Tuesday, May 26, 2009
- Cassi Van Den Dungen Doggy Dogg Diggetty is upset that Mikarla’s gone, and that she’s still here, because she keeps her understanding of the concept of ‘competition’ in the same drawer as her understanding of the concepts of ‘dental symmetry’ and ‘appropriate shower times’. She keeps saying she wants to go home, and the other girls beg her to stay whilst packing her bags and puckering up to kiss her arse goodbye.
- I’ll just take a break at this point and start a bit of a multiple choice quiz:
Question 1: When you come downstairs in the morning to hear farm noises and find your coffee table strewn with plastic animals that have faces sticky-taped onto them, you:
a) Went to bed after eating cheese and reading George Orwell, and are clearly dreaming;
b) Failed to take advice at Woodstock, and did in fact try the brown acid;
c) Have a four-year-old at home who has access to a toybox, scissors, and the Dadaist manifesto; or
d) Know it’s time for a Sarah Mail, but have no money left in the production budget, and no-one on staff who isn’t drunk.
- Yes. It’s true. Plastic animals, with pictures of the modules’ faces cut out and stuck on. Snouts become pouts. Flanks become skanks. And I become a step closer to getting this magnificent show tattooed on my forehead. Madison is a cow, Laura is a dog, and this thing just writes itself. The Sarah Mail talks about changing, adjusting, adapting, and getting ready for a photo-shoot, which gives rise to:
· THE BEST MOTHER-FREAKING THING I HAVE EVER WATCHED IN MY LIFE. I need to be quite, quite clear that I was awake and drug-free during this scene, and didn’t make it up. You need to know that. The modules arrive at a farm, where they’re met by Saint Sarah, stylist Philip Boon and photographer Justin Spittle, whose name I really should make fun of when I get a chance. Philip tells the girls that today’s photo shoot will be “artistic” and “very, very Italian Vogue”. Saint Sarah explains that by “Italian Vogue”, Philip really means “Italian Vogue”. Thanks, Saint Sarah. And by “thanks”, I mean “der”. Philip goes on to tell the girls that they’ll be dressed in animal costumes and bizarre make-up, and will have to hold baby animals. Suze Demarchi adds “But I wouldn’t ever want to rush you. Because, like, I don’t want to lose you”. Thanks, Suze. And by “thanks”, I mean “…what?”.
· Time for another quiz question:
Question 2: When a bunch of scrags is dressed in gigantic furry animal costumes with ridiculous painted faces, and some of them are holding onto piglets that squirm and squeal like they’ve just hit the frypan, this is:
a) Boring. I’m switching over to watch Reba instead;
b) Postmodern. Because of the juxtaposition of imagery and the multiple discourses being explored, obviously;
c) Tantalising. I’m enchanted by the way the light bounces off the piglet’s head; or
d) Funniest. Shit. Ever.
- Boon and Spittle are bitches. It’s glorious. Barbed gems that drip like - well, like spittle – from their mouths include:
To the make-up artist: “Dark under the eyes. I want them to look like they’ve got bags”
To Franky, who asks what animal she will be: “A bird. A very ugly bird”
To Lola, who is, naturally, putting on some gorilla feet: “God, what are those feet? Trans-gendered feet” (to which Lola mouths the response, “Far king can’t”, which makes me assume she’s cross because he’s interrupted her during a game of chess).
To Cassie Van Den Dungen Doggy Dogg Diggetty: “This shot’s going to look like shit, and it’s going to be your fault”
Again, to Cassi: “So we have to do it all again now, ‘cause Cassi’s got a fly in her eye”. Not for the first time, right, Cassi?
And then the girls have to change into flannies, and the animals are screeching and writhing, and Franky’s almost attacked by a dog, and they’re all saying fuck and trying to look glamorous and looking bruised and holding chickens and scowling and freaking out… and... and I think I just had an aneurism. Finally, Saint Sarah reappears and tells the scrags that it’s all just a wind-up, and not a real photo-shoot, and that they were testing their professionalism under pressure. PSYCH! Saint Sarah has a little laugh and says sorry. And by “sorry”, she means “Italian Vogue”.
- After scraping off a layer of face-paint, chicken shit and humiliation, the girls are whisked off to Astral bar, where they’re met by George Pease, who has obviously come straight from a high school production of Grease, and Nicola Cerrone, who is both a high-end jeweller and a man who can’t put his eyebrows down. George Pease explains that today’s challenge involves modelling diamond jewellery in front of clients whilst draping themselves over ice sculptures, or Frozen Posin’, if you will. Thank you. I’m here all week. In fact, George even tells the girls to “find an elegant pose, and then freeze”, because he’s Machiavellian in his mastery of mayhem and mirth. How do the scrags do? I’m so glad you asked:
~ Clare says she’s given a really hard sculpture to work with. It’s ice, sweetie. Hardness is kind of what differentiates it from water or steam. Take THAT, science!
~ Madison, truly embodying today’s theme of chic sophistication, compares her jewellery to her mother’s wedding ring, saying that “that’s just one diamond, and this is like… shitloads”.
~ Tahnee says that it’s so cold that it’s like, burning her skin. Take that science AGAIN!
~ Franky squats and shakes whilst wearing diamonds. No.
~ Adele sits on a block of ice, because a diamond expo is nothing without a gigantic wet patch on one’s arse. Elegant and stuff.
~ Lola, unable to bear the weight of her own lower mandible, rests her head on the ice, and accidentally looks completely stunning. When she raises her head, she leaves an imprint of her skull and ear in the ice. Eight polar bears gambol and frolic in the resulting puddles.
~ Lola wins the challenge, and takes home a two thousand dollar white gold and diamond necklace as her prize. Cassi says that she’s not that jealous, because she’s more a gold person than a silver person. Still, she fashions a shank out of a swizzle stick and jabs Lola in the ribs, just to be sure.
- The modules return to the house and find their bags packed and a Sarah Mail sitting in a suitcase full of dirt, sending the girls into an unprecedented frenzy of excitement. Let me just paint that picture again: Suitcase + Full of dirt = Excitement. This is like being thrilled that Mark Rothko is going to paint your wedding portrait or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like jumping up and down and clapping your hands because you just got your period. Turns out they’re going to South Australia, a state well known in fashion circles for being… um… not Sydney or Melbourne. Hi. I’m in Delaware.
- Cassi Van Den Dungen Doggy Dogg Diggetty calls her mother to complain about wanting to go home, and then whines that her mother “yelled and screamed at me, and didn’t have any support for me for like, the millionth time in my whole life”. What her mother actually does is, in a calm, patient voice, tells Cassi that quitting now would be foolish. Oh, you BITCH. Where do you get off, giving rational, sincere advice to your daughter? Someone call DOCS. Cassi sends her an envelope full of anthrax and burnt roses.
