Jo Blogs

Sit On Myspace And Tell Me That You Love Me #5

2011-11-29T09:03:00.000+11:00

Okay, okay, so I received this particular moist and poetic come-on via email, not Myspace, but come on. That title is the best pun I’ve ever used, and I’m clinging onto it like the last midget at a… a midget… capturing… party. Shut up. They have those.

If you need to catch up, you can read about how I’ve been relentlessly pursued by amorous digital suitors of all genders here. I guess they single me out because they heard I have a nipple-shaped birthmark on the top of my head. Extra nipple = value for money. It's simple economics. And sexy.

Except they didn’t single me out. The following email was sent to six people, all with the same first name as me. My new stalker is such. A slut. Here’s what she said, with my comments.

From: Lina

Sent: Friday 25 November 2011 5:10:04 AM

A GOOD OLD COUNRTY BOY THATS GOOD TO THEIR WOMEN

Okay, so you’re after someone good. I’m good. You’re after someone old. I’m… depends on your definition of ‘old’. You want someone ‘counrty’. I guess you’ve misspelled one of two words there, so I might be able to help you. But if you want a boy without apostrophes, you have come to the wrong place, Lina. I am a girl with many, many ~~nipples~~ apostrophes.

Privet!

Privet? That’s a hedge. It’s a hedge. Although in this case I’ll just assume it’s a euphemism for pubic hair dressed up as a greeting, in which case I’ll respond with: Labia to you, my friend!

The greatest tragedy of life is not that the men perish, but that they cease to love.

Yeah, well I’ve got a bit of a policy that after they perish, I kind of leave them alone. There’s a bunch of laws relating to loving on after they’ve died, Lina.

There is an ocean between us, my honey, and I wish that it were not true, for every day when I awake I yearn to be with you.

You should buy your honey from somewhere else. Problem solved.

There are many miles between us, my love, though you are always here in my heart.

I get it. We’re a long way away from each other. Get on Skype and I’ll do you a little dance to take the edge off. They’re all my own moves, too, unless you’ve seen the music video for Michael Jackson’s ‘Bad’.

I feel you and imagine our first meeting under the starts.

Feeling me makes you spell badly? Maybe I should wax or something.

Every night beneath the silver starlight I pray for the day we will never part http://websitenobodyshouldeverclickon.in

That day is totally here! I promise you, we will never part. We will stay exactly as close as we are now forever and ever.

Sweet goodbye

Li N

Bye, darling. Or should I say: Privet!

I just can't understand why I only attract borderline-illiterate lesbians. It's probably my deodorant.

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven - THE FINALE

2011-10-26T14:36:00.001+11:00

What? You’re still here? It’s over, you weirdos. Demelza won. Go home.

Oh, for the love of camel nipples, ALRIGHT. FINE. Have your frikkin’ recap, then. Sorry it’s late – I had to wash the champagne out of my frock and the taste of victory out of my mouth. Also, if any of you can tell me whose house this is that I woke up in, that would be AMAZING. But I think I maimed their dog.

Rather than painstakingly going through the finale episode with a fine-toothed comb like yoo-shoo-wall, I sat in my seat at the Opera House scribbling in my notebook, which seemed like a good idea at the time. That time before I opened my notebook this morning and found the phrase ‘IT’S THE GODDAMN OPERA HOUSE, BITCHES!!’ scrawled in capital letters across the top of one page with five pages of complete bollocks after it.

So basically, you’re getting bullet-points. Aaaand I’m making most of them up. Aaaand they’re not even bullets, they’re little dots. Seriously, ‘bullet’ is a stupider name than ‘Bindi’. Unless you’re a cowboy, I suppose. WHAT. WHAT. I HAD A LOT TO DRINK.

******

IT’S THE GODDAMN OPERA HOUSE, BITCHES!

Things there were lots of:

1. The word ‘journey’. It’s law that ‘journey’ has to be included in any reality television show final a minimum of six thousand times. I only counted eighty-seven. Pull your socks up, Australia’s Next Top Model.

2. The word ‘expensive’. Shiny Alex Perry is using it as punctuation now.

3. Montage packages. And also Liztage packages and Simtage packages.

4. Costume changes. I tried to write down descriptions of each frock, but they changed so quickly and often that I resigned myself to just writing ‘cloth’ in the margin. They were cloth. And there were many.

5. Short Stack songs. Sure, there was only one, but ask yourself how many is too many.

So Neo is wearing her wig again. That seems like a good decision. I made a decision that good once, and ended up with a papercut, a bag of dead mice, and a great story about cleaning fruit stains off the ceiling.

So Izzy has her pink hair back again. This actually is a good decision. Izzy with pink hair is like a monkey in a top hat and waistcoat – you don’t want to like it and it annoys the monkey and makes the waistcoat smell like a mixture of fleas, bananas and popcorn, but you just know it’s right.

Seriously. Short Stack are a lot of different kinds of shit.

Maddy wins the ‘Favourite Model’ prize! She also wins the ‘Concrete-Lacquered Hair-Helmet’ prize, but the trophy is too big to fit in the taxi afterwards. Shame.

Shiny Alex Perry and Charlotte Dawson, one dressed as Alex Perry and the other dressed by him, which thankfully worked out, were perched up in balcony seats for most of the show like Waldorf and Statler from the Muppets except that Waldorf and Statler from the Muppets don't wear sunglasses or say ‘knickers’.

I doubt she’d thank me for pointing it out, but Rachel still walks like a three-legged horse in cardboard shoes. Come to think of it, she probably would thank me.

The Harpers Bazaar shoot is like chocolate-coated cheese wrapped in sugared unicorns and orgasms.

I’m not even joking. Short Stack sucks dead hobo arse.

Doik Simone comes third. She’s used to coming third, though, as her boobs generally enter any room about seven minutes before she does.

NOBODY MENTION LAST YEAR’S FUCK UP. DO NOT MENTION IT. SHUT UP. DON’T EVEN.

Montana wins. This is as surprising as opening a book of teenage poetry and finding pages full of dreary emotional wank inside. But. Y’know. Congratulations and that.

There were two after parties, and I weasled my way (see: showed my wristband) into both. Highlights for me (and I’m sure there were different highlights for other people, but who am I, Gandhi? ) were:

My mate Shane made a bunch of Brigitte-Nielsen-heads on sticks. WITH EYEHOLES. Josh Flinn now owns one. I reckon I’m totally set for life now, because everyone loves eyeholes.

I accidentally called Teary Tayah ‘Teary Tayah’ to her face. I dunno, she looked a bit upset about it.

Caroline grabbed my arm and shouted across the room “MUM! MUM! This is the girl who called me an arsehole for six weeks!”. Her mum cupped her ear and shouted back “What? She designed your dress?”. I just nodded, because sure, I design dresses for arseholes now.

In return for calling her an arsehole for six weeks, Caroline threw a drink in my face. I HAVE WAITED FOR SOMEONE TO DO THAT FOR FIVE FRIGGING YEARS. Now all I need is a free Alex Perry frock and I can finally stop blogging forever.

Megan Gale swore.

I met some of you. That sounds like I’m getting soppy and stuff, including that as a highlight, all nawww she loves her readers and crap, but I’m specifically referring to the bit where you told me I was funny. Hugs are nice too, but come on – I would electrocute a hug in the bath for another compliment.

So now, with the last bit of alcohol-soaked brain that I scraped out of the bottom of my handbag, here’s the LAST VERSE of my country song summarising the series episode by episode. Things don’t have to have a point to be achievements. They just have to rhyme.

I’m huuuuuung

Over as fuck, so you’re out of luck, ‘cause I can’t be bothered rhyming;

So Montana won, and I already told you I’m not rhyming, so get stuffed.

But really. As Rachel would no doubt say over and over and over and over again, thank you. No, really, thanks for reading. Ta. Sorry. Thank you.

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #12 - PENULTIMACY

2011-10-24T20:46:00.000+11:00

Okay, first: a bit of housekeeping. At the beginning of this series, I hired an actuary to keep a tally of the number of times anyone on the screen:

a) Clapped and said ‘woo’;

b) Used the phrase ‘oh my god’; or

c) Said “we had no idea” in any context.

Yeah. He... well, let’s just say he quit.

Secondly, a warning: this episode takes place in another country. We should probably just get this out of the way right now as a kind of blanket statement:

Welcome back, little dude.

