Shebangabang's Next Top Model Series Two #6

Smear on some gel, drape yourselves in fluorescent pink, worship Molly Ringwald and not think George Michael is an extreme and blatant homosexual, because ladies and gays*, we’re going back in time.



Back to a time when hot men dressed demurely instead of letting me see the outline of their nipples through their shirt. Looking at you, Sisarich.

Back to when dresses were flammable and eyeliner was applied with trowels and gusto. Looking at you, everybody.

Back to that bit of history where ginger people were allowed to walk amongst us with impunity and enter modelling competitions instead of – oh, I don’t know – pretty people. Looking at you, twins and Rick Astley.

This week’s episode of New Zealand’s Next Top Model is, dare I say it, rit-ro-spick-tuv. Or fifteen different kinds of stupid. I can never tell those two apart.




The Judges

Sara Tetro
Sara, I wore that dress to my Year 10 formal**, except I don’t think my taffeta was as shiny or my sleeves as puffy. I’m glad your laryngitis is cured and your voice is back, because now you can give yourself a good talking to. Maybe mid-sentence, you could remind yourself that it’s not nineteen-eighty-sux.


Chris Sisarich
I’m not sure I’m getting through to you, Chris “Please Drink A Shot From My Belly Button” Sisarich. I’m counting three layers of clothing and a tie, when I should be counting how many nude yous I can see on my screen. Please. For the love of all that is hairy and lightly oiled. Stop putting clothes on.


Colin Mathura-Jeffree
Colin Hyphenated-Surname, I see what you’re doing now, with your mildly odd cinched waistcoat, not-particularly-alarming tousled hair and barely-noteworthy printed silk jacket. You think I’ve been paying too much attention to your appearance, and not enough to the fact that you’ve been working on your catty comments and gymnastic skill with witticisms.


I SEE NOW.


Allow me to offer a sincere apology. Why, if you’d crimped or teased or skinned something or made a lightning bolt your signature make-up motif, I never would have noticed the pearls of perspicacity plummeting from your perfect pout.
It’s taken me hours, but after much deliberation, I’ve at last chosen my favourite. A nugget so perfect in its vitriolic simplicity that bitchy angels stop criticising each others’ harp playing and listen with wonder. Yes, faced with Dakota’s greasy, knotty hair crammed under an uncouth beanie, you take a sweet, serene breath and utter:


“You look like you’ve been living under a bridge”.

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

Ace burn, my friend. Ace. Burn.***

The Icksint
If you want to be in a place where everybody knows your name, try Cheers.
If you want to be in a place where vowels are interchanged, try New Zealand.

Glutter = what Sara Tetro blows at you in the opening criduts.

Body Ummage = How you see yoursilf, like, un the murror end thet.

Tum Tems = What you shouldn’t eat if you want to maintain a good body ummage.


The Jum = Where you go if you don’t want to git fet. Or if you do want to git fut.


Un Peers = Two by two.

Sunnergy = what you try to create when you work un peers.

The Fruckin’ Dushes = Those thungs un the sunk after brikfast.

Stink = I have no idea what ‘stink’ means, but I’m certain it’s way gangsta, therefore I will be using it to sound contemporary and street from now on.



Budgetirry Lumutations
Holly’s challenge prize in this episode was a year’s supply of Cover Girl cosmetics, presumably because the production budget couldn’t afford half a shoe or a dinner-pack of sushi.
Holly plans to give away her prize as a series of birthday and Christmas presents, presumably because she hates her friends.



Bist Buts

• One of this week’s Sara-Mails is found – no wait for it – floating, right – hold onto your pancreas, this is amazing – on a cushion, right – but there’s more – IN THE POOL. I’m now accepting typed explanations from advanced physicists describing exactly how the universe is able to fit this much wacky in it.
 • I don’t want to be mean to retarded people, but I’m pretty sure the twins are. Nobody gets that much pleasure out of decorating cupcakes without some degree of brain damage, although it could just be the blatantly obvious virginity talking. One day they’ll probably realise that once you’ve had sex, cupcakes can pretty much go fuck themselves. Wait, now I feel bad for using the word ‘retarded’, when clearly the phrase ‘wears a hat with a big bow on it’ would have worked just as well.


• Dakota flirts like a boa constrictor swallowing a pig, with lines like “Hottest muffin in the oven”, and “Does he have a mirror in his pants? Because I can see myself in them”. Did anyone else feel uncomfortable when she was trying to chat up the personal trainer? No? Just me and DOCS, then?


• Holly is worried that fitness guy Brad will find some fat on her. She needn’t worry. He has as much chance of finding fat as he does a sense of humour or a soul. Lighten up, Holly. Have a cupcake.


• Admittedly Holly does brighten a little when she wins the make-up challenge for her great eyeliner job on Courtenay. She scores extra points for all the walking she has to do. IT’S FUNNY BECAUSE COURTENAY’S EYES ARE REALLY FAR APART.


• If you’d like to buy any of the outfits from this week’s photo shoot, just download your free voucher from Lady Flammable’s House Of Polyester Tack from their website at www.slutslutslutslutslutslutslut.com.nz .


• I can’t figure out whether Danielle is growing on me, or if I just want to say nice things about her so she doesn’t shiv me in the ribs.

At elimination, it comes down to two girls – Lauren the Naive and Eva the Even Naiver.



SHOCK TWUST!!


They both get the boot!

E haere ra, Lauren, and Eva! You were absolutely and without doubt on the show for a bit.



*Apologies to any straight men reading, but seriously, unless you’ve got a massive crush on me, I really don’t know why you’re reading this. And if you do have a massive crush on me, make with the flowers, jewellery and penis already.
 **It probably goes without saying that I did not get laid at my Year 10 formal.


***Really, though, if you didn’t stop reading at ‘perspicacity’, you probably already got that, huh.