Shebangabang's Next Top Model Series Two #3

Episode three, eh? The episode by which we’re supposed to have learned everybody’s name (we haven’t), figured out who we love (we haven’t), who we hate (we haven’t, although we’re pretty sure it’s Holly) and by which we realise that seeing girls being rolled around inside a plastic ball touches us in our special place (that shit is hifuckinglarious).



The episode by which we reach brunette saturation point.


The episode just before the makeover episode.


WHATEVER, EPISODE THREE.


The Judges

Sara Tetro
Imagine you’re about to give a speech at a conference or a graduation or something. Imagine you’re waiting, on stage, while someone else gives their speech first. You had cheese and oysters for lunch. Your stomach gives a brief gurgle, like a duck drinking yoghurt for the first time. You move one step closer to the microphone as the previous speech sounds as if it’s winding up, anticipating your moment. You realise slowly and with horror that you need to fart. You don’t want to wait until you’re holding the microphone, because you don’t know how sensitive the microphone is, and hence how audible any bottom-burps will be to the audience. You let out a tentative gaseous slurp, just as a nervous gauge of how drastic the full fart will be. It dawns on you with a desperate sweaty panic that you’ve inadvertently released a tiny pebble of solid along with the fart. At exactly that moment, you’re introduced, and it’s your turn to speak.


Yeah.


That’s how tense Sara Tetro’s shoulder pads are.






Chris Sisarich

Oh, don’t think I can’t see what you’re trying to do, Mr Sisarich. It’s pretty clear that you’ve been shopping around New Zealand, finding the world’s stupidest hats to wear in an attempt to avoid looking like a completely lickable man-lolly. Weeeelll it’s not going to work.


Even if you don’t take the stupid hats off.


Please take the stupid hats off.




Colin Mathura-Jeffree
Look, Colin Hyphenated-Surname. I’ve given you a chance. I told you last week that I needed more than just a bow tie, and what do you bring me? A mo’-freaking bow tie plus vague, under-achieving polka-dots.


Not.


Good.


Enough.


Granted, you made a bit of an effort with your first tie of the episode, but you know what an elongated bow tie plus slightly wavy hair plus broad appeal to teenagers equals?

That’s right.


Now you have a choice. Either bring me some chicken or make with the fashion outrageous.


Here’s a hint: I’ve already eaten chicken today.


The Icksint
Your weekly guide to understanding words and phrases used across the dutch.


Dynamusm! = Showung how excited you are to be waist-deep in mud.


Long Rid Hear = The one and only thung a twun hes go-ung for her.


Smills Like Shut = Rotorua


Shitted Dreams = What you have if you’re elumunated.


Noo-Vuss = entucipatory concern.


Cruss-chun – Someone who believes in the Holy Trunutty. You know. Crucifuckshun end shut.




Budgetirry Lumutations
You know what a hamster costs? About five bucks.
You know what a bucket of mud costs? Depends on how much you can get the bucket for.
You know what’s better than seeing skinny stupid girls running around in a hamster ball right before they get smeared with mud?
Chris Sisarich’s nipples, but that’s about it.
Damn, I love this cheap-arsed show.




Bist Buts


• Get yourself a plastic bag – one of those clear ones from the fruit shop will do. Half-inflate it. Now go to the third drawer down in the kitchen and get all those chopsticks that you save but never use. Put them into the half-inflated bag. Now hold onto the bag tightly and shake it as violently as you can. That’s what models posing inside a giant inflatable ball look like. You’re welcome.


• Rotorua smells bad. It’s the kind of place some air-freshener would come in handy. Right, Aafreen/Febreeze?


• Danielle inside a massive ball equals three massive balls. She lists her three choices in life, which are going on the dole, getting pregnant, or getting up and doing something. There are only three things, because she’s already ticked ‘having lots of freckles’ and ‘being fucking terrifying’ off the list.


• I seriously still don’t get the twins. One gets pooh on her in a paddock, the other one (maybe) wears a beret with a giant bow on it. These two things just scream ‘writing on the wall’ to me.


• I moved in really close to Dakota while she was miming shooting herself in the head, and you know what I could smell? Crazy. I could smell crazy. It was delicious.


• This is a special message to the New Zealand’s Next Top Model production staff member who came up with the idea of putting the modules in underwear, massive earrings and neck-breakingly gigantic headdresses and plonking them straight into an expanse of burping mud. The message is this: Come here, I have a kiss on the lips for you.


• Photographer Jackie Meiring says that Courtenay has a tendency to look a little startled. That’s basically because she can see both into the future and around corners. BECAUSE SHE’S GOT WIDE-SET EYES, GET IT? It’s funny because it’s mean.


• Enough full stop. With the fucking full stop. Top knots exclamation mark.


After a but of delubberation, Jamie is sent home. Y’know. Jamie. The brunette.
No.
Me neither.

E haere ra, Jamie! We’ll miss you like a cute freckle we just found on a limb that’s about to be amputated.