It’s sand, souks, niqabs, nipples, bouffants and brows in this, the ‘I’ve Been Through The Desert On A Scrag With No Name’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Ugh. Sand in my gusset.

******

A live Sarah Mail arrives at the Module Mansion, as Saint Sarah breezes into the packed-up loungeroom to farwell the girls. “Think back to the top one hundred, remember back then? When you went off to Paris?”.

Ummm no, not ringing a bell.

OH PLEASE, THESE GIRLS HAVE PIMPLES FROM BEFORE THEN.

Sorry. Sorry. I’m just really uptight about the end of this competition. After this is over I’ll have to go back to screen-capping and judging my own life, and nobody wants to read about not being able to find a shoe or having trouble getting my ideal mix of pillows right. What? Oh, right.

THEY’RE GOING TO DUBAAAAAAIIIII!

Wait – where’s that again? We’d better show the modules on a map, as they’ve come up a little short in the ol’ knowing-their-geography department more than once before.

Perfect. Ta.

Everyone is surprised and delighted. Let’s get all the surprised and delighted faces out of the way right from the get-go, ‘kay?

Surprised. Delighted. And available on an inflatable life partner in an up-a-narrow-staircase shop near you.

Suddenly the modules are styled to within an inch of their short lives, the cameramen change their lens filters to ‘poignant and whimsical’, someone drops a jewellery bomb on the Middle East, and everyone’s off to the airport.

Montana reminds us of the gravity of this last trip, saying that “It’s gonna sort the mice from the men”.

OH MY GOD YOU'RE IN THE WRONG LANE.

The scrags go to the Business Class lounge and oh my god it’s the best thing they’ve ever seen in their lives. They get on the plane and oh my god it has legroom. They go to the bar on the plane and find that oh my god there are trays of cupca – THIS ISN’T A FLIGHT, THIS IS A WONDROUS BROTHEL OF SENSATION.

Sorry. Sorry.

Suddenly! A Dubai montage! If you missed it, don’t worry. There are eight hundred and twenty-three more.

Coming out of the air-conditioned airport into the heat of Dubai, Doik Simone remarks that it’s like “Running into like, a brick wall made of fire”, showing us two things:

1. That Doik doesn’t like the heat. If you missed that, don’t worry. She will mention it eight hundred and twenty-three more times.

2. That Doik should totally be writing lyrics for Cock Rock bands in the 80s.

A brick wall made of faaaaayaaaaaaah. SAXOPHONE SOLO.

The modules pack themselves into a terribly cramped stretch limo and point excitedly at things out the window as they zoom past. Montana comments that there are “so many freakin’ buildings”, basically nailing the definition of ‘city’ in one hit, and Simone shows some early town-planning skills by saying “I feel like we’re in the middle of the desert, and they decided to like, build things around”. Oh my god, Doik. That’s exactly what the Wikipedia page says!

The limo spits the scrags out at Atlantis The Palm hotel, which really impresses Montana. It’s the biggest thing she’s ever seen “and you can see it from like, five hundred metres away”. So, like FROM THE END OF THE STREET?! SHUT UP, NO WAY.

For the next five minutes, someone just shakes up opulence, shiny surfaces, rosewater, soft furnishings and the phrase “oh my god” in a bag, Liz gets excited because the hotel’s been on Getaway (somewhere behind Catriona Rowntree’s boobs), Montana gets excited because the hotel should be on Cribs, and Doik gets excited because the bath can fit a person in it.

Meanwhile, in the foyer aquarium, a scuba diver has a strange, cryptic message for the girls.

I can't help but think that this information will come in handy later.

Suddenly! A Dubai montage! I just can’t get enough of that shit.

A Sarah-Mail arrives via a what, a slave? What do they call them here? And the modules are back in the limo pointing and hooting out of the window again. “Oh my god look!” shouts Liz. “This is the history!”.

Simone responds with “I’m kind of glad that we haven’t been taken to history places, ‘cause I’m not a big historian”, which is a bit like Bridget Riley saying she’s never really been one for landscapes or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like Terri Irwin saying she might put her kids in the public eye a little bit.

This is how Simone feels about history and culture.

Well, until they’re surrounded by ogling men and a woman who probably doesn’t spell her name ‘Suad’ takes them shopping, anyway. Three significant things happen in this bit.

1. We learn that Doik wouldn’t mind having a husband who buys her gold jewellery. We keel over from shock and die.

2. We learn that women just wear black burqas because they’re slimming. It is, after all, every woman’s right to look slim.

3. We eat camel-milk chocolate.

WAIT, WHAT? But... where does.... how does... I KNEW we should’ve paid more attention to that scuba diver. It’s okay, though, because Montana does some science all over us:

“I’d heard of camel’s milk before, but we had no idea where camel’s milk would’ve come from. Like, when have you ever seen... do they just sort of inject it out, like what does this camel milk come from?”

WOW. Stay in school, kids.

The next morning at breakfast, the scrags face their biggest test yet.

They've never had to avoid this many carbs before.

A Sarah-Mail summons them to the ‘old quarter’, and it’s frigging hot. They’re met by photographer Georges Antoni, and he’s frigging hot. He takes them into the ‘Centre For Cultural Understanding’ because he’s into things like irony, and then tells the girls that they’ll be doing two photo-shoots, the first of which will be in winter clothes in 45-degree heat, first individually and then in a group shot, and I can see a little bit of sweat trickling down your neck and into your chest hair and I may need a moment to collect myself.

Cough.

The girls go into hair and make-up, get styled with quiffy beehives, scarves, orgasmic Bally outfits and shoes I want to have stapled to my feet and OH GOD HE’S LYING DOWN. HE’S LYING DOWN. BRING MORE TISSUES.

Thats... that's quite a lens you have there, Georges.

Montana’s brain swells from thinking too hard about camel milk...

Science hurts, you guys.

Simone tries to suck a few extra IQ points out of the air...

Sure. That's what she's doing.

And Liz is a goddamn freakin’ giant.

My new best friend could totally stomp on your house.

But seriously. These girls are completely fracking amazing. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT. SINCERITY, BITCHES. But looook:

They piddy ladies.

Suddenly! Doik nearly faints, Georges ‘In My Pants Right Now Don’t Make Me Tell You Twice’ Antoni carries her to safety, and we all have to listen to fucking Enriques Iglesias.

HHNNNNNNGGGG

Oh my god wait. Hold the freakin’ phone. I think I’ve just discovered where Doik Simone keeps her on/off switch, proving my theory that she’s a short-circuiting bitchy boob robot from the future. IT'S ON THE SIDE OF HER HEAD.

BRAIN NOT FOUND ERROR

It’s morning, and I’d like to welcome you to Episode 1 of DOING SCIENCE WITH MONTY AND DOIK.

Here’s how it goes down.

Doik: “People do milk camels, because how do you get camel milk, like, you might not see their teats...”

Monty: “I’ve never seen a teat on a camel before”.

Doik: “Yeah but people still milk them, how...”

Monty: “Oh, I’m sure they do, but but like, have you ever looked at a camel and saw like ...”

Doik: “I don’t look for camel teats, but I just know that you can milk them, because people drink camel milk and you can get camel chocolate”.

Monty: “Do camels eat? I thought they only like, drink”/

Doik “No, you can feed camels at zoos, I’ve done it”.

I’ve been watching this show for twelve weeks, so I no longer have the IQ to respond to this. Let’s just leave it to the pictures.

Thankfully the phone rings and Saint Sarah sends the girls off to swim with dolphins, like she always does, but please. For the love of lactose. Nobody ask where dolphin milk comes from.

The scrags wave at, kiss and swim with the dolphins in a massive man-made pool. Now, I know that three girls swimming with mammals and talking about how they look like they’re smiling and they’re so cute and they feel like sea cucumbers should be interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by thousands and thousands and thousands of grains of sand.

Speaking of which, we’re off to the desert for a dune-top shoot in wafty outfits, slicked back hair, killer heels and no eyebrows!

I am begging for your pardon.

That’s right. Those bad boys are bleached right off their faces. And you know what happens when I see shots of people without any eyebrows? Yes, you do.

I make your life better, whilst wasting my own. It's okay. I know.

The photo shoot is amaaaaaaaaa *takes breath* aaaaaaaaaayzing, see?

