And you know what this episode of New Zealand’s Next Top Model didn’t have? Hair, make-up, designer clothes, exotic locations, twists, drama or James Franco.
It did, however, have a care package from Lara’s granddad, so let’s ride that roller coaster all the way to excitement-town with a change of underwear along the way.
Sara’s elimination outfit was previously worn by someone who was brutally murdered by machine-gun fire, first around the knees and then around the chest. That must be true, because I’m sure there can’t be a dress in existence that has knee and boob mega-mesh.
NO THERE ISN’T.
Chris. Darling. You’re wearing two layers of clothing. This is twice as upsetting as only one layer of clothing, and makes it twice as difficult to see the outline of your pert manly nipples through your shirt.
That must be true, because lick my face, that’s why.
Colin Hyphenated-Surname has a To-Do List, and he’s crossed off the first two items, which are:
1. Grow a tiny little creep-moustache; and
2. Make people watching television say “what the fuuuuuck”.
Honestly, you’re mixing so many different patterns, textures and metaphors that I can’t keep up. Pinstripe with paisley? Postal-worker jacket with a tie? The only way I can work it out is with a desperately difficult mathematical equation:
That mirror’s for you, Colin. Take a good long hard look at yourself.
Think of this bit as your glossary or lexicon, if you will. Also, say that last sentence with a Kiwi accent. Ut’s choice.
Netch-rule Hebba-tit = Usual surroundings. Dugs.
Try-ung to rep my hid around ut = thunkung.
Homesuck = apparently what you get even if you have your twin sister in the house with you.
Fist Umprishuns = It’s umportant to make good ones.
Hoo Bawl Issunces = A brend of hear products.
Like Kussung An Eshtray = smokung suggarittes.
Silfush Hibbut = smokung suggarittes.
Stunks = smokung suggarittes.
The first photo shoot was taken with a polaroid camera.
The challenge involved walking around the street with a bottle of hair serum.
The challenge winner got her photocopied image on the side of a bottle of water.
One of the Sara-Mails just repeated the word “model” over and over again.
The final photo shoot occurred in the clothes, hair and make-up that the girls turned up with.
Interesting things must be expensive.
• When Holly’s not busy threatening to punish people for not washing their dishes or scoring glass with her face bones, she likes to spend a relaxing afternoon looking forty-six years old.
• If guest and I-left-my-interesting-in-the-pocket-of-my-other-jeans rugby player Dan Carter is considered hot, then there’s a good chance that my genitals are brok... oooh, okay. There’s a photo of him in his underpants. As you were, ovaries.
• Sending the girls out with a squirty-bottle of hair serum called “None Of Your Frizzness” is not only a gift from the accent gods, it’s also very, very boring. If it wasn’t for Dakota comparing the challenge to selling crack and comparing a woman’s hair to a cat’s arse, and a passer-by making a rude, racist comment about Amelia’s Asian appearance, it would’ve been a but flet. Racist comments are as inappropriate and unnecessary as, say, me showing you this:
|Smoothing serum, madam?|
• Did you know that if you collect a thousand models’ tears in a crystal bottle, seal it with a stopper made from dried unicorn dung and bury it under a rainbow for a thousand years, the tears turn into wishes? No? THEN EVERYBODY STOP FUCKING CRYING.
• I feel as if I’ve previously misjudged Dakota, but she explained herself so thoroughly this week that I’m re-evaluating. I should have seen it before, to be honest, but when she opened up about her problem, it was all suddenly so clear.
Sara: “Dakota, you’re not always appropriate”.
Dakota: “Sorry. It’s my inappropriateness”.
Eventually, despite her excuse of being rattled due to racial vilification, Amelia is given the boot.
E haere ra, Amelia! I’ll have the number 23 with rice, thanks.
*Shut up. My mum counts.