Shebangabang's Next Top Model #12

Wait – what night of the week is this? There’s boxing. There’s people crying. There’s questionable fashion choices. There’s the word ‘contender’ being bandied about with abandon. There’s my favourite person getting the boot. I suppose it was only a matter of time until the two reality shows I blog about became a blurry, indistinguishable mass in my psyche, just next to the bit that contains everything I learned in high school maths.

Oh no, hang on. There’s a flamboyant man who calls people ‘Darlings’ and has more product in his hair than Naomi Campbell has apprehended violence orders. It’s the modelling show. Right. Carry on.


The Judges.

Sara Tetro
Waaaaiiiit. Is... is that a t-shirt you’re wearing in the interview challenge, Sara? That’s... that’s almost youthful! I don’t know what to think. My world is all topsy-turvy.
Oh, PHEW! Come Eliminarium time, you’re back in your usual Jackie-Kennedy-holds-a-coktail-party-on-laundry-day rig. Everything in the universe is as it should be. Well, as it was before, anyway.

Chris Sisarich
Thank you for the close-fitting military-style jumper, Chris. Or may I call you Sergeant Sisarich? Y’know – as in “Yes sir, Sergeant Sisarich, sir!”, or “Drop and give me twenty, Sergeant Sisarich!”, or of course “Oh, Sergeant Sisarich! Is that a flesh-bayonet in your pocket, or are you just glad to... well, you get the general idea. Ha! General! I’m even funny in the army! I’m totally Private Benjamin.

Colin Mathura-Jeffree
Oh, Colin Hyphenated-Surname. Watching you on the screen is like biting into a chocolate and finding bunny rabbits and unicorns inside. YOU NEVER STOP GIVING. First, for the facial challenge*, you look like you’ve been dipped head-first into a bucket full of photocopier-toner, Shirley Temple and facial expressions. Mix that with criticisms of the girls involving references to vomiting and not eating dinner, and I’m almost completely satisfied.


THEN, in the Eliminarium, you laugh in the face of my almost complete satisfaction, sending it whimpering back to the dark, murky swamp of Wow I Had No Idea What Was Coming.
TWO-TONED HAIR EXTENSIONS, COLIN. This is truly a time to be thankful.


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

The Icksint.

I can’t tell you how to speak. I can only show you how to be understood by 4.32 million people.**
Loose Lups Sunk Shups – 1. The opening line of a Sara Mail. 2. The best opening line of a Sara Mail ever. 3. Excellent advice for any promiscuous women hoping to join the Royal New Zealand Navy.

Windull Nussun – Wendyl Nissen, a tough, bitchy media ixpert who is quite possibly my new idol. Sorry, Bindi Irwin.

Crumunewl Convuction – what you get in New Zealand when you’re caught drunk at the wheel, or admitting that you wouldn’t mind if you never saw anyone doing the Haka again for the rest of your life.

Rape Our Hands – something Rugby League players do to models before a boxing-themed photo-shoot. To prevent bruising and stuff. I’ll shut up now.


Budgetirry Lumutations.

• Our modules are invited to a day spa, wrapped in fluffy robes, laid down on plush lounges and given facials using... oh. Nivea products. Because nothing screams ‘sumptuous luxury’ better than pulling a wet-wipe out of a plastic bag.

• The winner of the day spa challenge gets an ‘advertorial’ in an issue of Woman’s Day. You know Woman’s Day – it’s there on the supermarket shelf next to the Louis Vuitton handbags and the chewing gum.

Bist Buts.

• So Laura met her boyfriend at Pizza Hut, and has been arrested for driving under the influence. This pretty much makes her the classiest person in New Zealand.

• The Nivea challenge, in which the girls have to speak to camera about products they’ve just used, is available for sale at your local DVD store under the title Great Train Wrecks Of The 21st Century. Mind you, the girls do pull out a few tried-and-true, classic beauty-marketing phrases such as:
“Why would you pull your face down?”
“Most toners make you feel like you’ve been burnt by acid or something”
And
“Has she been drinking?”

• What’s with all the Ho(sanna) hating, ladies? Sorry? Right, yes, I can see your poin... Aaaah, yes, forgot about that one... uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yep, right – really? All the way up to her small intestine? Fair enough then. PS: using Ho(sanna) as visual inspiration to make the girls get punchy in the photo-shoot? GENIUS.

• Atip, when you get a moment, could you please send me every single outfit used in the boxing shoot? Aside from the fact that they were all awesome, edgy, and sexy as hell, I realy want to dress up as a violent slutty ancient Sumerian goddess for Halloween this year. Thanks, mate. I’ll go wait by the mailbox.

• STOP JUMPING UP AND DOWN, LAURA. Also, give me your shoes.

• STOP DOING WELL, HO(SANNA). Also, give me your shoes.

• No girl in the history of the universe has ever looked as smokin’ as Ruby does in the boxing shoot. If she weren’t my new best friend*** I’d almost be jealous. Hottest. Shot. Ever. There’s no way she’s going home, right? RIGHT?!

Sooo, Ruby goes home. And Ho(sanna) doesn’t. This is the biggest miscarriage of justice since they started only serving light beer at the cricket. Oh, well. At least now Ruby will be able to concentrate on her career of going out for cocktails with me and my other best friends.

E haere ra, Ruby! Yours is the one with the swizzle stick. Cheers.

*Actualy, ‘facial challenge’ is how I regard you, Colin.

**Correct at time of pruntung.

***Pending.

.