- The modules go to the airport. They get on a plane. They get in a mini-bus for six hours. They arrive at the Prairie Hotel in Parachilna, which is just north-west of The Middle Of Fucking Nowhere. They’re shown to their bunkhouse. Now, I know that watching a bunch of bedraggled teenagers travel for an entire day to a building in a desert should be interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by toenail clippings. The girls each find a pair of undies and a Sarah Mail announcing a photo shoot on their pillows, and Cassi predicts that they’re going to be taking part in an underwear shoot. Nostradamus nods, smiles and scribbles a note in his jotter. To continue the high-level cerebral think-tank theme of the afternoon, some of the girls put their undies on their heads. Intellectuous!
- Quiz time!
Question 3: In Parachilna, there are:
a) Really quite a few flies;
b) Like, heaps and heaps of flies;
c) More flies than you’d expect to find swarming around a dog turd in the smelliest part of hell; or
d) All of the abo-CCCHHH-ptoooey! Sorry. Fly in my mouth.
The only thing that makes Madison look crazier than when she’s just sitting still is when she’s flailing wildly at flies. Clare chokes on a fly, and in a surprise comparable to taking off your jeans and discovering that you’re not wearing jeans anymore, she spits rather than swallows. Tahnee swallows a fly and her IQ goes up ten points. There’s lots of flies. You got that, right?
· At What The Hell O’Clock the next morning, the scrags arrive at the admittedly breathtaking shoot set, which is all red sand, gnarled trees and a rusty truck. George Pease, in blue sunglasses he fashioned from Lego, greets them and introduces them to photographer Russell James, who would be quite hot if he didn’t have a teenage boy’s boardshorts and a teenage girl’s hair. The girls discover that they’ll be posing with a male model (whose real name is ‘Reuben’, but who I’m calling ‘Good Morning Darling And What Would You Like For Breakfast’), and that they have to evoke the emotions they would feel if they were stranded in the desert. In their underwear. Awesome. It’s hot. It’s Summery. Here’s a summary:
o Clare (orange skirt, black lacy camisole, hoop earrings roughly the size of the equator) drapes herself over a tree and then the truck, and looks amazing. Who knew that the ethereal princess could pull off so much versatility and be that hot? Annoying.
o Laura (transparent white dress and black waistcoat, just like everyone is wearing in the desert these days) has difficulty walking in the sand in heels, and Russell talks about problems with her ‘voluptuous angles’. This is the nicest way anyone can ever tell someone else that they’re fat.
o Adele (black bra, satin skirt) stands on a fuel drum and cosies up to Reuben, and once again pulls some sexy out from somewhere in the depths of her restrained ranga repertoire.
o Madison (white bra, yellow wrap, Chucky face) has a headache, presumably because she’s been carrying eighteen kilos of spinifex around on her head for the last seventeen years. She frowns, snarls and swats at flies, causing George Pease to make a ‘spit or swallow’ joke, making me feel temporarily guilty for stealing his thunder five paragraphs ago. Sorry, George. Your hat makes you look like a real cowboy. Honest. Reuben buries his face in Madison’s crotch. Really the only highlight.
o Lola (black frock, white shirty thing), after burning her face on some ice, decides to burn her arse on some sand, with some reasonably good results. She then sets up a shot where she walks away from Reuben, because she’s either insane or she has no interest in perfectly good penises. If anyone has anything to say about the Ruby Rose rumours, now would be a good time.
o Franky (black teddy, accessories made from a school geometry set) sits on the bonnet of the truck and poses as if she’s farting. Amazingly, it looks awesome. Prrrrt!
o Tahnee (white undies, black bustiere) is dope on a rope. I know that doesn’t mean much, but boy does it rhyme! Basically, she holds a rope and sits in the truck, and doesn’t overly impress Russell or George Pease. She impresses me, though, because I kind of want to invite her to my house for ice cream and reading lessons.
o Cassi (white cami, black undies), is asked to make an angry face, and finds it easy to make an angry face if she thinks about something that makes her angry. Oxygen, for example. She does what she always does, and kicks arse. She also drapes herself all over my new imaginary lover. Selfish.
· A Sarah Mail announcing an impending elimination arrives nestled in the sweaty bosom of an outback cowboy. Yes, that’s a real sentence.
· The modules mosey in to the Elimination Outhouse, where they’re met by Saint Sarah, who only just makes it in time after a long afternoon door-knocking for the Constitutional United Nations Trust, who should never use their acronym on official documents. Lola, again misunderstanding the fancy dress theme, is dressed as an Indian Squaw, who I’m naming Pokadontist. Judges are introduced, including Charlotte “It’s Not Another Farm Animal, I’m Just Trying A Fringe” Dawson, Shiny Alex Perry, dressed today as a medical intern in the Squinty Ward of the Hospital For The Perpetually Luminous, George Pease, who is wearing a scarf to protect himself from the forty-two degree chill, and Russell James, whose shorts are now mercifully hidden from view. Saint Sarah rushes through the prizes, which I think this year include a year’s supply of dental floss and a piece of toast, and photos are scrutinised with scrutinous scrutiny. Bits and pieces:
o Sarah tells Lola she should be an actress, but regrettably they’ve already made Jaws.
o Shiny Alex calls Clare “expensive”. The following people die of shock: Nobody.
o Charlotte affectionately tells Franky that she has a ‘smacked arse face’. I make a mental note to buy Charlotte a present. She then says “Hubba Bubba Mama”, and I make a mental note to ensure the present isn’t more crack.
o Shiny Alex says that Laura is like “heavy cheesecake”. This is a considerably less nice way a person can tell someone else that they’re fat.
o Shiny Alex calls Adele “expensive sex”. The following people immediately think of high-class prostitutes: Everybody.
o Charlotte comments that “this shoot gave me the Parachilnas”, then closes her Bumper Book Of South Australian Regional Area Puns with a satisfied thud.
o When discussing Madison, Shiny Alex repeats “Kill me now” over and over again. You’re talking about Chucky, mate. Be careful. Charlotte volunteers anyway.
o Shiny Alex fans himself with a Muppet on a stick. That is all.
- Saint Sarah calls out names one by one until only Chucky Madison and Cheesecake Laura remain. Madison is told she has no versatility or focus, and Laura learns that she has body issues, and that she’s not the entire package. A whole shearing season passes, and Madison is sent down the avenue. Bye, Maddy! Make sure you don’t catch your hair on any tree branches or low-flying aircraft on the way out!
Next week, the girls are sent straight to fashion purgatory in a styling challenge, hit the waves on a big boat, and model some extremely fancy rags indeed. Hell. Swell. Chanel.
You’re so desperate to let everyone know what you think about this series, that you can’t wait to click on over to the Impulse facebook page to tap your fury and joy into the Discussions bit. I’m right, aren’t I. You’re welcome.
Also, as usual, Petstarr is upping the hilarity factor over at Bland Canyon. Change your undies. You’ll need to.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Walking? Not hard. My niece can do it, and she still thinks toes are hilarious and regularly soils herself. As long as you can master the basic left, right, repeat format and remember to stop at walls, you’re pretty much there. It’s certainly not something you could make an entire episode of a television show abou… oh. Oh, I see.
I guess… well, I guess I should… welcome, everyone. Welcome to the ‘These Scrags Were Made For Walking (And That’s Just What They’ll Do)’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Your shoelace is undone.
