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Monday, August 29, 2011

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #4

Honestly, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve worn a wig and six-inch heels in a coffin straight after pretending to be a mannequin in a David Jones window and a quick yoga session, I’d have four dollars. And twenty cents.
Welcome, ladies, primarily gay gentlemen and recently blow-dried cadavers, to the ‘Bury Me Deep In Scrag’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Wash your hands.



A Sarah Mail arrives ridiculously early in the morning that babbles something about ‘mind, body and spirit’.

Really? Nothing about hair?

The modules al...sorry, hang on – my phone’s ringing, back in a sec.

Oh. It was just Rachel, thanking me for being a bitch about her hair. Thank you. Thanks. No, really, ta. Thank you so much.

The Fashion Fiestas deliver the scrags to a harbourside park, where Charlotte Dawson introduces yoga teacher Charlotte Dodson, but except for the blonde hair, slim build, outfit, hobbies, intense love of beef jerky and the tendency to get cranky when her blood sugar levels drop, that’s pretty much where the similarity ends.

One of us.

Dawson informs the modules that this week will be all about focus.

Somebody tell that to Camera 1

Dodson informs the modules that they’ll be participating in a dynamic Hatha yoga class, because of course they’ve all mastered English so well that it’s time to introduce some Sanskrit. Neo says to camera that she doesn’t like yoga, which is a surprise because a) she’s never done yoga before, and b) she normally likes so many things that aren’t Neo. Chanting and a level of bums-in-the-air that borders on undignified ensues, along with the instruction to ‘relax their faces’.


Caroline stops halfway through the yoga class to complain about a sore knee (which is Sanskrit for ‘being an arsehole’), and admits that she’s ‘being inco-operative’ (which is Sanskrit for ‘illiterate’), and I can’t really say much more because I’m pretty sure she can hear me.

After class when the girls arrive back at the Module Mansion, they see something in the living room that makes them totally and utterly lose their shit.

It's a chimp dressed up as people, isn't it.

No, the show’s sponsors have delivered piles upon piles of pressies for the girls, affording them the kind of luxury items that only the swankiest, richest and most exclusive super-modules are normally privy to.
You know you have to take it out of the packet, right?

Now, I know that watching a bunch of teenagers opening boxes full of polyester, microchips and tissue paper should be interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by that sticker on the plastic wrap that tells you it’s nearly time to buy more plastic wrap, and stop telling me what to do.


Another Sarah Mail whisks the scrags off to David Jones, where they’re met by Josh Flinn, who still just refuses to stop looking exactly like Brigitte Nielsen.

Brigitte Nielsen

Josh Flinn.

He tells them that they’ll be posing as ‘live mannequins’ in the store windows, striking five different poses for three minutes each. They have to stand still. In different ways. Five times. MODELLING IS SO HARD, YOU GUYS. 

The modules are thrown into insanely gorgeous Australian designer frocks, smeared with stunning  make-up, and told to practice their poses. Here we have:

The Veronica Lake Va-Va-Voom

The Bouffant Bardot Bombshell

The I'm Just Airing My Testicles

Finally the girls get into the windows, artfully distracted by Saint Sarah, model Samantha Harris, eight thousand schoolgirls, random people with cameras, and this guy.

Daaaaad. Piss off, I'm modelling.

Some of the girls lose focus and start laughing, Jess rocks it, Izzy’s hair stains her jacket, and Amelia looks EXACTLY like a mannequin.

She also has the personality and diet of one.

Hazel feels faint and is pulled from the challenge, but Annaliese remains stoical when her nose starts dribbling mucous all over her top lip. Her top lip already has a big enough job trying to cover her teeth, so she has to quickly think of a strategy to cope without breaking her pose.
Careful, sweetie - that has calories in it.

And how does Teary Tayah feel about the challenge?

A little teary, to be honest.
Jess wins the challenge, with a highly commended going to Hazel for being so professional when she almost fainted and backed out of the challenge. This is like giving Caravaggio a medal for all the days he wasn’t painting biblical beheadings or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like handing the cast of Glee a trophy every time they don’t over-act the fuck out of something.

