Shebangabang's Next Top Model #6

Huh.

I’ve never noticed how polite New Zealanders are before.

If I tried to count how many times anybody said “please” or “thank you” in this week’s episode of New Zealand’s Next Top Model, I’d barely have time to grimace through my fingers at Colin Mathura-Jeffree’s next outfit or fantasise about Chris Sisarich’s pelvis being close to mine. And seriously. I spend a lot of time doing that.

So I’m going to give it a try with some highly-evolved, socially-acceptable niceties of my own, like:
Please, Sara Tetro, dress your age.

And:
Thank you, Chris Sisarich, for being all alive and olivey and close-cropped and there at my front door with a Terry’s Chocolate Orange in your hand and a bottle of Blue Sapphire squeezed between your cheeks.

And of course:
Please, Ajoh. In the name of all that is good and pure. For the kiddies and the homeless and world peace and an end to hunger. Blink. I beg of you. Blink.


The Judges.

Sara Tetro
Okay, so I don’t think you’re off to a Kennedy funeral this week, but it does look like there’s at least a presidential inauguration in the offing. Please tell me when the next 50% off sale starts at the International House Of Frump and I’ll make sure I stock up.

Chris Sisarich
Chris, just like in the lesson you gave the modules, I have a bucket full of props for you. And by “bucket”, I mean “lady part”. And by “props”, I mean “love”. Yes, Chris. I have a lady part full of love for you. Now show me five poses.

Colin Mathura-Jeffree
Colin Hyphenated-Surname, I don’t know if I’m squinting from pain or reflected glare, but either way my retinas are considering legal action. Firstly, you know that eye-shadow compacts are intended for more than just a single use, right? You wanna leave some pigment there in the tray for next time, nobody’s gonna mind.

Secondly, I can’t believe that there’s anything that could possibly command my horrified attention more than a shiny metallic silver suit-jacket, but then... then you decide that a kiss-curl finger-wave was the right thing to do. IT SO RARELY IS, COLIN.

Wait – I think I have a picture of it here somewhere...

Yo, Colin. Imma let you finish, but effeminate flamenco waiters in Mexican resort cantinas in the 1930s have some of the best greasy ringlets of All. Time.

The Icksint.

Part Three of possibly the most useful translation tool in the entire linguistic history of the world and stuff.

Kitwalk: Walking up and down as if angry and constipated.

Tier-A-Bull: Not very good at posing with props.

Tirrul – Leigh: See: Tier-A-Bull.

Fire Ix-tongue-wesha: A big rid thung with a nozzle that you put fires out with.

Under-pin-dunt Peer-sun: Somebody who doesn’t like to live crammed in a house with a whole bunch of other buttches.

Kwutter: Somebody who doesn’t like participatung.

A Butt Of A Duck: What Victoria thinks Ho(sanna) is for crying after the photo shoot.

Poo-Fucked: Immaculate. Flawless. Describing Ho(sanna) as anything except poo-fucked makes her cry.

Budgetirry Lumutations.
• Winner of the Haven’t I Seen You Somewhere Before Recycling Excellence Cup in the Australasian Budget-Stretching Awards here in the Rangitoto Ballroom* is the black sequinned dress from Episodes two through four. Ajoh’s turn. Doesn’t blink from the reflected sparkle. Odd.

• Taking out the I Pronounce ‘Class’ With The First Two Letters Silent Trophy is a glamorous photo shoot in a glamorous car with glamorous outfits and glamorous hair and – oh. Michael Hill watches. No, no, that’s fine. It’s like wearing Solange, Jermaine, or Dannii around my wrist. The same wrist that sort of has a rash on it now.

• Finally, the much-anticipated Golden Bucket Full Of Crap Award goes to..... the actual bucket full of crap! Because as everybody knows, nothing teaches a bunch of girls mad modelling skillz better than an umbrella, a fire extinguisher and a roll of toilet paper. What, was the Tupperware container full of dead skin not available?

Bist Buts.

• When Rebecca Rose cuts her hand scrambling for cut-price pieces of shit in the prop-modelling lesson, NO BLOOD COMES OUT. Alien lizard queen from outer space. For reals.

• Ajoh doesn’t want to do the hanging-in-the-air sportswear challenge, because she says “In Africa, it’s not a good thing for girls to open their legs”. GOOD GOD, HOW DO THE BABIES COME OUT?! Or get in, for that matter.

• I’m convinced there’s a high-hair quota each week on this show that must be filled. Sara’s Eliminarium hair goes down, modules’ photo-shoot hair goes up. Colin’s hair goes... no. Sorry. I can’t go back there.

• Rebecca Rose trying to smile in the photo-shoot is terrifying. “Look, Mum! An alien lizard driving a car! Why is it snarling at me?”

• Victoria, honey? Since you’re clearly going to a Chicago speakeasy to dance the Charleston straight after Elimination, would you mind picking me up some gin? Ta.

Ajoh is eliminated because she’s bad at following instructions. Lord knows she’s been ignoring mine. E haere ra, Ajoh! Mind your eyeballs don’t dry out.

*Yep. Looked it up. Nothing but quality Googling here at Jo Blogs.