I know a lot of you are time-poor, so this week I’m giving you a choice of recaps.
First up, the express version:
HITS. TITS. THAT’S ABOUT IT.
And secondly, the full version, which we’ll call the ‘Float Like A Butterfly, Sting Like A Scrag’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Wear a cup. Maybe a couple of them.
Can you believe there’s only six girls left? That seems remarkable after only four hundred and thirty six episodes of the show.
The scrags are all just hanging by the pool one morning wrapped in blankets in full make-up, when suddenly a Sarah-Mail announces that they’re going to stop being friends and start being foes. Naturally, everybody assumes that they’ll be wrestling in Sumo suits. Brains grow on pretty high branches in this neighbourhood.
|Come at me, foe.|
The Fashion Fiestas tip the girls out at a place called Boxing Works, where as Liz says, “There was this massive guy like, punching the hell out of this bag”.
|That's not very nice.|
Dawson tells the modules that, in accordance with the traditional laws of fashion and modelling, they’ll be learning how to cage fight today. The massive guy, otherwise known as Marcus, draws the obvious analogy that ‘If you’re in the cage and you’re not confident, it’s a pretty lonely place, just like the catwalk’. He’s right, y’know. If you take away the other models, designers, hair and make-up artists, lighting and sound guys, audience and photographers, that catwalk sure is lonely. Marcus tells the girls how to throw a punch, but not nearly as well as this.
Mind you, we’re not here for logic. WE’RE HERE TO PUNCH SHIT. Punch shit and do some Kung Pow stuff, huh Montana. Yeah.
Liz reveals that she has a red belt in Tae Kwon Do, but she stopped short of a black belt because she didn’t want to learn Korean. She wants to concentrate on learning English first. It turns out she really knows how to land a punch, which scares Izzy. “You’d never know, and she’d never tell you, but she’s like a silent ninja”, she says, pretty much nailing the dictionary definition of ‘ninja’.
Liz tries to intimidate the other girls by baring her teeth and flexing her neck muscles.
|In Tae Kwon Do, this is known as 'The Constipated Grasshopper'|
Seriously, though. Bitch is fierce.
Meanwhile, Rachel tries not to punch herself in the face.
|Seriously, honey. If there really was a God, this wouldn't happen.|
She worries a bit about her severe lack of co-ordination, stating that ‘I was definitely not the fittest’. This is like MC Escher saying that he kinda likes staircases or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like Leonardo DiCaprio calling himself a marginally slight man-slut.
The class gradually moves on to arguably the world’s most complicated wrestling technique. It’s a lot like hugging, but with a doctorate in applied physics. You basically just have to put one arm there, one foot there, lift your spleen up to your shoulder, and recite pi to three hundred and forty-two decimal places. Shoulders back, now.
Meanwhile, Rachel enlists Izzy to help her rehearse for a role in the upcoming film Drunk Bitches Fight Over A Bag Of Chips.
Next, the scrags are asked to beat up on some stuffed, shiny, expressionless dummies, but Marcus doesn’t think they’re punching hard enough.
|Which is weird, because most of my best friends are actually pretty violent.|
I figure I should do something to help them really let out their aggression. I’M A GIVER.
Simone just spoons her dummy, because it’s been a really, really long time since she’s flirted with a man. Before lunchtime at least.
|Unfortunately he has an early meeting tomorrow.|
It’s just so goddamn wacky how these girls keep getting Sarah Mails at exactly those moments that they’re all together in the one room. This particular one says something about how Saint Sarah ‘hopes you’ve been listening, so that you don’t stack up short’.
Huh? God, that play on words is so lame and pointless, if it was a band it would be Short Sta... oh. Oh, I see what you did there.
The girls rock up to Oxford Art Factory to be met by Josh Brigitte Nielsen Flinn, who proves the age-defying advantages of wearing horizontal stripes.
Yep. Googled 'Brigitte Neilsen stripes'. I am your god now.
Josh announces that they’ll be auditioning for the parts of two cage-fighters in a Short Stack music video for their song “Bang Bang Sexy”, because the previous record holders for World’s Stupidest Song Title died or something. Rachel’s excited because Short Stack was the first concert she ever went to, unless you count Shave Our Souls, the bangin’ five-piece combo that plays at Teen Church every Sunday afternoon.
The audition consists of walking forward aggressively and throwing a few air punches, all a bit sexily. MODELLING IS SO HARD, YOU GUYZ. It also consists of practicing for a bit in an adjoining room which has been thoughtfully wallpapered with several layers of BitchFace.
|They're angry because someone hid their Tresemme.|
Meanwhile, Rachel wants you to know that she’s very cross with you indeed.
The girls meet a dance director, a fighting choreographer and a martial arts actress, and IT’S TOO MANY PEOPLE, STOP INTRODUCING PEOPLE. Simone doesn’t think she’s very convincing as an ‘angry fighter chick’ (Shut up, no way etc) Liz punches some more crap out of some more crap, and meanwhile, this is less intimidating than ground-up kittens:
|Come at me, bro. If you wouldn't mind, and if you're not too busy.|
FINALLY the girls get to actually audition in front of the band and music video director.
