Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #11

See, the producers, host and judges of this week’s episode seem to want to make us think that it’s all about being ‘epic’.

Instead, I think it’s all about being prepared. Like being aware that the paparazzi may be following you. Like packing correctly for an overnight stay on a chilly island. Like familiarising yourself with the streets of Sydney. Like shaving your goddamn armpits.

Welcome, his and hirsute, to the ‘If I Knew You Were Coming I’d Have Shaved A Scrag’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model’. Lather up.

******

It’s the final four! Who’s excited about being in the final four?

Liz is.

Learnment

A Sarah-Mail beeps into life and then says something about poison ivy, prickles, and celebrities, seemingly because the only thing producers could afford after Paris was hallucinogenic drugs. The girls try to guess who the celebrity might be, imagining that it’s an international mega-star. Except for Liz, who just hopes it’s her idol, Megan Gale. Because we just cannot see her face enough in the media.

One solitary Fashion Fiesta drives the modules into the middle of the city, and they arrive at the Ivy. They arrivey. I know. It’s all high-level wordplay and advanced linguistics here at Jo Blogs.

Charlotte Dawson gives everyone a hug, tells them she’s proud of them, and then warns them that the hand-holding is about to stop, leading them over to a computer that has the ANTM facebook page open on it. I don’t know how many of you frequent the ANTM facebook page, but generally speaking:

Way harsh, Ty.

Doik Simone says that she’s “interested to see what people are gonna say”, which is as surprising as finding nostrils in your nose, and we’re shown a couple of screen shots from the page.

Example one:

Soooo, just to break this down, it appears that not only is the fact that Liz is a sweetheart amusing, it is in fact so amusing that the writer laughs out loud both before and after making the statement, signified by the acronym ‘lol’. I believe the underlying message here is: STAY IN SCHOOL, KIDS.

The second completely random example shits all over the first one:

It’s a bit blurry, so I’ll help you out. It’s a picture of this blog with the words ‘so funny’ written above it. Succinct. Concise. YOU MAY LOL WHEN READY.

Dawson tells the scrags that they are now celebrities, to which Rachel responds “I can’t really see myself as a celebrity. It’s a bit weird. But I would use fame to be a role model for decency’.Pffft. Join the queue, lady.

It's okay, Rachel. Britney, Charlie and Nikki here have got that covered.

Lara Bingle arrives and gives the modules the advice that “You just have to be aware, yeah”, because she’s busy with her PhD right now, and rhyming advice is about all she has time for. Sure, it’s not quite as effective as “Your arse shouldn’t be bare, yeah”, or “Don’t shave off all your hair, yeah”, but it’ll do.

Then Charlotte gravely announces that ‘Im about to introduce somebody that for years and years has terrified both myself and Lara”.

OMG ME TOO

Oh. It’s just gossip columnist Ros Reines. She gives some pretty good advice, though, including letting the girls know that “Whatever you say on social media is going to be like a tattoo on you”.

In the eyes of the public, your cat will wear pants forever.

When quizzed upon what the worst thing would be that the girls could do to make a gossip columnist go to town on them, Ros quickly answers “A sex tape”.

Rachel responds that she would never make a sex tape, which is as surprising as finding bread in some bread with some bread around it.

Bingle pipes up incredibly relevantly with “Don’t get engaged too soon!”, to which Doik muses “I’ve got to meet a cricketer first”. I don’t really know what that means, but she’d better get her jargon down.

Phoy-toy Shoot

Suddenly the lesson is over and the modules are playing bocce on the beach. It’s bitchy beachy bocce! See: mad wordplay skillz. A message in a bottle arrives on the shore because lame and cheap is why. “I was really excited, actually – I thought it was real”, enthuses Rachel. “I want to use my fame to be a role model for stupid”, she adds.