Phoy-Toy Shoot

This week’s photo shoot isn’t actually in a cemetery, but let’s go to one on a rainy, cold morning anyway, because DRAMA, that’s why. Drama and frizzy hair. Drama and frizzy hair and rotting corpses. Mmmm.

Pastor Brigitte presiding.

Photographer Jason Capobianco (which is Sanskrit for PHWOAR), advises the scrags that they’ll be posing today in a coffin, dressed as Lady Gaga, because any time anyone puts anything stupid on their head, suddenly they’re freakin’ Lady freakin’ Gaga.

Izzy remarks that coffins are no big deal for her, as her boyfriend has three coffins at his house. Your boyfriend sounds awesome, Izzy. Coffins are waaaaay better than jobs, honest.

Neo doesn’t like the thought of posing in a coffin, because Neo doesn’t like any stuff ever.

We’d better find out how Teary Tayah feels about the shoot, though.
A little teary, to be honest.

It’s into hair, make-up, and all manner of man-made plastics and metals, and Yolanda comments that “I actually think that I look like a crazy person with some bondage and a pheasant”. Hey, Yolly? If Elizabeth is ever incapable of making it to the meetings concerning who my next total bestie is, YOU CAN TOTALLY COME. Bring pie.

Josh asks Doik Simone what she thinks it will be like in the coffin. She replies “Weird, but I think it’s the best I’ll ever look in a coffin”.

I'm not totally sure you're right.

She continues with “I think the next time I’m placed in a coffin I will look dead, because I will be dead”. Several IQ points ask her if they can have the coffin once she’s finished with it.

Neo is given an afro wig, but has trouble modelling in it, so she removes it and does much better. I’m not going to say anything, but do allow me to save you the trouble of a response.

Caroline feels sick and tries to push through the urge to vomit and says it’s difficult trying not to spew and whatever, arsehole.

Elizabeth asks if she can scream, which is exactly like something my new best friend would say. She scares herself a little, me a lot, and gives all of us the chance to drag out that old Aphex Twin comparison chestnut.

Theeere it is.

Jason Capobianco is impressed that Liz just volunteered the screaming, pleased that ‘we didn’t have to put it in her mouth to make her do it”.

You keep out of it.

Rachel brings the uncharacteristically non-religious-and-non-grateful sexy, Amelia looks great in PVC and a little bit like she’s already started the embalming process, and Izzy screams because WE GET IT, YOU LIKE COFFINS.
And how does Teary Tayah feel about the shoot?

A little terrifying, to be honest.


After a little montage showing us the prizes, which I think this year include a bottle of Jagermeister and a six-pack of expired condoms, the modules troop into the Eliminarium to hear their fate. Saint Sarah greets them, only just making it in time from a meeting for the Foundation For Recently Homeless Cadavers, and introduces them to the judges – Charlotte Dawson (dressed today as that bitch behind the make-up counter who tells you how big your pores are), Shiny Alex Perry (dressed today for a business meeting that includes the world’s glariest Powerpoint presentation), and stylist Kelly Hume, who I really should have mentioned before.

Photos are pored over, and the Zing-O-Tron is set to stun, with:

“It looks like you were going to the Melbourne Cup and somebody ran you over with your fascinator” – ZING!

“It’s Tayah-mortis Horribilus” – ZOMBIE ZING!

“I love this picture because it’s the right side of slutty” – DOCTOR FRANKENZING’S MONSTER!

“There’s no Gaga there – it’s Blah-Blah” – PO-PO-PO-PO-POKER ZING!

And then they make Izzy cry, which I gotta admit, I’m not totally cool with. Dawson softens the blow, though, with “It’s not too bad, but it is your worst”. Naw. Like acid in a paper-cut, that Dawson.

The judges deliberate, the modules traipse back in, and girls are picked off one by one until only Alissandra the Expandra and Teary Tayah remain.
Alissandra is told that she lost focus, which is Sanskrit for ‘put on weight’, and Tayah is told that her beauty doesn’t translate into photos.

And how does Teary Tayah feel about this?