· In a segment almost as predictable as some arsehole saying “no thanks, I’m sweet enough” when you offer them sugar, the scrags talk to camera after Georgie’s elimination. I’ll save time and energy by just providing a template below, where you simply circle the relevant comment as it arises – feel free to use the same form for all episodes of all elimination-style reality shows throughout the universe, and occasionally in real life, as long as the relevant situation is suitably farcical and sad:
I thought that Georgie / Sharif / the T-1000 had what it takes to win, so I was surprised when they were eliminated / voted out / terminated. There are other people I think should’ve gone instead – Mikarla / Cassi / Farmer Dan is still smoking / eating crap / not washing their hands after calving. Everyone’s picking up their game / raising the bar / threatening Kyle Sandilands. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to win.
· Alamela from Series 4 walks slowly up to the Module Mansi… waaaaaiiiit. I thought she was busy modelling in Thailand! What’s that? It’s a robot? A robot. Why would there be a robot delivering a Sarah Mail to the house? Hmmm? Sorry? Because the producers are freebasing and it’s like they threw in some ridiculous, hoopy shit just for my benefit and ultimate joy? And I want to run away to the Maldives with this show and rub sunscreen on its back? And the robot has boobs and high heels, and is only a foot tall but still manages to reach the doorbell? Why yes, Whitney. I will have some more crack, thanks for asking.
· The Sarah Mail hints that this week will be all about catwalk, so Mikarla asks Cassi for some coaching. This is like asking HR Geiger to paint you a picture of a widdle puppy dog or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like getting the Cronulla Sharks to chaperone your slumber party. Not. A good. Idea.
· The modules walk through Kings Cross, marvel at the bone structure and svelte silhouettes of a huddle of junkies, and enter a club called Kit & Kaboodle. They’re met by Saint Sarah and Mink Sadowsky, who you may remember from such shows as Scariest Bitch Ever and Scariest Bitch Ever II: Electric Boogaloo. Mikarla articulates her trepidation with the eloquent “Holy shit on fire”, Clare says “Crap, crap, crap, crap, shit, crap”, and I wonder how I can steal Mink’s hot shoes without her biting or stabbing me. Saint Sarah says that they’re here to learn a fundamental skill: walking. I want a job where I can put ‘walking’ on my resume under ‘skills’. It’d take the emphasis off inserting formulae into spreadsheets and trying to figure out how to print double-sided documents. My life is awesome.
· For those of you playing at home, the Modules Who Say They Are Shitting Or Crapping Themselves Count is now at: 7.
· Each girl walks for Mink and Saint Sarah, first in their street clothes, then in some ‘difficult’ outfits. Amazingly, some of this is interesting:
o Mink tells Cassi Van Den Dungen Vin Diesel Von Dutch that she walks like she’s riding a horse. Luckily, Cassi arrives dressed for a day on the farm.
o Clare's ‘difficult’ outfit gives her a severe case of gaping side-boob. It’s okay, though – she’ll make up the points in the talent and swimwear section of the pageant.
o Lola, dressed again as a pirate, walks the plank, and Mink tells her she walks like a man. That’s nothing – you should see her chew.
o I don’t know how Madison even gets to the shops without chafing. She says her ‘difficult’ outfit makes her feel like a mermaid or a seal, but I think she looks like she’s late for a seminar on hemorrhoids in the mid 19th century.
o Adele’s second outfit is a swimming costume and an OH MY GOD YOU’RE A DESK-CLERK FROM THE FUTURE.
o Saint Sarah doesn’t seem to like Mikarla much, and picks on her for not taking things seriously and for pulling up her skirt instead of wearing it as the designer intended. I told you not to scowl last week when Sarah told you your haircut was going to be the same as hers, Mikarla. But you didn’t listen. Or eat, apparently. You did, however, borrow your catwalk outfit from the Bikers Who Love Joan Collins And Being Savaged By Bears collection. So: win.
· For the second Sarah Mail of the episode, the scrags have to follow some footprint-shaped pieces of paper outside the club, and read their message from a road-sign. By my calculations, the next Sarah Mail will be delivered by a purple midget riding a goat. I’m really looking forward to that.
· At Ridiculous O’Clock the next morning, the scrags are dragged to Sydney Markets, long believed to be the epicentre of Sydney fashion and a place where there’s heaps of forklift trucks and that. Five hundred burly fruit-market blokes stop, stare and no doubt gesticulate towards their penises, because everybody knows that’s hilarious and a sure indicator of good intentions and a pure heart. The girls are met by Charlotte Dawson and George Pease, who have to shout to be heard over the noise of trucks, trolleys and farting, and we learn that sometimes models have to perform on a runway in some uncomfortable and un-glamorous situations. On George Pease’s cue, the catwalk arrives, and it’s a Mack truck that has borrowed its windscreen from Pease’s sunglasses collection. Cassi had better be careful up there. She might stumble and say ‘truck’.
· The modules are dressed in... sort of short wigs and kind of revealing dresses and heavy makeup and - look, they’re pretty much dressed like discount whores, mkay? Of course, the male staff at the markets hate the outfits, and they make polite yet firm complaints about the amount of skin on show, and one or two of them send off emails to Foxtel from their Blackberries to raise concerns about the objectification of women and to quote a bit of Naomi Wolf. Also, they hoot and whistle and dry-root the air. The scrags strut the truck one by one, ignoring the boofheads taking up-skirt photos on their phones as they go past. To market, to market:
o Somebody immediately send me Franky’s dress. I’ve never wanted anything yellow quite so badly before.
o Charlotte describes Lola as a grape-trampling elephant, and George Pease says she looks like she should be moving the fruit around, not walking the runway. I can’t really see who they’re talking about, because there’s a big man in purple drag in the way.
o Madison awkwards down the runway in a bin liner, and George Pease comments that even the fruit market workers can tell she’s not a good walker. Honey, even Helen Keller knows Madison can’t walk. And she’s like, deaf, blind, mute and dead. No wonder she never texts me anymore.
o Mikarla falls off the back of a truck. No, because that’s already a saying, see, but it’s also true. Because she falls. Off a truck. At the back. Shut up.
o Tahnee wins the catwalk challenge, and her prize is $10,000 to spend at The Corner Shop. She needs to pick someone to share her prize, and then decide how much of the money she’ll give them. Tahnee has to make decisions and do maths. The harpsichord-playing monkey in her head bashes out a brisk polka and then has a stroke.
· Charlotte Dawson greets the girls at the Corner Shop with “Morning, Fruits!”, presumably referencing yesterday’s jaunt to the markets, but causing several shop assistants in the Strand Arcade to look up, smile and chirp “Morning!”. Tahnee and Adele shop their way through ten grand under Dawson’s tutelage, which primarily consists of her letting them know the right time to bitch-slap each other, pointing out everything in the shop she owns already, and going cross-eyed whenever Tahnee says anything stupid. So, y’know – staying cross-eyed most of the time. Now, I know that watching girls trying on eight thousand identical outfits should be interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by turquoise.
