to one side and try to think of one.

See? I couldn’t even pose that question without using the word ‘cock’. There are many good euphemisms for the male genitalia. Almost none of them make people screw up their noses and say “ew” like their female counterparts do. Cocks and pricks and dicks? Fine. Even pretty sure they’re mentioned in the Bible once or twice (or at least in some churches). But try that with an axe or an oyster, and it’s a different story.

Anyway, hoo-hoo gives a dental dam, right? Good or bad, all euphemisms for anyone’s genitals are funny (am I right, Jonathan Pease?). In that spirit, I give you the Then I Saw Her Face, Now I'm A Big Beaver episode of Australia's Next Top Model.

I’d like to say a special hello to those of you who just found me after Googling the word “COCKS”. Finished your chemistry homework, loser?

· The episode starts with a sobering Public Service Announcement by Joydhi, who notes the gigantic kerfuffle that last week’s bitchy bullying caused in the media, and then throws the number for Kids Helpline up on the screen. Apparently there was initially talk of Demelza doing penance for her bad behaviour by manning the phones at the Helpline, until management realised that the sum total of her advice was in the vein of “Get over it, you slack-jawed mole” and “My eyes are pretty. Why aren’t yours?”. Shame.

· In a surprise comparable to opening a tin of beans and finding beans inside, footage of Demelza being hammered by the judges is shown again. Demelza says to camera that the judges didn’t know the full story, that the whole thing got blown out of proportion, and that she felt targeted, just like people on reality television never do. We’re then treated to a fly-on-the-wall view of Demelza’s “apology” to Alamela, in which she doesn’t actually say sorry, but does flick her hair a bit. Alamela smiles the serene smile of the spookiest-doll-in-the-toybox and says “thank you”. If she were in a 70s B-grade horror film, something in her would have either glowed or shot little darts by now.

· The Joydhi-Mails are being dragged behind scooters now. For fuck’s sake.

· The modules gather at Naked Communications in Surry Hills and front up to JP, who makes a dramatic speech about the distinction between representing a brand and representing a produZZZZZZZZZZZZ. Each girl is set up in front of a high-tech pad of paper and a pen, and asked to:
1. Write down words they think describe themselves;
2. Write down a central thought about who they are, because this is so vastly different to the first exercise;
3. Write down the name of a label you’d like to model for, tear representative pictures out of magazines, and write yet more descriptive words; and finally:
4. Run into a room filled with clothes and accessories, pick those that most represent your chosen designer’s style, embody the attitude of your chosen designer, and then answer some questions in the ‘persona’ of that designer’s style.

· Not since the Butt-Bra has something so awesome yet so stupid existed in the one package. Allow me to touch up your highlights:
o Alamela shows that it’s not just her parents who can’t spell, as her notepad indicates that she’s both “pashomate” and “intelegant”. Quick, somebody load Encarta onto her hard-drive, or she’ll never be artikyoulent. Having chosen Chanel as her designer, she grabs pearls and a French accent, and does an excellent impersonation of a Stepford Wife that’s been whittled down to bite-size in Marseilles using a terrifying pen-knife. She’s like Children Of The Corn with French subtitles, and I kind of want my Mummy.
o Leiden chooses Vivienne Westwood, mentions the Sex Pistols, and engages in a spot of Cockney banter including the phrases “Sorry I’m a bit late, I had to go and see my brother play in his band down at Essex”, and “I’ll get an extra tattoo if my agency lets me”. Anyone who doesn’t love this big, lumbering bogan has caustic soda where there soul should be.
o Alyce, who has chosen John Galliano, adopts her Signature Giggle, and looks up from her PhD long enough to engage in the following exchange:
JP: “What do you do for fun?”
Alyce: “[giggle] Drink [giggle]”.
JP: “What do you drink?”
Alyce: “[giggle] Beer? [questioning giggle]”
JP: “Wouldn’t he drink hard stuff?”
Alyce: “[giggle] What’s hard stuff?[giggle]”
Me: “Pass me my gun. No – the big one”.
o Demelza describes herself as loving, generous and fun. The world chokes on its collective incredulous bile.
o Caris chooses Alexander McQueen, and arrives in the room dressed as a... a Disco Chicken. JP, obviously trying to trip her up with difficult questions, poses the almost impossible “Where are you from?”. Caris cries because somebody used vowels or something.