Just like the grey wig/pink paint photo shoot of episode whatever-it-was, at first the styling looks like it’s going to be Fugly McFuglerson, and then BAM! Gorgeousness bomb fired from a chic cannon aimed at Hot Diggetty Dang County. And as a bonus, I’ve totally solved the mystery of the Loch Ness Monster.

It's not a monster. It's Liz's leg as she falls arse over tit down a hill.

And speaking of tits, let’s do some more teat science!

Hypothesis: Camels have nipples.

Method:

Tip a motherfucking camel over.

Results: Totes nipples.

Conclusion: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CAN WE STOP NOW.

Doik Simone is concerned that her camel is ignoring her and ‘ostracising itself’.

Oh, honey. I just... sweet galloping horses of... your mother must be so...

For fuck’s sake, pet.

ANYWAY. The scrags go to dinner in the middle of the desert to drink Coke, try to subtract three from ninety-nine and talk about feelings when the phone rings. It’s Saint Sarah, and it’s almost time to go home. It’s also almost time to wonder what kind of bullshit magical phone service provider these kids are on.

Suddenly! Sydney montage!

We’re back in the big smoke, at the Opry House, and WHERE’S BRIGITTE NIELSEN?!? I haven’t seen her all episode? Maybe she’s busy baring her teeth, sticking her neck out and holding one boob? Naaaaah.

For some reason Saint Sarah (a bit late, having rushed from the AGM of the Camel Ostracisation Front), Charlotte Dawson (dressed today as nothing in particular, which isn’t funny at all), Shiny Alex Perry (dressed today as a luminous cowboy squinting his way through a sunglasses muster) and Georges Antoni (fresh from MY PANTS) are all gathered to talk about photos and tell us that they think Montana should win.

What do you think, Magic Psychic Desk?

Hel... hello?

Oh, great. No Brigitte, no Magic Psychic Desk. FINE. I’ll have to pick my own winner.

I vote for sewing my best friend Liz and Montana together, making a hybrid module called Lizmonta.

WINNER.

Of course, the real winner is the phrase ‘pigeon eyes’.

OMG FINALE OMG FINALE OMG FINALE TOMORROW NIGHT.

I’ll be there in person because people at Foxtel are aces and I’m a whining needy bitch and what am I going to wear and is this finally going to be the year I get a drink thrown in my face.

As a result of me planning on drinking away my pain/joy/facial tic, as per previous years please DO NOT expect too much in the way of a finale recap.

It will be late (like, after lunch on Wednesday late), it will be lame (like, legs-bitten-off-by-bears lame), it will be lacking in detail in the extreme (like, Simone’s brain lacking in detail) and it will be unsatisfactory. Live with it. MAMA NEEDS HER REST.

******

It will, however, have the final verse in the longest ever country song about modelling competitions in it, though. That is my promise to you. Second last verse goes like:

While theeeee

Budget lasts get to the airport fast tell the pilot he can park it

In the Middle East at the very least, ‘cause there’s souks (yeah, that means ‘markets’).

In a nosebleed shoe, with a beehive ‘do, you’ll be hot but dang, you’re highbrow;

But it matters not, because for your next shot, we’re gonna bleach off both your eyebrows.

People of your ilk know they like their milk in their chocolates, drinks and tipples;

But you’re still surprised when a camel, capsized, lets you know that it’s got nipples;

Now excitement’s high, ‘cause the last night’s nigh, and it’s going to be so gnarly;

There’s no time to rest, wear your frocking best to the Opera House finale.

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #11

2011-10-17T20:36:00.000+11:00

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.

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #10

2011-10-10T20:37:00.000+11:00

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.

Learnment.

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.

You're welcome.

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.

Challenged.

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.

Before

After.

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.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrthank you.

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.

Missed.

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?

Right.

Phoy-Toy Shoot

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.

Eliminationosity

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.

Exactly.

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:

If yooouuuu’re

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.

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #9

2011-10-03T20:36:00.001+11:00

This week it’s all about pink bits. Pink ribbons, pink rubbish, and pink paint.

Okay, I lied about the rubbish. To be honest, I lied one time about being a gymnast, too, but that’s not really relevant right now.

Whack on some lippy and slap your sunburn, it’s the ‘Scraggy In Pink’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model’.

And also boobs.

******

After checking out the Photo Of The Week for a bit and having everyone agree with Simone when she points out how beautiful she is, Saint Sarah makes an unexpected appearance at the house with charitably tousled hair.

“Tonight is an opportunity to have a girl’s night in!”, she announces, making a marked difference to every other night where the girls don't... go... out. “It’s an opportunity for us to talk about women’s cancers”. WOOHOO! I’ll make the popcorn! Wait, what?

Oh. Saint Sarah’s brought a mate, Krystal Barter, to talk about breast cancer. And here is a space that all my insensitive jokes would go in under any other circumstances.

Thanks a lot, important issue. Thanks a frigging bunch-a-roo.

RIGHT. Now that’s done, Saint Sarah hints that there’ll be some extra girls arriving to take part in the girl’s night in, and that they’ll be ‘familiar faces’. Madeline is concerned, saying “As soon as we heard ‘familiar faces’, we were like, please, don’t just be Charlotte”.

Remember ages ago how I said that whenever Dawson does this, you're fucked? THAT.

All of a sudden, the sisters and best friends of the scrags are pouring through the door, bearing hugs and gifts. Well, “gifts”. Let’s use that term relatively loosely. In fact, let’s rank the gifts from Couldn’t You Have Just Brought Something I Can Use Like Tampons to Most Horribly And Pointlessly Shitful:

A netball uniform. Not that shit, but in a televised modelling competition, not altogether useful in all situations.

Donut rings. Sure, it’s actual jewellery, but it’s also a double-euphemism for ‘bum-hole’.

A bear with a sign saying ‘Best Friends’. Sure, it might come in handy if anyone needs to vomit, but JESUS CHRIST, A BEST FRIENDS BEAR.

It’s a Coke bottle. It’s empty. It has, according to Hazel’s sister Kate, a picture of ‘Karl Lagerford’ on it. It is as useful and nostalgic as a dead raccoon with a thistle clenched in its buttocks.

Izzy and Zoe tell us that when they’re together, they’re grape and strawberry Hubba Bubba. I have a slightly different theory: that when Izzy and Zoe are together, they’re borderline retarded. Exhibits 1 and 2:

Liz’s secondary, lesser best friend Katy (my invitation probably just got lost, huh) smuggles in a letter from Liz’s boyfriend. It’s reasonable to say from the scrawled, smudged ramblings that Liz’s boyfriend is not currently taking time out from his PhD studies in order to write letters. Footage of the letter was fleeting, but I managed to get a screen-shot of it for you.

Touching.

The next morning, everyone hugs (again), says goodbye and piles into a mini-van, at which point there are two startling, life-changing revelations.

Simone says “I felt a bit bad, cause like everyone was crying, and I didn’t cry. ‘Cause I wasn’t sad to like, say goodbye to my friend, because we’ve only got like, four weeks left”. Simone might actually be wise, you guys. Shift your paradigms, yo.
THAT BACKGROUND SONG JUST SAID ‘GOODBYE, BROWN-EYE’. It did. I heard it. Submit your votes for this to replace that other thing as the elimination song. SUBMIT.

Challenged.

A Sarah-Mail mentioning trash and treasure is digitally delivered to the debutantes, and Madeline guesses that it has something to do with drag queens, because logic what? Hahahahahaha.

The Fashion Fiestas whisk the scrags to this week’s glamorous high-end locale, a rubbish dump, proving once again that most of the budget was spent on baguettes, chapeaux and Maurice Chevalier albums in Paris. Now, I hate to squeeze out a motif, but it’s uncanny how being IN a dump makes people look like they’re TAKING a dump. Don’t judge me. There’s EVIDENCE.

Ew.

Urgh.

HNNNNNNNNNNGGGG!

A big rubbish-moving truck, no doubt fuelled by tentative relevance, hauls engine towards the modules and then suddenly vomits out Charlotte Dawson and emotional-range juggernaut and catwalk trainer Adam Williams. They explain to the girls that the challenge this week involves wearing recycled, sustainable outfits and wandering unfettered through the Strand Arcade. So we’re here, standing on piles of rubbish that, as Doik puts it, smells ‘like the whole world got gastro’, to be told that we’re going to be doing something else somewhere else. It’s like Christo wrapping the Sydney Harbour Bridge and then inviting people to the Opera House or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like the synopsis of an episode of Glee implying that it won’t be full of twenty-four-year-old auto-tuned arseholes over-emoting in wheelchairs and skirts.