The message in the bottle indicates an ‘epic adventure’. The message in the bottle is a lying, deceitful little whore. The mention of an island gets the girls imagining Barbados, Costa Rica or ‘the Caribbeans’, but I’ll give you a hint. YOU CAN SEE IT FROM YOUR HOUSE.

The scrags pile into a helicopter. Are helicopters exciting, Montana?

Fucking oath they are.

Doik says knowledgeably “Helicopters fly over water, so we’re gonna be going somewhere good”. Because a plane would never fly over water, Doik. And because no good places could possibly be over land, Doik. And helicopters never land anywhere bad like war zones or hospitals, Doik. Or...

Sorry, Doik.

Yeah. It’s Cockatoo Island. Josh Brigitte Flinn Neilsen greets the girls in leather, which really brings out his eyes.

Welcome to Cockaboob Island.

Josh introduces photographer Hugh Stewart and then talks the scrags through some of the features of the island, including  historical sites, landscapes, and breathtaking views.

Like the majestic Visitor Information Centre...

...and this crane.

"Breathtaking"

The photo shoot today will be cinematic and dramatic, unlike Hugh Stewart's hair, which looks a little like what I clean out of my shower drain every fortnight. The girls will be strapped into a crane and suspended out over the wat –

“Why do they call it Cockatoo Island?” muses Doik suddenly. “Because I didn’t see a cockatoo anywhere”.

Sigh. Oh, Doik.

Anyway, we soon find out where all the cockatoos and other birds went – they’ve all been slaughtered and plucked in the name of fashion. YAAAAAAY!

White cockatoo.

Black cockatoo.

Great Crested Booby.

Guano.

It’s fair to say that all the girls look frigging amazing, but nerves are high. Rachel says to camera “I think it’s important to not be the girl that falls at the last hurdle, and gets eliminated before the top three’. Yeah. That’s pretty important. You let me know how that goes, sugar-cakes.

After the shoot, Brigitte Nielsen gathers the scrags to tell them that they’ll be camping overnight on the island. Or “glamping”.

"Puns"

Simone is distinctly unimpressed, which means we can update our list from back in episode 7:

THINGS DOIK HATES.

1. Water

2. Neo

3. Nature

4. Milo-stealing fat chicks

5. Camping

6. Not mentioning how much she hates camping.

She says she would “rather stay in a brothel or in a mental asylum than stay in a tent”, which is like Marc Chagall saying he’d rather bite off his own testes than use another primary colour, or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like Tara Reid saying she’d rather learn all the primary colours than bite another testicle.

To add insult to injury, she’s sharing a tent with Rachel.

In the morning the girls get up and go home on a boat they’ve apparently been on before. Now, I know that watching four girls get on a boat for the second time after camping overnight in the middle of the harbour for absolutely no fucking good reason at all may sound interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by shopping for calico.

Mmm. Poignant.

Challenged.

Fresh off the boring boat, Charlotte Dawson hands each of the girls a map, a Fashion Fiesta, a list of four designers and a deadline, and tells them it’s go-see time. Most of the modules are anxious about their map-reading skills, which is fair enough – it’s a pretty complicated map:

Watch out for Godzilla.

Simone starts by walking in a swimming costume at Isola in front of Megan Gale, and boingy boingy boobaly tit-nork. Next it’s off to Camilla Franks, where DISASTER STRIKES!

Dah-Dah-Daaaaaaaaaaaaah!

See, you might not be able to make it out from that shot, but Simone has UNSHAVED ARMPITS! Here, I got a close-up shot for you.

Let Simone's armpits beat you at chess.

Doik's excuse is that she was being held hostage on Cockatoo Island.

"Hostage"

Doik can’t find Fernando Frisoni, so she gives up and heads back to Chic.

Rachel heads to Camilla and Mark first and then to Isola, where she walks in a floor-length frock. For a swimwear designer. Because she is a role model for the Amish. Rather than visit any more designers, Rachel roams the city seeking out ‘No Right Turn’ signs and finds pretty much all of them. She has a little cry and heads back to Chic.