· Cassi Van Den Dungen Vin Diesel Von Dutch is rudely awoken one morning at the crack of noon by the sound of gently trickling water, so she storms into the bathroom where Clare is showering, yanks the water off and calls her a selfish bitch. Then she turns to the window where a nightingale has been chortling a morning ditty from a dewy branch, squirts a water-pistol full of kerosene at it and sets it on fire. An all-in argument ensues, and it pretty much runs according to the rules contained in chapter four of the Guide To Etiquette For Violent Bogans: Post-Shower Confrontations:
1. Never confront the prissy bitch when you are underdressed. Ensure your tracksuit pants are fastened securely around your lower arse, and your Snoop Dogg hoodie has its hood fixed in the ‘engaged’ position.
2. If the uppity scrubbers just don’t get it, let them know that if their behaviour is repeated, you will rip them out of the shower by their hair.
3. If the princess starts crying and her flunkies all gather around to give her hugs and support, stand firm. You can apologise later, when everyone’s calmed down. Maybe after a cig and a bourbon or something. Moles.
· A Sarah Mail in the loungeroom (Granada, you owe me a midget and a goat. Oh, and three months of my life every year for the past half-decade) announces an impending photo-shoot, and the girls rock up to some shambly, graffiti-riddled derelict buildings. Mikarla comments that it looks like somewhere Cassi would live, and I once again marvel at where someone with the silhouette of an unfurled paperclip could possibly keep all that bitch. George Pease, obviously having come straight from moonlighting as a waiter on the Love Boat, introduces Monty Noble (representing Kotex,The Brand Shop, and Teeth In All Directions Inc), and photographer Kane Skennar (representing Shy Ginger Cowboy Pty Ltd). The modules are asked to show confidence, sass, and cheek as they walk along in big frocks and bigger wigs, trying to make the right face at just the right time. This modelling shit is hard. You need a summary. You need it real. Bad.
o Franky, who seems destined to wear yellow for the rest of her life, says that with her long wig, she feels like Beyonce in drag, which is pretty much how Beyonce feels every day. Franky kills it, and quietly sings “If I Were A Boy (This Haircut Would Look Better)” to herself.
o Mikarla, clearly promoting super-slim tampons, rocks her long wig and hot frock but not much else. George Pease says she’s a dead fish, and the board of directors of Words That Shouldn’t Be Used When Discussing Feminine Hygiene screw up their noses and say “ew”.
o Eloise is just shut UP with those legs.
o Tahnee, according to a poll I just conducted in my head, is the cutest and prettiest person in the whole world. Despite this, she’s a bit hesitant during her shoot, and George Pease is concerned. “Are you unsure?” he asks, and Tahnee answers “I don’t know”. According to a discussion I just had with my brain, this is the best thing anyone has ever said ever.
o Clare is good at everything. It’s extremely irritating.
o Adele and Laura turn up and do stuff. Probably.
o The photographer repeatedly asks Lola to put her chin down. He should’ve asked me - I do it every week.
o Cassi Van Den Dungen Vin Diesel Von Dutch does pretty well, but Pease tells her that sometimes her face is all wrong. Cassi busts a cap in his impudent ass and dances on his bloody grave. She apologises later.
o Madison has glimmering moments of brilliance in between long spells of psycho crazy Chucky face. Chick freaks me out.
· Back at the Module Mansion, Eloise and Tahnee play a trick on Mikarla by filling up a McDonalds bag with cigarette butts and leaving it on her bed, presumably referencing the fact that she eats junk food and smokes. Mikarla gets upset because she was expecting a McCain pizza, and tells Tahnee that she’s fat and needs to lose weight, while Cassi empties the butts into Eloise’s bunk. William Shakespeare marvels at the complexity of the plot and steals a French fry.
· A Sarah Mail arrives embedded in the wings of a talking albatross, and it yanks the scrags quickly into the Elimination-O-Drome. Saint Sarah is there to meet them, only just making it in time after an intensive lamington drive to raise money for the Friends Of Fast Food Workers With Tourette’s Syndrome, whose slogan is “Would You Like Some BUM! CRAP! ARSE! With That?”. She blahs through the prizes, which I think this year include a pair of toenail clippers and a kitten, and introduces the judges – Charlotte Dawson (who is elegantly strangled today by some black chiffon), Shiny Alex Perry (dressed today in the representative tartan of the McSquinterson clan), photographer Kane Skennar (who seems marginally more interesting than lint) and Joh-Tox Bailey.
· Photos are scanned, girls are interviewed, and the judges deliberate, with a mild sprinkling of gold:
o Tahnee says she doesn’t want to go home, and that she wants to “be here until I’m a grandma”. Maybe finish being a foetus first, sweetheart. PS: YOU ARE SO FREAKING CUTE!
o Cassi admits that she walks better when she’s not thinking. She also finds that her punching, biting, kicking, screaming and nunchuck skills are greatly enhanced.
o Not one to let praise go un-buffered, Charlotte follows up accolades for Madison’s photo with “’Cause you were shithouse on the catwalk”, shortly before returning to her well-thumbed copy of Understatement Quarterly.
o Saint Sarah totally has it in for Mikarla. That’s okay, though – Mikarla can still work in the media if she pisses off members of the Murdoch family. They hire skinny bitches in newsagents, don’t they?
o Charlotte mentions that somebody gives her ‘the Hitchcock chills”, but we don’t find out who it is. I’d bet my pancreas it’s Madison. When someone has hair made of woven twigs and pieces of straw, The Birds are never far away.
· Names are called out one by one, until only Eloise/Giselle, Mikarla Piece Of Knotted String and Cassi Doggy Dogg remain. Oh my mother-freaking god, it’s a double elimination! Cassi is told that she’s improving but angry, Mikarla learns that she’s sullen and unprofessional, and Eloise is accused of being expressionless and disappointing. Obligatory hands are held up to mouths, three weeks pass, and Mikarla and Eloise are shunted. Bye, Eloise and Mikarla! Mind you don’t represent two fundamentally different body types on your way out!
Next week, there are some decidedly unhappy piglets, some body-parts sticking to ice cubes, and some second thoughts about staying in the competition. Squealing. Congealing. You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.
I need a bit of help. I’m trying to get some module-related discussions started over on the Impulse Facebook Page, but, much as I love the sound of my own voice (and I really, really do), I hate it when it echoes back at me from the other side of a gaping void. I also hate the sound of it on tape, but that’s not really relevant right now. So go on. Clicky clicky. Talky talky. Atta girl/boy. Ta.
And you KNOW I’m also sending you to Bland Canyon for yuks and tequila. The tequila is negotiable. The yuks are mandatory.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
When I get into a lift (that’s elevator to you if you’re American, or magical up-and-down room if you’re Tahnee), the first thing I do is punch in the number of the floor I’d like to visit. So does Cassi Van Den Dungen Haagen Dazs Hoogenband, although she does it a smidge more literally. The score is now Cassi: 1 Otis: 0. Welcome, boxing fans, to the ‘All In All She’s Just A Scrag Who’s Punching The Wall’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Wear a cup. Seriously.
- After Leah’s elimination, Cassi Van Den Dungen Haagen Dazs Hoogenband tells the camera that she reckons the other modules see her as a threat. They have no idea how right they are.