Once at the Strand, the modules change into their recycled outfits (Simone hates hers) and we take a moment to study Adam Williams’ emotional range.

Happy.

Angry.

Excited.

Hungry for peanut butter toast in particular.

Letting you know that the building is on fire.

Hazel is dressed as a bin-liner frilled-neck lizard, and almost takes out a couple of pensioners while clearly flashing the coffee drinker behind her. No points.

That's what I call double decaf.

Montana and Madeline are itchy and uncomfortable (no points) and Rachel lolls her head around drunkenly like she’s trying to find the straw in her bourbon and coke (no points).

Simone hates her outfit. She’d like you to know that. She’d like you to know it a lot. She says that she feels like a prisoner who works on a farm, and that there’s a reason that nobody wears garbage. I dunno....

I think she looks like a Barbie doll shitting a chilli.

Liz is concerned and says “I’m not sure if I’ve improved in my catwalk. I hope I can still put one foot in front of the other”. It would be easier to mock her if she wasn’t wearing these, basically making her taller than God:

But I have a strict policy about mocking girls walking on small buildings made of lava.

Speaking of shoes, Izzy is wearing these, which I must own immediately.

TEN POINTS.

Izzy’s whole outfit is made from recycled wigs, because of course, once those things get into the waterways the little dolphins get tangled in them and end up looking like Mardi Gras float leaders for the rest of their lives. It’s cruel. “I have a wig collection!” she says. YES, AND YOUR BOYFRIEND HAS COFFINS AND YOU HAVE TEETH IN YOUR HAIR AND DONUTS ON YOUR FINGERS. The kook. It lives. We know. Still, she rocks the makeshift catwalk hard by modelling with her hands...

And looking a little bit like that cranky violent guy from Big Trouble In Little China.

Is all in refrexes.

After a few more rubbish-related puns, Charlotte and Adam announce that Izzy wins the challenge, which is $500 for her favourite charity. She talks about how important it is to give back to the community, which I know sounds interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by my other policy to not make fun of people giving to charities. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

Phoy-Toy Shoot

A photo of a paintbrush arrives by Sarah-Mail, which the modules all assume is associated with nudity. Stay in school, kids. Stay in school.

The girls go to Luxe studios to be met by Josh Brigitte Flinn Nielsen, who just can’t get you out of his head.

Boy, it's more than I dare to think about.

He introduces Simon Upton, who in my imagination just can’t get me out of his pants, and he tells the scrags that they’ll have no clothes to hide behind in today’s shoot – just great big globs of hot pink paint and a - what’s the collective term for male models? A straining crotch of male models.

You know how girls react if they’ve been starved of male contact and are about to get into their undies and a trough of paint in front of three hot blokes?

That's right. Blow-Job face and Hand-Job hand.

Now, I’m not going to lie. The styling for this shoot looks like it’s going to be fucking horrible.

But then, after a little bit of this:

It becomes the most jaw-droppingly amazing photo shoot in the history of the world ever.

SHUT. Pause. UP.

Doik Simone calls the styling ‘granny chic’, and then comments that the paint feels ‘really thick and weird’, which is such a coincidence, because that’s exactly how I’d describe Doik Simone.

Rachel tells us that she has quite strong personal beliefs, then almost slips over and gurns her way awkwardly through her shoot. WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW, PINKY McSTUMBLES. She mentions that pink is her favourite colour (SHUT UP, NO WAY) and then thanks photographer Simon. Thank you, Simon. Thanks. No, really, ta. Thanks for being all hot and hairy and stuff. Call me.

Izzy says she feels like a big strawberry thickshake, then lifts her leg until it looks like the male model is photographing her... er... ‘strawberry thickshake’.

Hazel unexpectedly brings it, Liz laughs adorably because she’s so pleased to be my best friend, and Montana is just disgustingly, bullshittingly gorgeous.

Best. Shoot. Ever.

So good I’m clutching at my imaginary pearls. And at Simon Upton’s imaginary groin a little bit.

Eliminationosity

After briskly skimming across the prizes, which I think this year include a lifetime supply of Mini Babybel chesses and a tricycle, the modules stomp into the Eliminarium. Saint Sarah greets them, still puffed from running all the way here from a meeting of the Benevolent Society For Bitch Bloggers Who Can’t Make Fun Of Real Charities, and introduces the judges: Charlotte Dawson, who is dressed today as a triple-preserved Queen Nefertiti, Shiny Alex Perry, dressed today in the same goddamn black shirt he’s worn every single episode yet somehow infinitesimally shinier and squintier, and Simon Upton, who is, unfortunately, dressed today.

The judges look through the amazing, amazing photos, and all agree that Simone looks ‘expensive’. She responds joyously with “I can’t believe I’ve lived seventeen years of being cheap, and now I’m expensive!’, which elicits this response from Dawson:

And this response from the Magic Psychic Desk:

Perry and Dawson have a number of minor arguments, at which point Shiny Alex advises Dawson to ‘loosen your weave, honey’, which I’m including in my general insult vocabulary from now on, the second I find out what it means.

When Hazel’s incredible shot is screened, Dawson declares that her new name is “Amazel”, causing the Magic Psychic Desk to show its support.

Liz’s photo is of course stunning, but Dawson is more interested in her Elimination attire. “You’ve taken your fashion cues today from Bindi Irwin – you’ve been at those crimping irons and you’ve got that safari look happening”, she comments. Magic Psychic Desk says:

I love you, Magic Psychic Desk.

Girls tromp out, arguments are heated, girls tromp back in, and everyone is picked off one by one. Hazel gets photo of the week, and the whittling continues until only Izzy and Madeline remain.

Four eons pass, and Maddie is shown the door. She can almost see it through her heavy eyeliner and mascara, too. BYE, MADDIE! I’ll miss you like a pair of sand-damaged suede shoes.

And at the risk of sounding like Rachel, thank you, Madeline. Thanks. Really. Thanks for calling Charlotte “Granny Tranny”, hence facilitating the future nickname of Ms Dawson from this day forward. I bow to you.

******

Yes, it’s the ninth verse of the country-song-with-no-chorus-but-one-verse-per-episode. People instructing me to get a life may kindly and swiftly get a rat up ya.

Aaaand iiiffff

Charity’s your thing, have a girl’s night in – here’s your mates with luggage lugging;

They’ll bring gifts you hate then you’ll stay up late and spend most of your time hugging.

Now it’s off to the tip where you’ll soon get hip to the challenge that awaits you

Get your body wrapped in recycled crap, Simone I think your outfit hates you.

Bet you’d never think you’d be painted pink – swim around in that big trough now;

But it’s the best shoot yet and it’s going to get really hard to vote one off now.

But vote off they must, and the general thrust is that Madeline’s a goner.

Once the sprayed-on face, now she’s lost her place ‘cause there’s too much make up on her.

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #8

2011-09-26T21:32:00.000+10:00

I haven’t seen this much drama on television since MarshaBrady got hit in the nose with a football.

There goes her date with Doug.

Smear on the greasepaint, get ready for your close-up and write the scene number clearly in chalk on that clapper thing that you write on in chalk, because it’s the ‘Like Scrags Through The Hourglass’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model.

******

I’d like to start with a little housekeeping.

Firstly, you need to know that when they play that little snippet of the ANTM theme song just before every ad break, you can increase your fun by 25% if, like my housemates and I do, you emphasise the concluding aspirant. I’m gonna be on top-PAAAAAAH. You may trust me on that point.

Secondly, since you saw them last, Madeline and Izzy have morphed into grossly stereotypical Jewish mothers.

Why can't you just find a nice doctor and settle down? Why you gotta break your mother's heart like this?

I should drop DEAD you'd remember to call me on my birthday.

Rachel’s Phoy-Toy-Of-The-Week is up on the wall of the Module Mansion to a mixed reception. Liz thinks it’s beautiful. Jess doesn’t really get what the judges see in Rachel. Montana is pensive. Doik Simone is HEY LOOK A CAMERA!

Learnment

A Sarah Mail dripping with drama arrives, whisking the scrags off in a Fashion Fiesta cavalcade to NIDA, which stands for ‘Now I’m Doing Acting!’. Charlotte Dawson meets them and introduces actress Anna Houston, who will be taking them through some improvisation exercises. She warns the modules that there’s a chance they’ll look ridiculous.

