Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series 5 #4

Granite is hard. Break-ups are hard. Neurosurgery is hard. The Sudoku in Thursday’s paper is hard.
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.





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