- At the Module Mansion, a Sarah Mail reading ‘Let me cut to the chase – try these on for size’ arrives in a budget-splintering blue cardboard box filled with wigs. The girls twig that this might mean it’s makeover week, and Franky is convinced she’s getting a weave (that’s hair extensions to you if you’re Australian, or I Was Crazy Yesterday But Now I’m Okay if you’re Britney Spears). Franky has no idea how wrong she is.
- The scrags pile into a bus that spews them out at a hair salon, where they’re met by Saint Sarah, George Pease and Joh-Tox Bailey, who confirm the makeover rumour to be true. I involuntarily liberate a little bit of wee, because I LOVE a makeover episode, and I’ve been excited for over a fortnight about seeing Madison’s matted, brittle, where-used-dental-floss-goes-to-die mop being tamed into something more hospitable. No such luck…
~Saint Sarah, who herself has a haircut that is short at the back with longer layers at the front, tells Mikarla that she’ll be getting a haircut that is short at the back with longer layers at the front. Mikarla is horrified, and complains elegantly with “I’m about to get a fuckin’ Victoria Beckham haircut”. Mind you don’t singe your remaining hair while you burn that bridge, sweetheart. The result is a resounding ‘meh’.
~Adele, who already has red hair, is given redder hair. This is wacky on an international scale.
~Tahnee is given hair extensions and highlights in a cunningly concocted plan to make her look exactly the same.
~Saint Sarah asks Laura “What would you say if we said we were going to shave it off?” Laura answers “Nothing. I’d just look sideways and chew my lip a bit”. It’s all a wind-up, though, and she’s given a blunt bob that Saint Sarah describes as “Katie Holmes”, presumably meaning that they started with a Clinically Insane Husband Conditioning Treatment and finished with some Intense Spoilt Brat Offspring Highlights. She looks good, if not exponentially angrier.
~Despite being in a hair salon surrounded by scissors and people who are either cutting hair or getting their hair cut, Franky is shocked when she’s told that she’ll be getting a haircut. And by shocked, I mean sobbing. Awwwww. Don’t cry, honey. Because - seriously, honey - you look really, really bad when you cry. She says “I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I’m not cutting my hair. I’d rather be sent home”. After a brief period of wanting her Mummy, she relents and agrees to stay. And cries a bit more. Mikarla, disgusted with her reaction, says “Y’know, it’s not like they’re gonna do a Michael Jackson on her and turn her friggin’ skin white”. Lines are now open for callers who want to ring and explain to me how that has a single goddamn thing to do with getting a haircut. Just call 1-800-RACIST and leave a message after the jungle drums. Eventually Franky ends up with a short, chemically straightened Rihanna-style cut, and looks a little bit like a fella-ella-ella. Eh. Eh.
~Madison’s Rhapsody In Static is somewhat tamed, but I’m still desperately disappointed. I was expecting hacksaws, quadratic equations and a posse of torch-wielding villagers, and all I got was a set of hair-straighteners and some truly tacky highlights. SHAVE IT ALL OFF, YOU HEARTLESS BASTARDS. Still, while she has foils in her hair she does look a little bit like a crazy hobo in space, so, y’know – not a complete washout.
~Eloise is thrown a handful of extensions, and my care factor can be accessed by submarine.
~Cassi Van Den Dungen Haagen Dazs Hoogenband doesn’t have much of a change – just a blow dry and some highlights. Marginally different to the Tooheys Dry and Alpine Lights that she’s used to, but pretty.
~Georgie’s hair is just a bit shorter and darker, and George Pease claims that she’s “blending into the grey malaise of this competition”. He then high-fives himself and goes back to reading Coleridge.
~Clare’s hair doesn’t change much either, and is still perfectly capable of supporting a tiara.
~Lola’s hair doesn’t get any shorter, longer, or more or less colourful. I think her chin is growing, though.
-Back at the Module Mansion, George Pease (who has clearly come straight from a duck-hunt) is waiting for the scrags with Nigel Stanislaus, otherwise known as the Cutest Man In The Universe. He’s the kind of guy who would put a Band-Aid on a knee you scraped whilst roller-skating, and he’d sing Olivia Newton-John songs while he was doing it, and the Band-Aid would have pictures of baby unicorns on it, and he’d pinch your cheek and wink before sending you on your way through a field heavy with daisies and butterflies. Nigel is there to introduce today’s lesson, which involves each module putting make-up on another module. Mikarla and Georgie cheat by putting on their own make-up, the police are called, and a court date is organized for next week. Now, I know an extended treatise on the many different ways (two) that blush can be applied should be interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by balsa. Happily, Nigel ends the scene by announcing “I hope you’ve been listening, and remember everything I say because the next thing I have for you is Sarah Mail”. He adds “I am disrespectful to dirt! Can you see that I am serious?”, and I decide that I want Nigel as a talking keyring.
- The Sarah Mail contains a DVD of a commercial for Maybelline New York, which the scrags are to use as inspiration for a challenge – they’re to be filmed for a faux commercial for ‘New Colossal Volume Express Mascara’, which now contains collagen and loads of adjectives. The girls have to come up with one line to say during filming, and once a line has been used by one person, it cannot be used by any others. While Tim Winton scribbles this plotline down for submission to the Miles Franklin Award board, the scrags busy themselves thinking of things to say about mascara. Showing the diabolical cunning of a river fluke, Cassi Van Den Dungen Haagen Dazs Hoogenband decides to tell all the other modules what her line will be. It’s… wait, I’ll just get a calculator and a dictionary…carry the one… “Not one times, not two times volume, not four times volume, but nine times the volume with new collagen”. Lola (who I would reserve space for in my heart if there was room for her jaw) impersonates Cassi by drawling “So none of youse can steal it, a-kay? Cause I’ve said it”. It’s like a verbal contract, see, but with crooked teeth and a smoker’s cough.
- I’ll be summarising the Maybelline challenge in two parts.
Part One, In Which Borderline-Interesting Things Happen
- The director’s name is Michael Joy. He has used up all his joy in his surname. He is as interesting and lively as tinea.
- The scrags have to apply mascara, get out of a car, and say their line. This is easier than breathing.
- Georgie develops an American accent sometime between morning tea and lunchtime.
Part Two, Which Needs To Be Liquified, Blended With Ice, And Served To Me In A Martini Glass Every Night At Eight
- Lola, who appears to have been riveted into her yellow dress, thinks it would be funny if she stole Cassi’s line. Lola is completely and utterly correct. If I was gay and not afraid of teethmarks, I would propose marriage to Lola at this point. Then she whispers “Sssccchhhhabotage!” to the camera, and I even consider ignoring the ‘if I was gay’ part.
- Lola KICKS EVERLOVIN’ ARSE in her commercial shoot.
- Cassi rocks up to do her shoot, and George Pease tells her that she can’t use her line because it’s already been done. To say that her face falls is like saying that the Hindenburg caught on fire – it’s essentially true, but it doesn’t quite capture the desperate tragedy and potential loss of life. Cassi says “I didn’t say it out loud, but I know Lola take it”. I kind of want to give her a hug, but my abject terror and respect for the English language prevents me.