Yeah, no, that's fine.

Amelia’s excited about the lesson, and says “This is definitely a good week to take risks”. Let’s see how that works out for you in particular, shall we honey?

The first improvisation game is called ‘Excuse Me, What Are You Doing?’. Apparently there are some rules to the game, but really all you need to know is that Izzy gives birth to a dog, and I love this show so much I want to smell it on my pillow.

Nurse, we're going to need an epidural and some kibbles.

The next game involves Actress Anna counting to ten while five of the modules run the emotional gamut from ‘totes fine’ to ‘OMG I broke a nail’. It’s harrowing, to say the least.

I can't believe I forgot to wear teeth in my hair today.

Izzy has a remarkable talent for grief, and tells us that “I can cry on cue. Not all the time, only sometimes”. I dunno, Izzy, I’ve just consulted the Big Dictionamary Of Awsome Wordz, and it wants to have a little chat with you about the definition of ‘on cue’.

Speaking of words, some of my favourites all in a row are “Except you’ve got a really extreme body tic”, particularly as it relates to the next acting game. Set in a train carriage, each module acts out their wildest fitting fantasies, carefully making sure to maintain their beauty, composure and poise at all times.

Dawson congratulates them on their amazing dog-birthing, crying and Tourette’s Syndrome skills before handing them each a script and insisting that they practice, prompting an editor’s orgy of sepia-toned, slow-mo soap opera references.

ACT ONE, SCENE ONE: THE THREE STAGES OF TOILETING.

1. Oh, god. Oh god, that burrito isn't sitting well at ALL.

2. HNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG

3. Jesus Christ. That smells like a combination of fresh-cut hay and dead hobo.

Challenged.

The next day, fully rehearsed, Ms Dawson drags the scrags to a commercial studio to audition for a Telstra commercial. The ad will be shot by Abe Forsythe, who you saw in that thing he was in that time, and co-acted by Joseph, who I can see in my pants.

Amelia auditions first and, sadly, is amazing. Arseholes are so good at hyper-cheesy melodrama and pretending that they’re shocked to find out that Chad’s their brother.

Montana suddenly has an American accent, Izzy is surprisingly unconvincing, and Hazel’s voice can cut through four layers of glass and still explode a guinea pig.

It’s pretty much exactly what you'd imagine this photo would sound like.

What do you reckon, Mrs Maddie Braunstein?

Oi, vey.

Doik Simone sources her inspiration directly from ham and cheese, and is consequently magnificent. Say what you will about Doik, she’ll only ever need one skill in life and everything will be fine.

This one.

Oh okay, and maybe these two a little bit.

Liz is a little unsure about her audition, but decides to “just kinda go with the flow and see if I go well, and try and bring some impromise... impro... imprompting stuff into it?”. I AM SO GLAD WE’RE BEST FRIENDS, LIZZY.

Finally the audition is over, and the final commercial is an artistic and cinematic juggernaut.

COMING SOON TO A CINEMA NEAR YOU:

STARRING: Montana ‘Never Go Full Retard’ Smith

Jess ‘I Can Still Smell That Hobo’ Smith

And this Chinese guy.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I know.

Challenge winners, who get to do a job that other people would get paid for for free (exciting!) are Madeline, Simone, Amelia and Montana. Montana says that when the ad comes out, her parents will be shocked to see her on TV. Yeah, she says that to camera. On... y’know. On TV.

Izzy calls her boyfriend on a dodgy line to tell him how disappointed she is that she hasn’t won Phoy-Toy-Of-The-Week or any challenges, which I know sounds interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by the dial tone.

Phoy-Toy Shoot

Off everyone whisks the next morning to a mysterious steam-themed photo shoot in Picton.

Hi. We're in Picton.

It turns out that the word ‘steam’ refers to a ‘steam train’, because words, that’s why. The modules are greeted by Josh Flinn, who has pictures of leopards on his shirt:

Hello, girls.

...and mildly cranky cardigan-clad photographer Jordan Graham, whose other skill is growing a beard both on the bottom and top of his head.

The girls learn that they’ll be taking part in a 1920s-themed shoot inspired by The Great Gatsby, unless you’re Liz, in which case it’s ‘The Great Gaps Tee Gaps Gaps’, which earns her this week’s trophy.

Doik, in a rare non-camera-shy moment, says “No, I’ve never read Great Gatsby, but I’ve read Streetcar Named Desire, so I kind of just pretended it was Streetcar Named Desire”, which is a bit like Edward Hopper pretending that his painting subjects are just giggling unicorns or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like Britney Spears pretending she’s a university graduate who knows how underpants work.

The styling is incredible, with finger-curled bobs, pearls, sharp dark lips, smoky eyes and Madeline listening to Kanye’s first album so that she can get into the historical mood.

After doing a spot of maths, Josh Nielsen drops a hormone bomb amongst the scraggy pigeons by announcing that Lincoln Lewis will be co-modelling with them today. Excited Rachel exclaims that she’s never worked with an actor before. SHUT UP NO WAY. Pretty sure that’s the only thing she’s never done. Preeetty sure.

The girls will be modelling with Lincoln in three themed groups. The first group, Madeline, Liz & Rachel, are asked to pretend that they’re coming off the train from a big night out, and are walking to Madeline’s house for more booze.

And to listen to some Cradle Of Filth.

Rachel struggles because she’s never been drunk before (SHUT UP NO WAY), and also because the photographer’s instructions are way too specific. “Rachel, your stumbling is a little bit too stumbly”, he says. MODELLING IS SO HARD, YOU GUYZ.

The second group, Jess, Hazel and Simone, are all blonde girls riding on the train with a cute guy, and HAHAHAHAHAHA WHEEEEEEEE WE’RE ON A TRAIN AND WE HAVE DIFFERENT SIZED HATS!

The third group, Izzy, Amelia and Montana, are asked to look ‘sad beautiful’. Montana ponders over the difficulty of this until finally nailing it.

Sad and missing a chromosome

Sad beautiful.

EVERYBODY JUST WAIT A GODDAMN SECOND. Hold it. FINALLY, after eight weeks, someone finally figures out what modelling is all about. That’s right. You've seen it before. It’s the SCT. The Solitary Crystalline Tear. IT’S ABOUT TIME.

Meanwhile, the photographer asks Amelia to move her face a little further into the window. There are many situations in which that might be considered a bad sign. This is pretty much all of them.

Eliminationosity

After Saint Sarah’s disembodied voice takes us through the prizes (which I think this year include a full packet of coloured pencils and a McFlurry), the modules descend upon the Eliminarium with various levels of sartorial success. Liz is wearing one of her eight thousand baby-doll dresses. Izzy is off to the Sock Hop. Rachel is in a bad, bad jumper. Doik is wearing LEATHER FREAKIN’ SHORTS. Although I suppose with Doik, anything that just wipes clean can’t be a bad thing, right?

Saint Sarah, fresh from a lamington drive for the Northern Beaches Dog Birthing Clinic, introduces judges Charlotte Dawson:

Dressed today as someone who enjoys self-administered 'smell my finger' jokes

Shiny Alex Perry:

Who, judging by his expression, has just smelled Charlotte's finger

...and guest judge Beard-Head, the amazing double-bearded man.

The judges check out the week’s phoy-toys, and OH MY GOD IT’S THAT CHINESE GUY AGAIN.

No, wait - it's just Rincoln Rewis. Sorry.

Various scrags are called slappers, lumps and cheap, the judges deliberate, and like ducks in a row in heels in a gaudy blue and gold studio, the girls are picked off one by one until only Liz, Jess and Amelia remain.

Suddenly, a shock! Tell us, Magic Psychic Desk!

No, no. The OTHER shock.

Aaaaand Jess and Amelia get the boot.

Bye, Jess and Amelia! The competition will be... um... marginally... kind of... less populated without you. Yeah. That.

******

It’s verse 8 of the seemingly interminable country song that has a verse per episode! Thank Christ for that.

Yooooou’re iiiinnn

Acting class and you’re on your arse birthing dogs with some sarcasm;

When you’ve finished, let’s pretend you’ve got Tourettes and you’re prone to sudden spasm.

It’s audition time – to get across the line, you’ll compete against each other

To react just right – horror, shock, or fright – when you hear that Chad’s your brother.

Now we’ll play the parts of some drunken tarts, like F. Scott Fitzgerald drew us;

Or some flappers who shed a tear or two on a train with Lincoln Lewis.