Simone has trouble figuring out where she’s supposed to stand, and then does some kind of Aggression Jazzercise. Liz kicks ever-lovin’ arse, Hazel is as meek as a barely noticeable meek thing, Monty’s entire act seems to revolve around pulling her sleeves up, and Izzy mentions that her boyfriend is in a horror surf band called the Go-Go Haunters. I don’t know where he finds the time, what with his hectic schedule of coffin-owning and everything. One of the guys in Short Stack tells Izzy that she looks like she’s been to a rock gig or two in her life, and then asks her what they’re like, because he doesn’t know. He’s in Short Stack.
Liz and Izzy win the challenge, which earn them the temporary nicknames of Lez and Lezzy.
|With a special hey to all our straight male viewers. I hope all four of you enjoyed this bit.|
Now, I know that a bit of faux-lesbo porn in a cage with a band playing on top and a bunch of screaming extras may sound interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by a Short Stack album.
Meanwhile, Rachel is still trying to land a punch.
Let’s take a little breather to have our hearts, souls and hopes broken, shall we? Back at the Module Mansion, Liz learns from her other best friend that her boyfriend cheated on her, a fact confirmed by her boyfriend via a series of grunts and clicks. Liz cries. This is UNACCEPTABLE. Right, angry little fat kid?
Flinn Brigitte Josh Nielsen summons the girls to the brothel-esque Victoria Room in Darlinghurst for a good old fashioned undie shoot. Module Alexandra Agoston is there in her knickers to offer support and a slight suggestion of nipple, and Simone is beyond excited because she’s ‘been waiting to do a shoot like this for so long’. She means ‘get her tits out’.
Alexandra gives the scrags a few pointers (tits) including pointing out that whatever is closest to the camera always looks the biggest. She means tits.
Josh introduces photographer Simon Lekias, and I have a pronunciation-induced aneurysm. He tells the girls that lingerie modelling is all in the eyes. He means tits.
Styling is gorgeous – all 40s boudoir slutty with dark lips, pale brows and slicked side-parted hair, with orchids and feathered fans as props. Josh tells the modules that the main thing he wants to see in the shoot today is body confidence. And how did that go for you, Josh?
|Pretty good, thanks.|
Izzy is really nervous and less amazing than usual. Josh gives her a pep talk afterwards. Thanks, Josh.
Montana looks incredible, poses perfectly, and is completely flawless. Liz is nervous, and asks Alexandra if her tummy looks fat, which is as ridiculous as asking James Franco to get out of bed and put his pants back on. Josh gives her a pep talk after her shoot. Thanks, Josh.
Simone is boobetty booby boob boob, titty McFunBags norky nork nork. And gold earrings.
Hazel is pretty good. Hazel is pretty boring. For some reason Rachel comes off looking like she could bench-press a lounge suite, and explains herself with “Awkward comes a bit naturally for me”, which causes time to suddenly implode on itself, because the what now? Josh gives her a pep talk after her shoot. Thanks, Josh. No, really, ta. Thanks a lot. Thank yooooouu.
After a quick reminder about the prizes, which I think this year include a six-pack of Bacardi Breezers and a tampon, the modules face the Eliminarium. Saint Sarah, fresh from circulating a petition for the Punch Liz’s Boyfriend In The Groin Association, introduces the judges – Charlotte Dawson, dressed today as the longest-standing female member of the Comancheros, Shiny Alex Perry, dressed today not in his customary black, but in a shirt straight from a job interview at Businessman’s Squinting Solutions Inc, and Alexandra Agoston, dressed today for the first time in weeks.
Izzy’s photo is not well received. Not only is it called ‘daggy’, it gets the first official Sarah Face of the whole series.
And what does Magic Psychic Desk have to say about that?
Liz’s photo makes the judges gush, but she isn’t so sure. “It looks like I’ve got a keg”, she says.
Simone’s shot is great but cheesy, Montana’s is fucking perfection, Hazel’s is a meh sandwich between two slices of meh, and Rachel’s is a bit like large, intense pieces of Lego.
The judges deliberate, Shiny Alex Perry and Dawson have a bit of an argument (which is as surprising as looking down and seeing feet), and the scrags are dragged back into the room to hear their fate.
Montana gets Photo Of The Week, and then a couple of modules are picked off until only Izzy and Hazel remain. Izzy is told that she used to be a favourite, but that she’s disappointing now. Hazel learns that her inconsistency is a worry. Self-esteem learns that its services will no longer be required.
Forty two years pass, and BOTH girls are out. It’s ANOTHER double elimination. Anything to say about that, Magic Psychic Desk?
Bye, Izzy and Hazel! I’ll miss your pink hair, amazing poses, coffins, hair-teeth, horror surf bands and general buckets full of awesome! Aaaand I guess I’ll also miss you a bit too, Hazel.
So if you’ve been living under a rock or just out in the real world or something, you might not know that I’ve been writing a country song based on one verse per episode. You either wish you thought of that first or actually have friends, huh. Anyway:
Shy and meek, then you’ll learn this week how to be a lot less guarded.
‘Cause we’ll kick your arse in a boxing class where you’ll look a bit retarded.
If you can punch and grunt you’ll be up the front and we’ll put you on the telly;
But the very next day you’ll just find a way to complain about your belly.
Hope you’ve had a wax, ‘cause you’re in your daks, try to look like pros, not newbies;
What I mean by that is to not be fat and to hoik up both your boobies.
Now I’m in a whirl, ‘cause another two girls get the boot – it makes me dizzy;
So we’ll say goodbye with a tearful eye to both Hazel and to Izzy.