- After her shoot (which is, for the sake of the story, fifteen crap-flavoured different kinds of crap), Cassi storms back to where the other girls are standing and starts in with the shouting and arm-waving. She spits “All you are is a mole! Bitch! Skank!” which is awesome, because it’s multiple choice fury. It’s virtually impossible for me to describe the rage. It is tangible. It is frothy. It is, as described by Madison, “like, major angerness”.
- Cassi stomps towards the lift and gets in, followed briskly by a cameraman. Still fuming and wobbly-voiced, she blurts “She fucking stole my line”, and then, with a wind-up that would make Popeye proud, she waves her fist and BAM!! Punches the wall in the lift. The cameraman slowly moves to protect his groin with his free hand, and I have tears of joy in my eyes. Punches. The wall. Punches it.
- Later, much calmer, Cassi admits to camera that “I do acknowledge that I’ve gotta stop hitting things”. Evolution nods and smiles.
- Lola wins the challenge. Cassi goes purple with fury. Undertakers take one look at Lola’s jaw and order more cedar for her coffin.
· The morning after the best thing in the world (see above), a Sarah Mail drags the scrags out of bed and to Swain Gardens, where George Pease (who has borrowed some sunglasses from a much, much larger man) and photographer Bec Parsons are waiting. They explain that today’s shoot will involve minimal make-up and natural light, and George claims that beauty is a pre-requisite. For modelling. He’s gone nutty, I say. The scrags all dress up as hot hippies, and I summarise the shoot for you below, even though I barely care about anything since Cassie punched a wall.
o Mikarla’s eyes water like crazy, and I worry about how much moisture she can lose before her visible skeleton turns to dust. She says “sorry” just often enough to make me scream “shut up shut up SHUT UP!” at the screen. Then she says it about fifteen more times.
o Georgie discovers that wingnut + headband = atomic wingnut.
o Eloise looks gorgeous enough that the editors put her in slow motion while her hair blows in the wind. The cheese in my fridge considers this to be a copyright infringement.
o Tahnee, Adele and Clare are all gorgeous. I discover quite quickly that I have nothing funny to say about that.
o Lola, in a black headband and sparkly flower, is asked for more softness in her mouth. She cracks her jaw, and sticks her hands in her mouth and moves them around, no doubt looking for where she left her car keys. Or quite possibly her car. George Pease says “watch your mouth”. We are, George. We are.
o Bec Parsons asks Madison to relax her eyes and eyebrows. What she means to say is “Try to look less like Chucky”.
o Laura is the angriest-looking hippie I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen thousands.
o Franky is a’ight. Bec and George Pease keep telling her to try to find her softness. They are talking to a muscular black woman with a man’s haircut. I’m just saying.
o Cassi Van Den Dungen Haagen Dazs Hoogenband is ridiculously, unexpectedly, I-need-oxygen gorgeous. It’s really quite, quite remarkable that she can go from Chiko Roll to Bollinger with such breakneck speed. I suppose this means that she might stick around for a while. I hope the house is insured. Bec says she reminds her of Kate Moss, presumably because they’ve both got fucked-up teeth.
- Right. So apparently everyone thinks Franky is a bit of a backstabbing beeyotch, and tell her so, while the pot sends steamy text messages to the kettle. Things escalate, people shout and swear, and Mikarla grabs Franky’s name (oh, yeah – everyone has drawn their name, mostly with lovehearts, stars and glitter, on a piece of paper and blu-tacked it to the wall, just like adults with jobs don’t) and throws it into the cavernous atrium. Oh, come on. Bitches accusing other bitches of being bitches is like telling Diane Arbus she should try photographing freaks, or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like calling Triple M and suggesting that they play some Green Day.
- The modules are corralled into the Elimination Barn to meet Saint Sarah, who only just arrives in time after a long afternoon of selling bracelets for the Bindi Irwin Orphanage Fund, whose slogan is "We're Halfway There!". Sarah races through the prizes, which I think this year include a bottle of glitter nailpolish and a house-brick, and introduces the judges – Charlotte “I Bedazzled My Frock All By Myself” Dawson, Shiny Alex Perry (who, sticking with the cowboy theme, is dressed today as Big Sunglasses On The Prairie), Nigel Stanislaus (dressed as a terrorist in desperate need of a good cheek-pinching) and Bec Parsons. Photos are browsed through, with the usual smattering of moments:
~Mikarla apologises again. If only regret was made of carbohydrate.
~When comparing Clare to Cate Blanchett in Lord Of The Rings, Shiny Alex and Charlotte have a discussion about elves. Totally what happens in the real fashion industry.
~Cassi cries when Charlotte tells her she can’t let her emotions get to her. Ironic! Charlotte then says she gushes every week when she sees Cassi’s photograph, and mental images nationwide turn the corners of their mouths down with mild distaste.
~Nigel tells Eloise that “If I looked like that I would be working it every day walking down the street getting everything for free”. Of course, in Nigel’s world, the streets are made from spun sugar and lollipops, the horses talk and the flowers say “Good morning!”.
~Nigel thinks Lola is a diamond. Charlotte thinks she’s a lump of coal. According to Ferris Bueller, Lola just needs to spend two weeks up Cameron’s arse and her problem is solved. Sorry. My favourite line in that whole movie, except for “Never had one lesson!”. But this isn’t really about me. Which is kind of annoying.
~Shiny Alex says “Some girls have gone fabulous, some girls are getting a bit scary and testing my botox”. It's either them or the guinea pigs, Shiny Alex.
- Names are called out one by one until Wingnut Georgie and Transparent Mikarla are left. Georgie is told that she’s a beautiful girl, but her potential isn’t materialising. Mikarla is told that she’s unable to conquer her environment (hardly surprising for someone who struggles to make footprints in sand). Six and a half months pass, and Georgie is out on her ear. Bye, Georgie! Mind you’re not all gorgeous but otherwise unremarkable on your way out!
- Wow. Madison totally shouldn’t cry either. That’s some scary, disturbing shit.
Next week, the modules subject themselves to the scrutiny of boofheads whilst trying to keep their tiny dresses on, wig up for a commercial shoot and prepare themselves for a very interesting elimination. Frocks. Locks. Shocks.
Did you know that there’s a magical place where things smell amazing, where everyone feels all connected and special, and where not only can I talk even more about the modules, but you can too? What is this Bacchanalian paradise, you ask? It’s the Impulse facebook page. Become a fan. Leave your opinion in a discussion. All your friends are doing it. Well, all of mine are.
Also, get yo’ bad selves over to Bland Canyon for Petstarr’s take on matters. Girl could caption pictures for her country.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
I’m not completely made of stone. Certain images and sensations send me into a blissful, almost spiritual state of joy. The sight of a kitten playing with a ball of wool. The feeling of sliding into crisp, clean hotel sheets. The rosy tang of the first plump strawberry of the season. The resounding thwack a plummeting model’s face makes when it hits a crash-mat. Mmmm. Satisfactionising. Hold on tight – it’s the ‘Knick-Knack, Have A Stack, Give A Scrag A Bone’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Bring a helmet.