· Because modelling is so glamorous and wacky, the scrags meet a female Olympic fencer and a homeless guy in a carpark. Only the fencer turns out to be Charlotte Dawson in peculiar boots. And the homeless guy turns out to be photographer Marvin Joseph in a peculiar knitted bobble-hat. Unfortunately, the carpark is still a carpark, and the scrags will be draping themselves over a Ford Fiesta. Draping. Ford Fiesta. It's a bit like hanging a Cezanne in the bathroom or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like dropping a shot of Malibu into your schooey of Reschs. Each girl will be styled according to their designers-of-choice from the previous day, and in three groups of three, compete to accomplish a cohesive photograph.
o Jamie-dressed-as-angel is grouped with Alamela-dressed-as-bored-housewife and Alyce-dressed-as-crazy-old-aunt-who-smells-like-cat’s-wee. Alamela notes in perfect surround-sound monotone that she “kind of sprawled on the bonnet. That was a bit sexy. Ah-ha-ha-ha”. Charlotte comments that her boobs are hanging out. Oh, puh-lease. I have more boobs trapped in the tread of my tyres than that girl does on her body.
o Leiden blows everyone away as sex-punk, grouped with Demelza-as-fruitbat and Alexandra-as-man-as-dominatrix.
o Samantha, Rebecca and Caris are all dressed as meh. Charlotte feigns sleep, only rousing herself long enough to summon her inner Seuss by describing them as “Three bored broads, lyin’ on a ford”.

· Bobble-hat announces that the winning group is Leiden’s, due to her eight different kinds of awesomeness. Their prize is a trip to Brisbane (second prize is TWO trips to Brisbane), a limo ride to Myer, a job walking in a runway show for Holeproof, and dinner at an upmarket restaurant. The girls do well in the catwalk show, with Alexandra almost nudging the outer suburbs of pretty due to a ribbon around her neck concealing her robust Adam’s apple, and then it’s off to dinner. Now, I know footage of three girls eating food and sipping non-alcoholic drinks should be interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by krill.

· Back at the house, some care packages arrive accompanied by predictable tears of joy. Samantha, already accused of complaining too much about everything, is given a bit of schtick for moaning that all she got in her care package was a couple of stuffed toys from her mum instead of letters and pictures from her friends and boyfriend. I’m kind of on Sam’s side here. Mum, if you’re reading, please send porn and gin.

· The next day, a Joydhi-Mail summons the girls to NIDA where JP is waiting for them along with advertising-dude-who-lined-up-twice-for-teeth Monty Noble. It’s announced that today’s photo shoot will be a live-action commercial for U feminine hygiene products. That’s tampons and pads, gentlemen. We’ll pause while you make those pathetic uncomfortable squirmy noises you always make. Sheesh. It’s not like us girls get the heebies whenever we see a picture of a scrot... okay, bad example. A mystery prop is promised, and the modules settle into hair and make-up, unaware of the litany of bad puns they’re about to be subjected to.

· The prop is a big stuffed beaver. Okay? It’s a big, stuffed beaver. You and I get the pun. JP certainly gets the pun, because he can’t get enough of it, with comments like “Get familiar with the beaver”, “You have to work the beaver on set today”, “Take care – you don’t want to break the beaver”, and the incomparable “Pick up your beaver and let’s do it”. The modules do not get the pun. They think the beaver is just a cute mascot for the tampon company. When they finally twig, (geddit? Beaver? Twig? Shut up) Alyce refers to it as a “women’s compartment”. I weep for the future.