A little eliminated, to be honest.
Bye, Teary Tayah! I’ll miss using the same joke about you over and over and over and over again. How do you feel about that?

Fuck off, Jo.

And now part four in that whole I’m-writing-a-one-verse-per-episode-country-song thing.:

Get yoooouuuur
Yoga pants and we’ll do some chants ‘cause it’s time for downward dogging;
Unless you’re Caroline then you’ll bitch and whine (God, you might as well be blogging).
Ladies, curb your moans – we’re in David Jones! Now pretend to be a dummy.
Pout your blood red lips ‘til a bogan strips and you’re staring at his tummy.
Now be Gaga-like, dressed as the town bike, with a headpiece right on top of us.
It’s a photo-shoot, It’ll be a hoot, ‘cause it’s here in this sarcophagus.
Tayah’s lost her place, ‘cause with her sad face, the weight of the world’s upon her.
But to break her fall, I think we should all kick a puppy in her honour.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #3

So I was going to start with some kind of joke about how with the beach, the pool and the buckets, this episode of Australia’s Next Top Model made people all wet, but I know that you’ve come to expect a certain level of class, elegance, and a crapload of sophistication here on this blog, so I didn’t.

Instead, I’ll show you this picture I found of a cat’s bum pencil sharpener.

A thousand apologies, Mr Mittens.

Still, this was an unnecessarily moist episode. So much so that I’m calling it the ‘Water Water Everywhere But Not A Scrag To Think’ episode.
Because I am a sad, angry little person.

The girls get a boat across the harbour to their new Module Mansion, which ups the ‘Oh my god’ tally by about heaps. “A waterfall!”, says one scrag. “A television!”, says another. “Our rooms are amazing, everything is so big and so opulent!” says Izzy.

Nothing says opulent like aluminium bunk-beds.

And how do you feel about your new house, Teary Tayah?

A little teary, to be honest.

I’ve already learned two important lessons from watching this series of ANTM. I’ve learned that Caroline spends a large chunk of her life with her mouth open:

Yes, there's an obvious joke there, but this is a classy establishment.
And I’ve learned that when Charlotte Dawson does this, you’re fucked.

One way or another, you're about to get a spray.

Today the modules are going to learn how to walk, and Charlotte and Adam Williams (choreographer/man with alarmingly high pectorals) are going to teach them. In heels. At the beach. It’s like trying to teach Jackson Pollock how to colour between the lines or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like teaching Bindi Irwin the concept of ‘using your inside voice’.

Adam advises the girls to stand up straight, put their shoulders back, their hips forward, and to look like a plank.

Seriously. I just Googled 'planks with ears' and this happened.

Madeline complains that her shoes are ruined. Madeline could maybe have bought some new shoes during her free trip to Paris, or brought an extra pair to her free mansion, or alternatively just SUCKED IT UP.

Caroline thinks the challenge is ‘slightly ridiculous’. Caroline is an arsehole.

Cassie might have a little trouble telling her left from her right.

In another surprise, sand is sandy.

One by one, selected scrags are asked to walk in a particular style. Madeline is ‘expensive’, and puts one foot in front of the other. Amelia is ‘edgy vamp’, and walks to the rhythm of her brain screaming “I LOVE FASHION! I LOVE FASHION!”.
Doik Simone is ‘futuristic’, and has a little trouble with the concept, because “I was asked to walk furutre-listically, and I had no idea what to do because we’re not in the future yet, we’re still in 2011”.
I’ll give you a hint, Doik. It looks like this.

You won’t have to walk anywhere, because you’ll have your hover-bubble, and OH MY GOD.
Speaking of hover bubbles...

Best. Freaking. Challenge. Ever.
You know those days when you have to walk along a plank in the middle of a pool on a windy day inside a gigantic plastic ball? THAT.

Our modules arrive at an insanely gorgeous house in Coogee, which is ‘Somefink that I wanna live in when I get me own house”, because despite several pages of reasons that Cassie will never be a top model, one finds that one cannot deny her singular appeal.

