See-saw goes up: someone falls on their arse.
See-saw goes down: the photos look like they were taken by an astigmatic four-year-old with the shakes.
See-saw goes up: Colin’s hair is a knitted tea-cosy for my soul.
See-saw goes down: HO(SANNA) IS STILL HERE.
See-saw gets typed so many times it starts to look weird: Yup.
Sarah, if you’re wearing that frock, then what’s my grandma using as a tablecloth?
Chris, my darling, as a photographer, you'd make a great resident in my pants. Please stop dicking around with a camera, and just start dicking. That way, I’ll still respect you in the morning, right before you make me French toast and pregnant.
Also, in your Eliminarium outfit, please recite the lyrics to “Hangin’ Tough” for me, so I can complete the image. Although in your case, ‘NKOTB’ can stand for ‘Nice Kiss On The Bottom’.
Colin Hyphenated-Surname, the only time my eyes are as wide as yours are every day is when I see your hair. I’m certain that even when you’re buying milk it’s the most rapturously dramatic thing ever. In fact, I’ve managed to get my hands on some slow-motion footage of you simply saying the word “the” here.
Speaking of hair, your mohawk is exactly what I asked Santa for this year, although my presence on his naughty list is the only explanation I can think of for that cardigan. Please give your stylist a Valium and a day off, especially if you’re self-styled.
Wait, I think I have a picture here somewhere...
Your weekly guide to talkung and shut.
Never-gay-shunul Tick-nolla-jee– A Vodaphone thingy to help you get lost on go-sees moving between five buildings in a three-block radius.
Texy – A hireable car that wil pick you up and take you to go-sees as long as you’re not Ho(sanna). There are roughly three texies in Auckland.
Jit Leg – A side effect of being in Los Angeles for eight and a half minutes.
Doo-ung My Hiddun – Ho(sanna).
Dear NZNTM Production Crew,
In response to your request, you are welcome to use our ritzy, massive boat for your photo-shoot.
For the offered fee, however, you may only utilise the area between the staff quarters and the bilge pump, measuring approximately fifteen square centimetres.
Please keep your skanky wenches off the shiny upper decks, or we will get the hose.
Snotty Yacht Toffs.
• I haven’t seen a show this concerned with the colour of people’s underwear since Fear Factor.
• If I ever need a replacement cupie-doll toilet paper cover, I do hope Trelise Cooper is available. She’s so pink-cheeked and eager-looking it’s like she’s crocheted out of lambswool and cute.
• If there is such a charity as The International Fund For Watching Models Stack On The Catwalk, I will happily sell my assets and my soul to donate. Christobelle doesn’t just stumble a smidge in her go-see, she falls smack to the floor like a clumsy, drunk windmill. And the editors show it three times. Once in slow-mo. Accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Because they are the unsung heroes of the universe.
• I am totally on team Atip. I’m assuming that the only reason he hasn’t been the stylist for every single episode of this show is because he couldn’t get his hair and spectacles through customs. I’m sure the only reason he has a pierced lip is because the awesome needs a hole to come out of.
• You know what the wackiest two things in the world are? Everything except throwing flour at people and chucking them in the pool. Wake me when Colin’s hair is on screen.
• In the Eliminarium, Sara tells Ho(sanna) that she’s had more comebacks than Michael Jackson. Yeah. That kind of means that she’s either Jesus or dead. Post-mortem faux pas, anyone?
Victoria is eliminated, presumably because Ho(sanna) is either excellent at concealing bribes, or even better at... er... let’s just say ‘knee sports’.
E haere ra, Victoria! You’re absolutely beautiful and... no, no, that’s it.