· The modules have to learn some hilarious lines that.. wait... this is awesome... MAKE PUNS ON THE WORD ‘BEAVER’! I’m not kidding! I know! They also have to make slut-eyes at a male model called Byron, hang onto their beaver (Pffft!) and hold up a box of tampons, because modelling is difficult and everybody gets to wear Gaultier and drink champagne all the time. Let’s summarise:
o Samantha kicks arse, although not without fading in and out of an American accent.
o Leiden points to parts of her body as she mentions them. Commercial for eye-drops: Reasonable. Commercial for tampons: No. She kind of sucks at this. I kind of forgive her.
o Alyce has no trouble hanging onto her beaver, but struggles with her box. Seriously, I’ve got tons of these.
o Jamie is really good. Unfortunately, this makes her really boring.
o Alamela says she thinks she projected someone who is sassy, sexy and confident. I say she projected someone who is spooky, dead behind the eyes, and ninety percent metallic alloy. She utters the phrase “But what about... down there”, and I give up hope of ever having sex again.
o Alexandra is awkward, as any man selling tampons would be. After thirteen takes, she says to camera “Maybe I’d be better off in one of those ads where it’s just music, and I just move my beautiful body around”. Welcome back, arsehole.
o Caris is good. Please. The fucking braces. Don’t make me ask again.
o Bec is really targeting the no-frills market by drawling “You got it garn on up here... but whadda bart down there?”. I think the tampons she’s selling might be menthol.
o Demelza has never been kissed before. I guess someone who won’t let shoes worth less than two hundred dollars anywhere near her feet is hardly going to accept a spotty pubescent shoolboy’s tongue in her mouth, is she? JP, in an almost endearing (but I still remember those sunglasses, mate) show of evil, decides to have a bit of fun and tells Demelza she has to kiss Byron as part of the commercial. She fumbles her lines, gets flustered, blushes and says “I don’t want a random male model to be the first person I kiss!”. Er... FUSSY MUCH? Who would you prefer? Jesus? That’s some heaps bulk stubble rash, right there.

· The inevitable Elimination Joydhi-Mail arrives, and the scrags hit the warehouse to hear their fate. The production budget appears to have doubled, as Joydhi reads this week from an ORANGE clipboard folder. She trundles through the prizes, which I think this year include a packet of Juicy Fruit and a training bra, and then introduces the judges. Charlotte (in diplomatic black and white), Peter Morissey (who doesn’t look anything like a thumb, honest), JP (who should really have his own comment in brackets, too) and Shiny Alex Perry (who looks like a closely-shaved Persian cat dipped in wax) are all here. Alamela is all in green. Samantha has a high-waisted skirt. Alexandra has decided that ‘tousled gypsy’ is a good look, despite thousands of educational precedents. And Caris is wearing red eyeshadow. Lots of it. RED. EYESHADOW. You want red eyes, honey? Have a little cry.

· Each girl’s commercial is screened, with Shiny Alex and Charlotte again competing for Comment-Of-The-Month, including:
“I don’t see you as a tampon commercial girl” (you bastard!)
“You look like a prom queen with a knife behind your back”
“You are queen of the beavers”
and
“We’ve seen more beaver this week than Peter Morrissey’s likely to have seen in a lifetime”. Leave it. Just leave it.

· The judges deliberate, and Joydhi starts in with the name-calling, until only Alamela the Automaton and Alyce the Vampire Wingnut are left. Alamela is told that she has poise and elegance, but not enough spontanaiety. Alamela makes a quiet, robotic plan to be more spontaneous in future – probably next Tuesday and again the following Friday. Alyce is told that she’s engaging, but annoying. She giggles. It’s not engaging. A few seconds pass, and Alamela is sent back to the factory for a service. Bye, Alamela! Mind you don’t 1101110101011101 on your way out! After packing, she writes “be nice to the spiders” on the wall of the house before leaving. Way to keep the freaky going until the last second, dude.

Next week, someone is given a roasting for having collagen injections, there’s a shock sabotage plot, and the scrags get photographed in their nighties. Karma. Drama. Pyjamas.

You probably want some more, right? Head on over to Bland Canyon where PetStarr’s serving up the funny, old skool. No. I don't know what I mean, either.