In random order, this includes:
- The English language
- The last vestige of credibility attributed to the hip hop genre
- My eyes and life
- Eight thousand brave, frizzy chinchillas
- The memory of Jackie Onassis.
Moment of quiet contemplation, please. Thank you.
Sara is no longer satisfied with just dressing as if she’s attending a Kennedy funeral. She’s dressing as Jackie Onassis. Come on now, hair and make-up people. You know that if you take your finger off the hair-spray nozzle, the hair-spray stops coming out, right?
Even in a bad hat in a fake snowfield, Chris is hot. You know the kind of hat that rednecks generally wear when it gets cold – kind of a furry thing with flaps? Chris, you may wear mine.*
Colin Hyphenated-Surname, you kill my life. If I listed what you were wearing during the “hip hop” (*cough* Blossom-the-prostitute-years *cough*) challenge to someone who doesn’t watch the show, they would assume I was describing the contents of Jennifer Beale’s and Bernard King’s combined suitcases. And your hair during the dance lesson? Wait – I think I have a picture of it somewhere....
However, and I mean this with a heart full of dread and an oesophagus full of sick, the sour icing on the horrifying cake was the look you dragged into the Eliminarium. SHOW ME IN THE BOOK WHERE IT SAYS IT’S OKAY TO MAKE YOUR HAIR INDISTINGUISHABLE FROM YOUR COAT. That... that shit ain’t right. Wait – I think I have a picture of it somewhere...
• The lesson this week? Densung! The style? Hup Hop! The level of ability? Shut! Even Colin can see that through his coiffure du canine, and describes the girls as looking like “whin you pull spaghitti out of the peckut end drop ut on a plate”. Aah. It’s funny because it’s pasta.
• Just before she gives up on life, Sarah starts small by saying she “hes a bed hidache”. She refuses any offers of Penadowl, though.
• Colin Hyphenated-Surname could not possibly have said the word “dindruff” more frequently in the Eliminarium. And he could not have looked more like he probably had some.
• As the walking-challenge winner, Teryl-Leigh gets to go on a chartered flight around New Zealand. Lord knows what she’s going to do with the other twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes of the day. Pray, probably.
• For the snowy photo-shoot, the modules are wearing hats that have clearly been sourced from the Tatarariki Women’s Institute Knitting Circle.** It’s good to see the production team supporting local industry, and besides, what are they gonna do – run out of wool?
• No fancy snow-blowing machinery for this show, no sir! We’ll just get Dennis the runner to peg bits of ice at the girls for a sumular affict. DINDRUFF!
• I loved every single outfit worn by the modules in the hip-hop challenge, because when I burn things, I like them to burn fast, and I like them to burn bright. By far my favourite, though, was Teryl-Leigh’s shirt, which said ‘WHITE BY BIRTH. TRASH BY CHOICE’. It was. It was choice.
• Also losing at life today: Olivia, who a stylist decides will be wearing an eyepatch down the runway. A stylist I would like to kiss on the lips for making this very decision (unless the stylist is Colin, in which case there’s a brief thank you note in the post). Colin describes her runway performance as being a ‘bit flet’. THAT’S BECAUSE HER DEPTH PERCEPTION IS IMPAIRED, ARSEHOLE.
• Wow. We have racial tension in the house. Let’s spend about fifteen minutes dwelling on it, shall we? I’m not belittling racial tension, I’d just like someone to wake me up when there actually is some. As far as I was concerned, it was a fight between a shiny anorak and a sequinned t-shirt. SEQUINS WIN.
• Was there a reason that, for the photo-shoot, the girls couldn’t have just gone and done it in a nice warm studio, with nice warm fake snow? Or do you think that they did it in sub-zero temperatures because it’s so much more entertaining to see skinny girls’ internal organs crystallizing? I’m just going to leave that question open, really.
Sarah is kicked out because she’s homesuck, instead of Olivia being sent home because she sucks. No, because if you say it with an accent, it sort of sounds the sa – shut up.
E Haere ra, Sarah! You’re still the hottest epileptic ex-junkie single-mother dirty quitter I’ve ever seen, doll. Go buy yourself a rainbow.
* Just in case there’s any doubt, I’m talking about my vagina.
**That’s totally a thing! I looked it up! I may have made up the Knitting Circle bit, though. I was kind of asleep from looking at the website of the Tatarariki Women’s Institute. God, no wonder they take up knitting.