Boo hoo, snotty sob, one of the Lauras is gone. There’s a spare. Suck it up.
Cassi decides that Mikarla will be her best friend this week, and follows her from room to room like a puppy dog that says ‘fuck’ a lot. By the time Cassi ‘arse grinds’ her whilst table-dancing in a restaurant, Mikarla has had a gutful. Granted, Mikarla has neither an arse to grind nor a gut to fill, but then most colloquial Australian idioms are inherently flawed when subjected to literal scrutiny. Shut up.
The third-hottest pair of shoes ever made arrives at the Module Mansion early in the morning, and by the time they knock on the door, we can see that Saint Sarah is attached. The scrags get out of bed and bolt downstairs, where Saint Sarah introduces them to Dr Joanna McMillan-Price, who, according to Clare, is a ‘nutritionalist’. Now, as a wordicologist and spellerisator of several years experience, I can tell you that that’s just not a real word.
Surprisingly, the doctor isn’t there to tell Madison what she can eat to prevent her hair from looking like it’s a tumbleweed that four other tumbleweeds have just slept in – she’s there to rouse on people for smoking, tell them about a good diet, and be all Scottish and stuff. In a surprise tantamount to opening a clear plastic bag full of popcorn and finding popcorn inside, Cassi admits she smokes, but says earnestly “I’m gunna quit. I’m gunna cut down as much as I can. I will eventually stop by the time I get to the end of the packet. Packets. Carton. Cartons. Look, by the time I get to the end of this container-load, I swear I’ll be down to twenty a day”.
Doctor Hyphenated-Surname then moves on to talking about eating disorders, primarily so that another picture of Mikarla’s ribs can be flashed up on screen, putting me off my evening meal of clarified butter and fried whale. All the girls read through some booklets about nutrition (even Tahnee, who stares at the squiggles and colours, marvelling about how some smart people can turn person-talky into page-scratchings), and discuss portion size. Now, I know that a seminar about pasta and cashews should be interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by hyphens.
Donning exercise gear from the Puma Eat Something Range, the scrags are led to Fitness First to undergo a series of tests to tell them how unfit they are. Cassi, proving once again that she is a stoic wall of initiative and resolve, lets the trainers know that she has weak ankles, a bent vertebrae in her back (as opposed to those in her shins), wonky knees, and an overbite you could park a car under. She gets upset when she discovers she’s lost weight, and the entire carbohydrate-eating world wants to give her a hug. A hug or maybe a rash. Whatever. She has a smoke to relieve the stress associated with exercise, which is a bit like Michelangelo sandpapering a ceiling to relieve the pressure of fresco-painting or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like sprinkling Big Macs on a salad.
Back at the Module Mansion, Madison edges closer to an Academy Award by running into the living room and exclaiming robotically “Guys, I think there’s something outside!”. By ‘something’, she means a group of under-10 junior gymnasts all doing flips and aerials until one of them pulls a Sarah Mail out of her leotard. Gymnasts. Children. Flips. Backyard. I want to melt this show down and spread it on toast.
The Sarah-Mail drags the scrags into yet another gym, where they’re met by George Pease, Olympian Dasha Joura, and gymnastics choreographer Stacey Umeh Lees, who appears to have attended the Miss America School Of Completely Natural Speech-Making. George Pease announces that today the modules will be challenged gymnastically, including stretches, beam-work, floor routines, hanging from stuff, and whatever the fuck rolly-pollys are. He then unveils a rack of lurid, sparkly leotards and flesh-coloured footless tights for the girls to wear, and I want to grind this show into a paste and brush my teeth with it every morning.
Cassi again proves her steely resolve and sound mental health by pulling a muscle somewhere between a rolly-polly and doing the worm. So far, I’ve been led to believe that in every episode of this series, Cassi is going to bust out some breakdancing moves. With the Rock Steady Crew as my witness, I hope that’s true. There are tears. There’s an icepack. There is gasping and sobbing. There’s the writing of this truly awesome dramatic bogan mess into my will. Cassi could excuse her way out of dying if she had to. She complains that she can’t do the splits because she can’t open her legs that wide, and my brain implodes under the weight of a thousand jokes that include the word ‘slut’. None of which I can think of now. Obviously. Whilst sitting on her diminutive arse on the sidelines, Cassi says “I reckon I would’ve done better than everyone else, because even though I can only do rolly-pollies, I still would’ve brought modeling to it”. I feel exactly the same way about molecular biology. I’d be awesome at it. I’m just a bit tired right now, is all.
Claire wins the gymnastics challenge and chooses Tahnee to share her prize of a trip in a limo to see the ballet with Saint Sarah. Claire exclaims “A limo! Are you kidding? There was even like a driver and he opened the door for us!”. A driver? In a limo? A driver being the main thing that distinguishes a limo from an ordinary car? SHUT. UP. After the performance, Saint Sarah introduces the girls to dancers Lucinda Dunn and Aesha Ash, one of whom I used to do jazz ballet with, and one of whom has a name I can’t say with Jatz in my mouth. Tahnee freezes up because “Claire was asking questions like, with all these big words”, and I reserve a special place for her in my heart under a sign marked “Vacancy”.
Cassi comes home from the doctor with her arm in a sling, because she has a suspected sprain. She does not, however, come home from the doctor with a bandaged head because she has a suspected brain. See? I can even rhyme stuff medically. When Cassi is able to butter her toast sling-free in the morning, Mikarla mouths the word “faker” to camera behind Cassi’s back. I think. It might’ve been “fat c*nt”, but that would only make sense if Mikarla was, like, the skinniest person in the wor… waaait.
A photo-shoot Sarah Mail arrives in the form of budget-rupturing balloons and pieces of crumpled-up paper, and the scrags try to guess what the “Get up with both your body and your mind” message means. Tahnee guesses “bungee harnesses”, because she’s the sweetest girl in the world, and because she thinks unicorns are real and that puppies go to heaven when they die. The girls traipse down a hill towards a jetty and pile onto a boat that speeds towards a mystery destination, prompting even more speculation and hair-frizz. Clare thinks they have to jump off a jetty. Franky says that she sucks at water, which I suppose is how she keeps hydrated. Tahnee is just excited that the seats on the boat are made of leather, primarily because she is awesome.
The mystery destination turns out to be Cockatoo Island, which comes in at about 1.5 on the Things That Are Mysterious scale. Marginally higher at 2.1 is the presence of Cosmopolitan editor Bronwyn McCahon and photographer Ellen Dahl, rocking in at around 5.3 is the presence of a hula-hoop hanging from the ceiling, and blowing right off the end of the scale is George Pease’s decision to wear Hypercolour and a driving hat. Mystery. Pease explains that today’s photo-shoot will be called Tulle On Trapeze (or as I’m calling it: Ming On A String), and that the top eight photos will appear in Cosmo. He then launches into a speech which I’ve translated for you, because I’m all helpful and smart and crap.
Pease: Now, I don’t know if there are any mathematicians amongst you…
Translation: I’ve never been surer of anything in my life…
Pease: But eight pages… twelve girls…do not be in the bottom four.