Josh Flinn introduces designer Magdalena Valevska, who is the person I’m begging for a free frock this week primarily because her dresses are what awesome would look like if it was pleated and had boobs inside. Then while Josh busies himself with still looking like Brigitte Nielsen;


The girls busy themselves by wobbling, grimacing, looking terrified and vastly improving the quality of my life. Caroline does really well because she’s an arsehole. Amelia nearly blows away because she weighs less than a vacuum. Annaliese is propelled forward by her overbite, Izzy falls into the water like she’s had a gentle stroke, and finally Rachel, obviously distracted when she notices someone in the audience that she’d never said ‘thank you’ to, falls into the pool exactly as elegantly as an eight-foot nervous gangly teenager doesn’t.

Thanks for breaking my fall, pool. Thank you. Thanks.

It takes her three or four days of frenzied scrabbling to get back on the plank, and an additional two hours for me to put all my organs back in their original, pre-I-had-a-stroke-from-laughing positions. It’s okay though, Rachel. I don’t think the judges noticed.

And how does Teary Tayah feel about the challenge?

A little teary, to be honest.

The challenge winners, Annaliese and Rachel, get a two-hour spa treatment, which should be interesting, but I’m mometarily distracted by the sound of the word ‘whatever’ snoring.

Phoy-Toy Shoot
The next morning, the modules are led down to their back garden (which sounds like a rude euphemism, but like I said – it’s all fucking class here at Jo Blogs) for a swimwear shoot with gently-spoken-but-still-inexplicably-creepy photographer Harold David, who could probably make a lump of phlegm look expensive.  He tells the girls that they’ll have water thrown on them, but to act like they don’t notice it. MODELLING IS SO HARD, YOU GUYS. He also tells them to try not to look like planks. Even though two days ago they were told to look like planks, and yesterday they walked on one. MAKE UP YOUR MIND. GOD.

Amelia does really well, but fills out a bikini like a sleeping quadruple amputee fills out a Census form.

Neo gives us our second opportunity to shout ‘Grace Jones!’ at the telly.

Simone, being the only one not struck dumb by the size of her gigantic rack, doesn’t leave dumb completely behind when she says “I don’t do cold water, or water in general”.

We are got ourselfs a dehydrated GENIUS.

Alissandra does her usual remarkable transformation, and Harold remarks that “She’s got a lot of quirks about her that are beautiful”. Ears. He means ears.

Most of the girls are amazing, Izzy and Yolanda are goddamn amazing, and Cassie is... oh. Goddamn. That’s. That’s unfortunate. I want to hug her, though. Hug her and whisper “Get out. Get out now” in her ear.

Elizabeth gets to be photographed twice, because she’s my new best friend, so she can do anything she likes. Wanna come over to my house to drink Bacardi Breezers and talk about boys, Lizzy?

I'm taking that as a yes.
And how do you feel about the challenge, Teary Tayah?

Well fuck me. Would you look at that.

Before the girls enter the Elimination Barn, we’re told all about the competition prizes, which I think this year include a fighter-pilot training course and a bag of Minties. So pretty much the same as last year.

Saint Sarah greets the girls, only just making it to the Barn in time after sourcing Floaties for the RSPCH (Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Hamsters). She introduces judges Charlotte Dawson (dressed today as that bitchy teenager from high school), Shiny Alex Perry (dressed today as an undertaker who has accidentally embalmed himself) and Harold David (dressed today, and every day, like that cab driver who plays jazz and talks a lot).

As photos are examined, zingers zing from the judges lips like zingy zingers do, such as:
“She was the totally glamster hamster” – ZING!
“I think you do bitch really well” – KERZING!
“You know when you talk about modelling with your eyes? She’s modelling with her tits” – ZING-A-ZING-ZING!
And then Charlotte says something about Annaliese and a rabbit, because this.

I ate his liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Deliberation happens, Rachel thanks and hugs some people and modules are whittled down one by one until just Hazel and Cassie remain.

Hazel is told that she used to be impressive, but now she’s disappointing. Cassie is told that she probably doesn’t have what it takes. Self esteem is told that it can wait outside, as it won’t be needed on set for a while.

