If I had a dollar for every tear shed in this week’s episode of New Zealand’s Next Top Model, I’d be able to afford a bonfire with the express purpose of burning everybody’s hats in this week’s episode of New Zealand’s Next Top Model.
Unless they were New Zealand dollars, of course - then I’d only be able to afford a sign that said DOWN WITH STUPID FUCKING HATS.
At least it’s the good, convulsing, ugly-faced kind of crying, though. The kind that people call an ambulance for, because that wouldn’t be an overreaction or a gigantic waste of the paramedic’s time you weird ginger robot from outer space. Yeah, that kind.
You know how in horror movies, after fighting against a monster/zombie/alien/deranged psycho killer for the whole film, the good guys finally vanquish the enemy, and everything is hunky-dory-daisies for a while, and everyone sighs a big, melodramatic, Hollywood sigh of relief? And then in the very last scene, just before the credits roll, the bad guy/thing suddenly springs to life or sneakily wakes up, or is shown to have secretly and quietly spawned little bouncing baby bad guys/things?
Well, after one and a half series of truly questionable outfit choices, Sara Tetro looked nice this week.
And then she wore a silver top.
Mr Sisarich, if you insist on wearing more and more layers each episode, then I insist on mocking you for thinking that Bambi is a bear.
On the other hand, if you walk around with your shirt off, I will present you with an honorary PhD from the University Of Do Me.
It’s really up to you.
Colin Hyphenated-Surname, please stop borrowing your clothes from the Big Boring Really Boring Stop Boring Me Shop.
Wait, I think I have a picture of it here somewhere...
Sorry if you’re yawning right now. Imagine what it’s like Googling the images in the first place. Almost turned myself inside out, man.
Now, when you visit New Zealand, you’ll be able to understand what the locals are saying, thanks to me. I’m basically providing a suvuck seer-vuss.
A Twut – what Danielle thinks Lara is.
A But Of An Udiot – What Dakota thinks Lara is.
A But Of A Fettie – What I think Lara is.
Sick-ra-ludge – Walking around a church in your smalls. See also: Diddly Sun.
Hivvun – Where Mikaela’s grandma hengs out.
Spa-suffuck Sumptums – Something you apparently don’t have to have to call an ambulance.
I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty impressed that the production budget could afford explosions this week. Everybody knows how awesome explosions are, and awesome is expensive.
The explosions are there to add glamour and danger to a photo shoot that has the hint of James Bond, the luxury of dead animal pelts, the drama of action photography, and a challenging backdrop, all of which rack up the expense.
And then there are Ford Fiestas.
• Hey, wasn’t that fight between Michaela and Dakota amazing? Especially that bit where they didn’t do anything interesting like stab each other with bees.
• When you see three girls in their underwear hugging each other with their heads bowed, you instantly think that they’re praying to God asking for strength for an in-church lingerie catwalk challenge, right? And I’m sure their prayers will be answered, because there’s nothing God likes to support more than televised modelling competition challenges held in one of his retail outlets.
• Dakota cries because she hears someone laugh at her. Michaela cries because she feels like she let down her dead grandmother. The twins cry because they saw some oxygen or something, whatever. Everyone needs some slapping and some testicles, stat.
• The music video clip shoot is, admittedly, spectacular, with the big blowy fan and the floaty underwater shots, and the fact that it was obviously rigged towards the long haired girls and that bit where Lara looked fat. After watching shot after shot after shot of the long, arduous making of the filmclip, I couldn’t wait to see two and a half minutes of the finished music video!*
• Nelza (I’ve given up trying to tell the twins apart – it’s like trying to tell the difference between two identical boring creepy things I don’t like) says that she’s very good at holding her breath, and then demonstrates. But not for long enough.
• My brother-in-law is a paramedic, and do you know what he’d do if you called him and his ambulance to attend urgently to your symptoms of crying, feeling ‘a bit spaced out’ and feeling ‘dead inside’? He’d tell you to stop being a goddamn pussy is what he’d do. And maybe punch you in the neck, because he’s my brother-in-law, and you’re Elza.
• Dakota has just as much control over her legs as she does over her tendency to look like meth plus crazy.
In an intensely dramatic elimination in which my housemate and I drank wine and guessed badly, it came down to Dakota and Nellie. Obviously Dakota was kicked out, because nobody splits up the twins, except they do and that’s not true, and Nellie is out on her arse. UN-PRISS-A-DINTED DRAMET-UCKS!
E haere ra, Nellie! Thank you for finally reducing the level of suck by fifty percent.
The remaining sux are off to Thailand next week! Quick – somebody make a joke about Pung-Pong.
*Oh my god I’m kidding. Enough already.