Montana, trying to find Woolloomooloo, ends up in St Leonards, which for those of you who don’t know Sydney is like your boyfriend trying to find your clitoris on the big toe of the guy who lives next door. She (eventually) starts at Fernando Frisoni, who has an accent I could spread on toast, have one bite of, spit out, and then oddly want more. He says that Montana is “very byoodeefuool”, and asks her to do a “leedle wowk” up and down his studio. After observing her, he says she “sounds good”, because apparently Fernando is on acid. He also thinks her career smells purple, and that he would book her with his eyes closed. See, when ABBA asked if Fernando could hear the drums, this is the guy they were talking about. Drums and a whispering unicorn. After a quick stop in at Camilla Franks, who she calls Camilla and Mark, Monty runs out of time and heads back to Chic.

Camilla Franks loves Liz, because Camilla Franks has eyes. Liz has boobs, and one of them pops out for a go-see of its own. Later, Liz arrives at Isola only to realise that it’s run by her idol, Megan Gale. Is that exciting, Liz?

Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god

Megan asks why Liz looks so sad. Y’know. Because Liz looks so sad all the time.

I think you mean this, Ms Gale.

Boo sorry thank you hoo.

Eventually Liz remembers she’s my new best friend and heads back to Chic.

Montana wins the challenge. Come on. You know that.

Elimanationosity

After a quick run-through of the prizes, which I think this year include a packet of novelty straws and a motorbike, the modules enter the Eliminarium for the very. Last. Time.  Saint Sarah, fresh from a Save Glamping Hostages rally, greets them and introduces the judges. There’s Shiny Alex Perry, dressed today as a hairy billiard ball that’s been dropped in a bucket of ink, Charlotte Dawson, dressed today like she’d stab anyone who gets between her and the presidency of her local Neighbourhood Watch chapter, and model mentor Josh Flinn.

"Mentor"

We have a squiz at the photos, and the judges go into spastic rapture over Montana’s shot.

Doik Simone is overwhelmed by coming this far in the competition and starts leaking some kind of fluid from her eyes. Huh. She has a soul. Who knew.

Rachel is also overwhelmed and also cries, which is as surprising as oxygen.

Nobody’s fighting. Nobody’s being catty. What’s going on, Magic Psychic Desk?

All of the judges love newly-confident Liz’s shot except Shiny Alex Perry, who says she looks like a ‘shag on a rock’ and that her dress ate her. Dawson responds with “It was a shit designer that did it”, and the Magic Psychic Desk breathes a sigh of relief.

The judges deliberate, decide that the show shouldn’t be called Australia’s Next Potentially Okay Model because the acronym would be ANTPOM, and thankfully nobody is asked to give a little speech about why they think they should win, because that usually makes me want to stab and burn things.

Montana is called first.

Liz, no doubt because she’s my best friend, is next.

It’s down to Doik Simone and Thank You Sorry Rachel, and Saint Sarah wonders who is the most versatile.

One and a half millennia pass, and because ‘versatility’ in the modelling industry means ‘boobs’, Rachel is out on her fully-clothed arse.

She doesn’t thank anyone. That girl should really learn some manners.

******

This is no longer a country song. This is a freakin’ concept album. The eleventh verse of the longest one-verse-per-episode country ditty below.

If yooou’re

In the news for your personal views, making sex-tapes, high or single;

You’ll be all the rage on the gossip page – take a tip from Reines and Bingle.

Now we’ll stick some dead feathers on your head in a frock from Alex Perry;

On a pole? Intense. Overnight? In tents! Till you go home on the ferry.

Go and get some gigs at designers’ digs , but avoid complete perfection:

Pop out one of your tits, forget to shave your pits, and go in the wrong direction.

Now despite your height, Rachel, say goodnight, ‘cause you’re fourth when judges rank you;

Say your sad goodbyes, then apologise, thanks and sorry, really, thank you.