Four minutes pass, and Cassie is tearfully given the boot. She surprises everyone by being gracious, articulate, adorable, humble and affectionate.
Then she writes ‘WILL LOVE AND MISS USE. TOODLES’ on the wall.
Bye, Cassie. We’ll miss youse somefink chronic.

I told you I was writing a country song based on one-verse-per-episode, right?

It’s aaaaaaaaaa
Scrag in a frock in a ball on a plank in a pool at a house in Sydney
You’ll be in the drink – while you slowly sink, we’ll be laughing up a kidney.
While you walk along and the wind is strong, mind you watch your locomotion;
Or the great big ball blows beyond the wall and it ends up in the ocean.
For your shoot get dressed in your beachy best and show off your strongest angles,
But you oughtta know there’s a water throw and you’re wearing heavy bangles.
Shit, now Cassie’s out, and I have to pout, ‘cause although I didn’t rate her,
I’ll still shed a tear and hold up my beer, and say “Bye! I’ll see youse later”.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #2

Might I just start by saying that there is little to no chance that this episode will be known as ‘The Good Hair Episode’.

Instead, I’ll just say SACRE BLEU! that was a good episode (which means ‘Holy Crap! That was a bon episode’ in French), although I suspect that without the montages of images of buildings and pastry products, it would be about ten minutes long (which is like, twenty-five minutes in French). Here, and looking like a million Euros, is the ‘Sank ‘Eaven For Leetle Scrags’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Baguette!

Firstly, apparently this is Shannon. I have never seen Shannon before in my entire life.

Don't worry. You won't need to get too close.

Secondly, we’re in le-fucking France! I can tell because of the pictures of French shops, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc De Triomphe, a constipated guy on his telephone and a dude who kicks his dog.
Can I call you back? I have to see a man about a merde.

I'd call the RSPCA, but I think it's a whole different acronym over here.

Our scrags arrive at the Hotel De Crillon (which means ‘The Hotel That Sparkles Like The Eye Of A Pigeon’ in French)  and Caroline shows how surprised she is at the luxury:

Surprised enough to swallow a pumpkin whole.

The most surprising thing, though is that there’s a Sarah Mail on the bed! Oh my god, etcetera! The last sentence reads:

‘So get a good night’s sleep because tomorrow you’ll need to be a tower of strength’

 to which Doik Simone immediately cries:


I’m just kidding. She doesn’t know what the word ‘sentence’ means. She exclaims:

“THE TOWER OF PEESAA! The Tower of Pisa’s in Pisa, in Italy. Isn’t it? Or Rome? I don’t know, I don’t do geography”.

Which is like not knowing the difference between Monet and Manet or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like not knowing the difference between a chubby unemployed person and any of the Kardashians.

Charlotte Dawson meets the modules at the foot of the Eiffel Tower so that they can go up the Eiffel Tower, hear what their challenge is, and then come down again. Dawson and Shiny Alex Perry tell the girls that they’ll be split into groups, given some cash to style themselves at four different shops, and required to be back at Next Model Management at half past Merde (which is quarter past Merde in French).

You’re sending the girls shopping in Paris? YOU HEARTLESS BASTARDS.

Anyway, you know how much fun it is to watch your friends shop? Because this is even less fun than that.

Some of the girls are given dodgy directions by a bunch of teenage boys (because they were pointing with their penises), Rachel stumbles over something in the street and then thanks it (thank you, no seriously, thanks), Amelia is generous enough to give her new friends advice they hate, Caroline speaks a little bit like she’s trying to get peanut butter off the back of her teeth, and Cassie doesn’t like her shirt because she says it’s the same sort of thing jockeys wear.

That’s called ‘silk’, sweetie.

Not everyone makes it back to the agency on time, and Montana remarks that “Alex and Charlotte had like, a disapproving look on their face”.

That’s just what they look like, sweetie.

The late group is disqualified, because this is really, really important and may change the face of global politics forever.
And how does Teary Tayah feel about being disqualified, you may ask?

A little teary, to be honest.
The prize is a Gap voucher and a glass of water with ubermodel Natalia Vodianova, which I know should be interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by two different types of cardboard.

Meanwhile, it’s good to see that Madeline has toned down the make-up a bit.