Set your mouth to pout, and it’s two more out - see you later Jess, Amelia

Sure you’re pretty, though now you have to go, ‘cause the judges didn’t feel ya.

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #7

2011-09-19T20:46:00.001+10:00

This week, it’s all about nature – its fury, its unexpected generosity, its effect on air travel, and its cute widdle animals.

They love nature over at Top Model headquarters. They love it so much they want to skin it and wear it as a hat. Welcome, zoophiles, to the ‘I Want To Scrag You Like An Animal’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Woof.

******

While lamenting Caroline’s departure, Jess compares losing her to getting your legs chopped off. I dunno – I reckon it’s more like getting your arsehole removed.

Meanwhile, Doik Simone continues on her quest to become the world’s most relentless attention seeker. She would’ve succeeded, too, if it wasn’t for them pesky kids.* And by ‘them pesky kids’, I mean ‘looking directly at the camera to see if it’s watching’.

Learnment

A Sarah Mail arrives early one morning, prompting Amelia to announce “When you know there’s Sarah Mail, you’re like oh, right, I’m in for a surprise”.

COOL STORY, BRO.

The Sarah Mail says something about how bitchin’ nature is, and then drops the information that the girls will be going to Kangaroo Island, which is somewhere off Sweden, I think. Wherever it is, it rockets the scrags suddenly into the stratosphere of excitement, because exclamation mark!

Izzy didn't seem to get the Let's All Totes Spack Out memo.

She also didn't seem to get my order at Big Daddy-O's Rock N' Roll Roller Skate Diner.

Cherry malted and a slice of pie, thanks Sheri. Make it snappy.

Some of the modules spend the next five minutes impersonating kangaroos, which makes me glad they’re not going to Bong Bong. Or Foul Bay. Or Mount Buggery. Or Rooty Hill. And I really like looking things up in Google.**

The girls are packed off in the Fashion Fiestas to the airport, where they promptly don’t fly anywhere. As Amelia says, it turns out that “It was pretty crazy, there was an ash cloud from Chile stopping our flight, but that’s Mother Nature”.

COOL STORY, BRO.

So basically, we spend the next eight hours watching the girls sit. Actually, they don’t really seem to have the hang of sitting.

Although Doik really does seem quite flexible here.

Eventually a cranky Charlotte Dawson tells the modules that they won’t be able to fly to Kangaroo Island this afternoon, but that she’s organised a substitute activity. See now, I’ve been watching this show for twenty-eight thousand years now, so I’ve familiarised myself with the subtle nuances of each judge, carefully assessing every facial expression and minor gesture. So I know when Dawson is just marginally, ever-so-slightly over it. It's like this.

See the tension in her wrists? That.

Everyone hauls themselves off to the Sydney Dance Company, where they’re met by Bangarra dancer Tim Bishop, or as Madeline puts it: “There was a dancer crouched down on the floor covered in… flour? It looked like flour”. Flour. Traditional white ochre. Same Diff.

The bakery is that way.

The ‘I Think We Might Have Blown Most Of Our Budget On Going To Paris’ lesson involves each module being given a ‘nature’ word that they have to interpret into a pose. The enthusiastic Doik sneers “I hate nature, so I wasn’t impressed with doing a nature pose”.

So, just for you playing at home who may have lost count, the tally stands at:

THINGS DOIK HATES
1. Water
2. Neo
3. Nature

Try to keep up.

Gang member Doik wants to bust a cap in nature's ass.

Hazel is a tree, which reminds her of the time she played a tree in a school dramatic production. This is a tree:

I'm sorry, but the role of Hamlet is unavailable at this time.

Doik is the ocean, which she finds extremely difficult, complaining that she can’t “just make myself ten times bigger”. This is the ocean:

But you have to imagine it ten times better.

Yolanda is lightning. This is lightning:

Lightning is a little constipated right now. Please come back later.

Liz is lava. Obviously.

Lava.... lava is hot, right? (giggle)

Maddy is a wombat, or a rabbit, or something. Whatever it is, it’s just seen your headlights.

Izzy kicks arse as a kangaroo, and I’ve finally figured out her posing secret. She models with her hands. HER HANDS. There’s not even a joke there. I've just nailed it, is all.

Hands.

What's that, Skip? You've totally discovered her secret? GOOD DOG.

Challenged

Seemingly pointless last-minute challenge over, the scrags drag themselves to the airport again, where they’re met by Josh Brigitte Flinn Nielsen, who looks for them as he’s parking his car.

Brigitte organises the girls into three groups, themed as Air, Water, and Land. Now, I know that ordering people unevenly into element-themed groups sounds interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by tinnitus.***

Once on Kangaroo Island, the modules see birds, kangaroos and seals, and wonder at the majesty of nature. It’d be pretty insensitive, macabre, unnecessary and horrifying if they made the girls wear fur later, huh. BUT THAT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN.

Amelia, in that adorable wide-eyed, a-sandwich-short-of-an-eating-disorder way she has, gushes “Coming up towards Kangaroo Island reminded me of sailing around the Greek Islands with my family and coming up to a beautiful island and seeing their little white houses”, which promptly earns her this week’s trophy.

This week’s challenge involves each group looking at some stuff and then taking a photo embodying the essence of that stuff.

Yolanda, Amelia, Liz and Rachel go and look at some sand dunes and then do some strangely incongruous and decidedly non-sandy fashion poses on top of the sand dunes. It’s a bit like Rene Magritte painting a picture of a pipe in his famous painting ‘This Is Not A Pipe’ or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like David Hasselhoff saying “No thanks, I’ve had quite enough to drink but I could really go a salad”.

Maddy, Izzy and Hazel go and look at some birds of prey and then impersonate some birds for their photo.

I'm bloody onto something with this whole modelling-with-her-hands thing, I tell ya.

Jess, Simone and Montana go and look at some seals, which makes Jess think “The best thing to do would be to remove all human aspects of us, which is our clothing”. I dunno, Jess, I reckon HUMANS are pretty human. There are humans in your photo. Humans with their nuggets out.****

Well fuck me.

The girls make their way to the unbelievably impressive resort, and Amelia says “I’ve been to lots of places all over the world – America, Canada, Asia, Europe. I think of all the hotels I’ve stayed in, this hotel was probably the best”. Okay, a) You’ve already won the trophy, Amelia, you can relax; and b) You can’t fool us into being impressed. We know that America and Canada are the same place.

Josh looks through the photos and announces that boobs are the winner. Liz says “Their photo was absolutely amazing. We never would’ve thought to take our tops off”. It’s clear that in the in the manual for Becoming Jo’s New Best Friend 101, I’ll need to use very small words, lots of visual aids and no sudden surprises.

Phoy-toy Shoot.

The styling for this week’s shoot is in-fucking-credible, with the exception of the un-fucking-necessary use of fur. And before you ask: no, I don’t usually wear leather, because I prefer the wipe-clean, sweaty qualities of vinyl. And before you ask that other thing: yes, I eat meat, because come on, have you seen hamburgers?

In weather conditions that clearly have their period, Josh Flinn (who appears to have skinned Brigitte Nielsen and draped her around his neck) introduces the scrags to Nick Leary, photographer and general squinty crumpet. Everyone drapes themselves in hats, skirts, rough-hewn corsets, fringing and scraped-out pieces of mammal, drag primary colours in stripes across their eyes, and squeeze the ever-loving juice out of the tribal goddess/warrior theme.

Rachel looks gorgeous and dignified, and thanks the photographer afterwards. THE THANK YOU IS BACK, PEOPLE, REPEAT: THE THANK YOU IS BACK.

The wind picks up for Montana’s shoot, and so Josh directs her by asking what a gypsy princess might do in a hurricane. Pfffft. Der. Wear bangles.

Simone looks like Zorro but has trouble leaving her sexiness behind as she squeezes between two boulders.*****

Liz is the most beautiful person wearing haemorrhoids on their head that I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen heaps.

Despite having a little trouble with her focus and intensity, Jess loves her outfit, saying “I feel so cool right now. I could get married in this”.

She forgoes the traditional tulle in favour of hollowed-out badger.

Amelia channels a young Maggie Tabberer on the outside, and a young arsehole on the inside when she says “I don’t like being told all the time that I’m perfect. Nobody’s perfect. I’m just human, I’m just being myself, I’m just working hard”. Working hard at being an arsehole. Succeeding.