Translation: My maths is awesome because my brain is warm under Doctor Harry’s hat.
Pease: You hear me?
Translation: No, seriously – can you? My ears are muffled, because I’m wearing Doctor Harry’s hat.
· Let’s have a summary. Go on. Let’s.
o Adele is marginally more present than last week, because she has a bedazzled seagull stapled to her forehead. That is all.
o Laura has an ostrich stapled to her head. Now, the thing about ostriches, see, is that they can’t fly. And the thing about Laura, see, is that she STACKS HEAD FIRST INTO THE CRASH MAT. I’ll be back shortly. I’m just replaying that over and over in my head and having some surgery.
o Eloise wears a black sparkly halter-neck top, just like in Cabaret, starring Liza with a ZZZZZZZZzzzzzz.
o Tahnee’s face shows exactly the amount of pain one feels when one is hanging from the ceiling by one’s ovaries.
o Despite her shattered spine, bandy muscles and having contracted the plague, Cassi kicks it completely out of the park. Sorry. Sports-related metaphors really mean nothing to you lot, huh. My bad.
o Georgie is pretty. Georgie is boring.
o Mikarla actually looks like she’s made of actual flesh in her photo, and does pretty well. The trapeze hardly notices she’s there.
o Madison gurns and flails and does sort of alright, and for once I don’t have much to say about her bobby-pin-in-the-electrical-socket hair. This is because I’ve finally figured out who Madison reminds me of when she opens her eyes wide. It’s Chucky. Tell me I’m wrong. You can’t. I am so right.
o Ellen Dahl describes Leah best: “Ven she try to do der soft relaxing dreamy shuts, it felt like she kind off juss… look sedated”. Great. Now I every time I look at Leah I’ll get Ramones’ songs in my head. Thanks, awesome Norwegian lady.
o Franky gets upset because George Pease is wearing a stupider hat than she is, but she sucks it up and delivers sauce.
o Clare annoys me by kicking everybody’s arse. Girl knows her shit backwards. It’s really quite irritating.
o Lola is wearing a whimsical singlet and a massive, leaden skull. Her nerves prevent her from doing well, and she tries to loosen up by stretching her neck and cracking her jaw. Tribesmen on a sparsely-inhabited island in the Bismarck Archipelago stop carving their canoes, look up at each other and say “What the fuck was that?!”.
o Finally and most importantly, I want to own every single pair of shoes shown in this photo shoot. I think you should buy them for me.
· Back at the Module Mansion, Cassi shows her elimination outfit to the other scrags. It’s pink. It’s black. It’s lacy. It’s shiny. It’s made from 100% synthetic mank, with a lining of pure mank and delicate mank embroidery. She crows about how cheap it was, and you can hear Alex Perry slapping his forehead in the distance (luckily, he squinted just before impact). Mikarla says “It looks like she came straight out of the Salvos – I mean, I wouldn’t even wear it to bed”, which I would high-five her for if I didn’t think her wrists would snap. When Cassi is out of the room, the remaining modules try on her dress (P.S: it’s mank), and do impersonations of Cassi in which the words that aren’t bleeped out are “fuck”, “shit” and “bitch”. This is like a mean sandwich between two slices of mean. Garnished with funny.
· Tahnee reads out the inev… ineva… the knew-it-was-coming elimin… elamo… elomy.. call to go and find out who goes home Sarah Mail, and the scrags whoosh into the Elimination Cubby House to discover their fate. Saint Sarah, who only just makes it in time after a late night selling flannelette ribbons for the Bogan Liberation Front, blahs through the prizes, which I think include a pair of PVC leggings and a chipped coffee mug. Judges are introduced, including Charlotte “I’m Not Winking, That’s A Bo-Related Facial Tic” Dawson, Shiny Alex Perry (who is dressed today as a high school industrial arts teacher who spent recess buffing his own head to a high sheen), Bronwyn from Cosmo and Ellen from I Want Your Accent As My Ringtone. Vimsical.
· For those of you playing at home, the Modules Who Say They Are Shitting Or Crapping Themselves Count is now at: 5.
· Photos are flipped through, and only Leah, Eloise and Lola miss out on appearing in Cosmo, because all the mathematicians left as soon as they saw Cassi’s illogical dress. A few general observations present themselves:
o Somebody. Can we get a de-humidifier in the room. Madison’s hair is starting to eat other people.
o Shiny Alex tells Charlotte Dawson that she’s had too much botox. The pot and the kettle make passionate love in the corner.
o Charlotte says to Cassi: “You can annoy the shit out of me… something something something”. I don’t really care how that sentence actually ends. I find it breathtaking in its abbreviated succinctness. Mostly because in that form, it’s a tops burn.
o The judges all hate Cassi’s dress, because they all have eyes. Well, four out of five do, anyway. Sorry, Shiny Alex Perry.
o Charlotte says “Franky So Goes To Hollywood”. About time. Unfortunately she also says about Leah “Wake me up when she’s gone home”, meaning that she misses out on bonus Gratuitous-80s-Pop-Reference Points for not completing the song title correctly.
The judges deliberate, the scrags file back in and names are called out one by one until only Leah The Lethargic and Junior Georgie are left. Leah is told she’s boring and angular, and Georgie learns she’s uncomfortable and standing still. Because we all know what that means. Three decades pass, and Leah is jettisoned. Bye, Leah! Mind you don’t be a mole with your moley mole on your way out! Because we all know what that means.
Next week, there are tears about haircuts, the modules have to master opening the door of a vehicle, and Cassi does a spot of boxing. Wahs. Cars. Spars.
Heeeeyyy –you know how I’m always on about how I can’t wait for world domination and the universe is mine and stuff? Well, I’m fifteen minutes closer. Check out my further module-related person-talky-page-scratchings over at the Impulse facebook page. If you become a fan, you’ll automatically smell nicer. It’s true.
Obviously for even further hilarity, you should go read Petstarr’s take over at Bland Canyon. You know that’s good advice. Think of me as your weird auntie. With good advice.
Matthew Newton is dead. Bert and Patti will be like, totally devastated. He comes back as a priest to visit Bob Trimboli in hospital, and luckily it’s as one of those priests who wear pants and stuff. So, like, in death, Matthew Newton is totally better dressed than in life.
So Bob Trimboli dies. He was always scared of being killed by some arsehole – bet he never thought it’d be his own hahahahahaha! Sorry.
George Freeman insists on wearing white budgie-smugglers. I kind of barf up a little bit of my Diet Coke into my mouth. This effing show is so effing ugly. I’m so effing glad it’s over. Eff.
The rest of the show is totally confusing, and people shoot each other a lot so all the storylines can be finished off neatly and so Lady Gaga can finish her career as a cop and start her career as a singer who doesn’t wear pants much.
So I don’t think I’m any smarter after watching this show, but I do think I now have something I want to print on a t-shirt to wear for the rest of my life. It also probably finishes off these stupid recaps well, because it’s all poignant and shit.
WHERE YOU’RE GOING, YOU WON’T NEED UNDIES.