Subtlety. It's Fronch.
The scrags drag themselves onto a bus which drives for a day or two until Rachel remarks “i don’t think we’re in the centre of Paris anymore’.


Luckily, Cassie lets everyone know where they are by announcing “Oh, we’re here somewhere!”. I’m starting to think that Cassie might be the kind of girl who would suffocate if she didn’t write the words ‘breathe in and out’ on the back of her hand in biro.

The here that they’re at is the Chateau de Vaux le Vicomte, because I looked it up. Chest Smith is there to meet them and tell the girls that they’ll be modelling couture gowns for today’s shoot, and also to wear a v-neck. His moobs won’t just tan, flex and glow all by themselves, y’know.
The scrags are overwhelmed, with comments like:

Doik – “This is so crazy, I was just thinking like, what was I doing this time last week in Wollongong?” (Answer: not geography).

Cassie – “I’ve come to the shatoo to get a photo shoot with a contour outfit” (And to speak Anglosh in a Jan Gollyano frick).

Sarah – “You can’t even purchase this couture in shops” (That’s outrageously close to the definition of ‘couture’ which is.. y’know... good).
Rachel – “Thank you so much. Thank you. Merci. Thanks. Thanks a million. Ta”.

And how does Teary Tayah feel about wearing a dress once worn by Beyonce?

A little teary, to be honest.

Izzy and Yolanda are both goddamn, get stuffed, my-nostrils-are-flaring amazing, although I think Yolanda might need to look into treatment for her peculiar arrangement of pubic hair.

Amelia, who is dressed as The Black Swan, tells us that she’s always been interested in fashion. I'm putting a crisp fiddy on her reminding us of that every fucking week.

Doik Simone does pretty well, but is amazed that the girl on the other side of the window keeps doing exactly the same things she does.

She doesn't do geography either.

Neo gives Chest Smith a bit of attitude, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because of the thing.
You know.

The Caroline thing.

The thing where Caroline doesn’t like the frock that the stylist puts her in.

The thing where Caroline calls the stylist a bitch.

The thing where I award Caroline this week’s special trophy.

Now, if only there was some way that the stylist could get some sort of revenge.

Except I can't see her behind that angry bear.

Suddenly we’re back in Sydney in the Elimination Barn, where the modules are met by Saint Sarah, who only just arrives in time from organising a rally for the Society For The Prevention Of Kicking Puppies. She introduces judges Chest Smith (who is covering his chest and is therefore dead to me), Charlotte Dawson (who looks a little bit like the madam of a brothel where requests for riding crops are not unusual) and Shiny Alex Perry (who has come today dressed as a highly polished cowboy with an astigmatism).

One by one the judges call the scrags forward and let them know what they think of them. I’m trying to figure out what their opinion of Caroline is just by the looks on their faces, but I’m just... not... sure...

Dawson and Perry let a few zingers rip, French-style, particularly:

·         “The fact that you’re a nice girl is just the icing on the French tart” (LE ZING!)

·         “I gave her a hard time about looking like a tranny because she wears more make-up than Alex Perry” (TRES ZING!)

And of Teary Tayah:

  “It looks like someone’s kicked her puppy” (JE M’APPELLE ZING!)

WAIT A SECOND. Was it this guy?

Anyway, eight years pass (that’s two world wars in French), and four girls are given le boot – Sarah, Shannon, Lauren and that one that pretty much only gets one use out of any lipstick she buys.

Bye, girls! We totally remember who two of you are.


And of course, as promised, verse two of the yet-to-be-named country song summary:

When yoooou’re
In Paris france and you wet your pants ‘cause you think that you’re in Pisa,
Then it’s lucky you’re hot because if you’re not they would confiscate your visa.
If you make a fuss in the mini-bus there’ll be disqualification;
Then they’ll kick you square in the derriere (that means ‘arse’ in the translation).
When you take photos in a French chateau then a tip for your success is:
Either have pink hair or be almost bare on the bits where your lace dress is.
Then it’s time to fly and the nerves are high cause it’s all about catharsis;
It’s not one but four that are shown the door and they’re straight out on their arses.