Hazel arrives on set and gets promptly rained on, cutting her shoot short, which is good, because I can’t bear to see one more sign of animal cruelty.

Hundreds of baby windcheaters died for your outfit, y'know.

Maddy, in unfortunate white make-up and grey weather, has a garbage bag over her head. “I had a garbage bag over my head”, she says. “My fox was falling off. It’s kind of annoying, being in a tiny cave”. Modelling is so HARD, you guys.

Izzy is jaw-droppingly amazing as a Viking, and tells us that the guys on set were calling her ‘haggis’ because she looks Scottish. Or because she’s wrapped in a sheep’s stomach. Something.

The wind picks up fiercely on the island, causing all the palm trees to blow furiously.

Oh! That’s not a palm tree!

It's Yolanda. With a make-up artist. And Michelle Pfeiffer as Ladyhawke.

Eliminationosity

We come back from the ad break to be run through this year’s prizes, which I think include a packet of sour cream and chives chips and a Slinky, and then the modules are magicked briskly back to the non-seal-riddled big smoke. Saint Sarah, running late after handing out fliers for the It’s Vintage So It’s Okay Party, greets them and introduces judges Charlotte Dawson (dressed today as the head of the PTA), Shiny Alex Perry (dressed today as a shirt wearing a human), and photographer Nick, dressed today as welcome to my pants.

Now, you may have noticed Yolanda’s 90s-era denim frock. You may have noticed Liz’s eighteenth baby-doll Lolita dress. Those of you with superbly keen eyesight may even have noticed Izzy’s sparkly pink shoes. But what you almost certainly didn’t notice is the set of teeth that Izzy has in her hair.

That's not what I meant when I said 'make it snappy'.

Teeth.

Teeth in her hair.

Izzy, right, has TEETH IN HER HAIR.

I believe that calls for the week’s second trophy.

Furry tribal photos are picked to pieces, and the judges love Rachel’s, asking her what she thought about in order to get the emotion in her eyes. “I just thought of a woman who is a bit scorned, and she’d like, lost her child or something”, she tells them, because yo, miscarriage chic is so hot right now. She thanks the judges.

Liz’s photo is unspeakably amazing. Liz, I’m putting this picture up so you can pash yourself.

This just got weird, didn't it.

Simone is disappointed because she doesn’t like her face in her shot, and expresses her frustration at being given a revealing outfit but told that she was looking too sexy. The judges give her some very good advice, but of course Magic Psychic Desk is much more helpful.

Thank you, Magic Psychic Desk.

Hazel is told she has the best photo of the competition so far, Amelia and Yolanda are underwhelming, Izzy is spec-plait-ular (yeah, sorry, I only just learned English), but nobody really knows what to make of Jess’s shot. Shiny Alex Perry says “I could literally just cut the head out and put like, any head in there”.

OH COULD YOU, MR PERRY.

Well my mate Shane has Photoshop, and NOW I'M A MODULE.

Deliberators gonna deliberate, until the modules return to the barn to learn their fate one by one until only Jess and Yolanda are left.

Four days pass, and in an injustice that rips my heart from my throat (I only just learned science, too), my Reserve Best Friend Yolanda is ousted.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Bye, second-bestie. I’ll miss the way you were all my second best friend and stuff.

Goddammit.

* Scooby Doo references complete me.

** Oh, and PS: We’re all moving to Mount Buggery.

*** For those of you with actual tinnitus, allow me to translate: BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

**** Boobies.

***** Boobies.

******

Okay, so I know I have write a chorus at some point, and that by now (in country music terms) there’s actually a really good chance that the cows have actually come home, but still. Verse seven of the country song I’m writing about this show. YOU’RE WELCOME.

If yooooou’re

On the go but a volcano fills the sky with foul emissions,

Strike a pose or two as a kangaroo, make the most of these conditions.

Once you’re out at sea take a shot or three far away from your home cities;

As an owl or part of a dune, it’s art once you liberate your titties.

In the wind and rain, just ignore your pain, you’re a tribal minx so wear it;

Now your hair’s in plaits and you’re wearing hats from the carcass of a ferret.

Now get in the barn and we’ll have a yarn, and we’ll give your shots a gander;

But we’ll make you cry as we say goodbye to Reserve Best Friend Yolanda.

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #6

2011-09-12T20:35:00.000+10:00

If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then the whole face is like the garage roller-door to the psyche. Either that, or I really need to start buying better fortune cookies.

Sure, it might seem that this episode was all about health, fitness and brand marketing, but really it was all about facial expressions.

Well, not Charlotte Dawson or Shiny Alex Perry’s, obviously.

Welcome, express-o-rinos, to the ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Scrag’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Now turn that frown upside-down (Dawson and Perry, once again, excepted).

******

Finally, after weeks of nicey-nicey, things are getting all bitchy up in here. Know how I know? Because of the presence of the official, scientifically detected, guaranteed SBG, or Sideways Bitch Glance. It’s unmistakable.

It first makes its appearance outrageously early in the episode, as Simone shows her intense sorrow over Alissandra’s departure by saying “I didn’t particularly like Alissandra, because she was always just saying really DUMB stuff”.

That's the pot calling the other thing something. Hahahahahahaha Wheee! Kittens.

One of the reasons Doik dislikes Alissandra is because she took some Milo home with her.

No.

I don’t think you understand.

Milo.

MILO, GODDAMMIT!

TOOK IT HOME.

Oh, the humanity.

Neo tells us that Simone is getting on her nerves. You could almost say she doesn’t like her.

Learnment.

A Sarah-Mail sends the scrags to Bondi in a Fashion Fiesta cavalcade, where they’re met by Charlotte Dawson and Luke Hinze, who I would nickname Skeletor Luke The Rubber-Faced Terror-Tron if I wasn’t so terrified that he was about to eat my soul.

This is Luke saying 'good morning'.

This is Luke asking everyone how they are.

This is Luke telling a knock-knock joke.

And this is Luke eating your liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Dawson is given a whistle and a megaphone because the Geneva Conventions don’t extend to televised modelling competitions.

Before being asked to complete incredibly complex and advanced tasks like star-jumps and sit-ups, the modules are required to organise themselves into three rows of four. They fail.

Which is totally fine.

Izzy attempts some star-jumps, but doesn’t manage to co-ordinate her hands, feet, and stupid stupid stupid cartoon hair-bow.

But I play the jug in a band.

Neo says that exercise is hard. You could almost say she doesn’t like it.

Caroline keeps her feet still and just moves her arms. You could almost say she’s an arsehole.

Rachel tries to do one sit-up. She fails.

WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW, FEEBLE HUMAN

Eventually and inexplicably, the girls are paired up and told that they’ll be running in a relay to reach some BUCKETS OF MYSTERY.

It's pronounced 'Bucket'.

Simone and Neo are coincidentally teamed up in a coincidence, because (coincidentally) the producers are completely unaware that they hate each other’s guts. Neo doesn’t like it. You could almost say she doesn’t like it.

The relay is run, and Neo, despite her lack of exercise and crappo diet, completely blitzes it. Probably because she’s... oh. Well, because generally speaking... er... history has shown.... um... gold medals.... oh, look, fuck it.

The girls reach the buckets, look inside, and discover rubber gloves, a highlighter, a tea-bag, a water bottle, a kitchen sponge, and five pieces of coal.

Five.

Five pieces of coal.

Caroline runs toward a bucket on a beach to find that it contains five pieces of coal. This is why I want to pash this show on the lips and touch its boobs.

Izzy thinks that maybe they’re going to be cleaning the beach.

'Cause sand is just dirt on holiday.

Challenged.

After using the phrase “I had no idea” eighteen or nineteen times, the scrags rock up to a studio with their, as Doik puts it, ‘spastic items’, where Dawson and marketing guru Rob Belgiovane tell them that they’ll be scripting their own 30-second promo for their items to be filmed and judged. Now, I know that watching unfit skinny-legged teenagers write things on a piece of paper about coal sounds interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by an empty space where coal used to be.

My new-best-friend Elizabeth is unenthusiastic because it’s “Something to do with talking, and I’m not really good at that”.

Simone is unenthusiastic because she has to work with Neo, because, for those of you in a coma on the moon, they dislike each other a bit.

My reserve-new-best-friend Yolanda isn’t so much enthusiastic as determined.

And possibly mildly constipated.

The real enthusiasm comes when the challenge prize is revealed. Girls on the two winning teams will be allowed to attend a Cartier function wearing Alex Perry gowns and Cartier diamonds. So, kind of working, but not getting paid for it. THAT IS SO FRIGGING EXCITING!

I totes love exploitation for total reals!

Liz looks half-pissed, and Amelia states that her teabag makes her nervous, becauszzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Caroline and Hazel, despite eventually kicking arse, have trouble initially because they’ve never seen an advertisement for coal before, and as Caroline says “What does anyone actually use coal for anymore?”.

OMG you're right! You guys can stop digging now.

Maddy and Rachel do pretty well, Montana and Jess are okay but a bit ch... okay, look. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because of two awesome things.

Awesome Thing Number One.

Doik Simone wants to write a rap to spruik her water bottle, and this is what she comes up with:

Welcome to the 21^st century,

Where bottled water is so expensive lately.

While the ghetto gravity of that sinks in, I’ll just take the opportunity to hand this week’s trophy to Doik.

Awesome Thing Number Two.

This.

It’s like Brett Whiteley finding a free source of heroin AND a big new tub of blue paint or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like Justin Bieber tripping over his own stupid shoes and landing in a vat of lava and wild dogs.

It’s awesome.

Phoy-Toy Shoot

The next day, the modules arrive at grand and historic Strickland House, because lord knows you can’t sit around on the grass just anywhere. This week’s shoot is for a tooth, hair and nail supplement from Blackmores, with the winning shot to be included in a national campaign. I wish there was something funny about that. I do.

Josh Nielsen/Brigitte Flinn gees the girls up for their shoot, because my mate Shane has Photoshop and a tiny bit too much time on his hands, and I'm not even close to finished with this gag yet.

You may thank Shane for your next three nightmares.

More importantly, photographer Gabrielle has one of those hats that makes her look like a crazy person with a rifle.

Be veeewy quiet.

When Josh asks her what she wants from the scrags today, she answers “lots of natural energy, and magic’. Yep. Thanks for the totally do-able and specific brief there, crazy rifle lady.

Dressed in business shirts, gum boots and undies, each girl rolls around in the freezing, windy grass trying to look natural and pose but not pose and just do what you’d do walking down the street or at a nightclub and give me more, girl, GIVE ME MORE. Modelling is so hard you guys.

Jess, Hazel and Simone are pretty good. Madeline is asked to find a middle ground between vitamins and Viagara (tomato, tomato), Montana is gob-droppingly amazing, and Neo looks like she’s just come home from a long day’s work at the lame place where they do the lame things.

Caroline is stiff and awkward, but not arseholey, because my world is all topsy turvy and shit. BE AN ARSEHOLE, CAROLINE. GOD. Make things right again.

Yolanda is told not to think, because look up model in the dictionary, that’s why.

Eliminationosity

I love this point, about halfway through the competition, when the remaining modules have already worn all of their best outfits to elimination, so they’re left to scrape the bottom of the outfit barrel. Speaking of which, I’m sorry my library book is overdue Mrs Madeline Teen Librarian, and Izzy, if you’re here, then who’s turning around and around inside my jewellery box?

And oh my god. Guys. Hey, guys. Guess wha – guys. Yo, guys. Rachel didn’t thank anyone for anything this week. What with that and Caroline not being an arsehole, it’s a brave new world, and I don’t like it. I DON'T LIKE IT.

ANYWAY, Saint Sarah greets the girls in the Elimination Barn, having just sprinted in after leading the Nobody Uses Coal Anymore Fun Run. She introduces Charlotte Dawson (dressed today as Sergeant Pepper’s bit on the side), Shiny Alex Perry (dressed today as an ineffectual ninja whose special weapon is squinting) and photographer Gabrielle Revere, who does that American thing where everything sounds like a question? You know?

As photos are shuffled through and deliberated over, the Zingy Zingo-Tron is taken out for a spin, with nuggets like:

“If you are what you eat, then you must’ve been eating baby puppies” – WOOF ZING!

“It looks like you fell asleep in the park, woke up, and somebody was dragging you by the feet” – HAYFEVER GRASS ALLERGY ZING!

“I reckon she’s a Stepford model” –BOOK/FILM REFERENCE ZING!

“This is a modern day tragedy. How tragic that you are upstaged by a lawn” – SHAKESPEAREAN GARDENING ZING THAT WAS ON THE PROMO!

Then Caroline does this:

...which makes me feel bad for calling her an arsehole for six weeks. Magic Psychic Desk says:

Names are called out one by one until just Neo (who doesn’t seem to like it) and Caroline (who used to be an arsehole) remain.

Two swift kicks to the guts pass, and SHOCK DOUBLE ELIMINATION SHOCK! both girls are sent home.

Bye, Neo and Caroline! I’ll miss how you kind of hated everything!

They skip out of the Eliminarium hand in hand.

Arseholes.

******

You know what? I don’t even care if this one-verse-per-episode country song is the longest and most confusing country song ever written. It will all make sense with banjo. EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE WITH BANJO. Verse 6:

When yoooou’re

On the beach but you can’t quite reach ‘cause your abs are weak as blubber;

You’ll be trained by Luke ‘til you nearly puke, with his face like scary rubber.

If you market well, then you have to sell whatever crap is in your bucket;

Put your bottle in place across your partner’s face, she’s a bitch so she can suck it.

Then get on your arse on the freezing grass with your teeth, nails, hair all glowing;

Now roll on your back and ignore the fact that your underpants are showing.

Neo’s time is nigh – Caroline? Goodbye! Time to leave your newest besties;

You’ve got a pretty face, but you’ve lost your place ‘cause your attitude sucks testes.

Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #5

2011-09-05T20:40:00.000+10:00

There are three things I would step over a burning nun to get to: a perfect dirty martini, a sloppy cheese, Jason Statham’s general pelvic area, the ability to count, and a Top Model makeover episode.

Only two of these should have hair in them, though. That's important.

Finally, desperately, after months of rinsing and repeating, we have a makeover episode. Welcome, aspirants to hirsuiteness, to the ‘I Whip My Scrag Back And Forth’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Is that water temperature okay?

******

Learnment

On a cold, rainy morning, the “modules” are “relaxing” at “home” when a Sarah Mail about reaching dizzying heights arrives. A short ride in the Fashion Fiestas later, they’re confronted with Charlotte Dawson’s boobs, which are coming towards them at about three hundred kilometres an hour.

Her torso arrives a minute and a half later.

This week the girls will be learning about trusting the experts and letting go of things by swinging on a trapeze. It is my opinion (not that I’d ever let my opinion sully these totally objective recaps) that a lesson about letting go of things belongs almost everywhere except forty feet up in the air.

Neo is less than enthusiastic about participating. You could almost say she didn’t like it. She says “I thought it would be fun, and it was fun until like, you get up there”. Got it. Right. It’s fun right up until the point that it starts. Good tip.

Dawson asks Izzy what she wants to get rid of.

Say pigtails. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SAY PIGTAILS.

Instead, she responds with ‘self doubt’, because I know how shy and unsure those girls with pink hair who scream a lot and like coffins can be sometimes.

Montana says she doesn’t want to be shy anymore, in almost exactly the same voice that Cadet Hooks uses to whisper ‘I wanna be a police officer’ in Police Academy. Shut up. I am NOT showing my age. I’ll prove it – we’ll go up to the video shop and rent it on Beta.

Elizabeth wants to get rid of her lack of confidence and screams “I deserve this!”, obviously referring to her potential membership of the Jo Blogs’ New Bestie Club. She then swings off the platform and screams “Fuck! Holy Shit!”, ensuring a gold-plated lifetime membership card. Once she gets the hang of it, she is grace and co-ordination personified.

This is the club handshake. It needs a little work.

Maddy thinks she’s going to throw up, which shows that she’s ready to be a real model. Alissandra and Annaliese whizz through the air with surprisingly little drag around the ear or teeth areas. Amelia is as interesting as a blanZZZZZZZZzzzzzz.

Rachel thanks the trapeze, trapeze operator, landing net, Charlotte and some passing motorcyclists, then apologises to them for thanking them, then thanks them for accepting her apology.

Dawson gathers the girls ‘round after the trapeze lesson that I can totally see the point of, and tells them that now that they’ve been transformed internally, they should prepare themselves to be transformed externally. After a few blank looks and one head-explosion close-call, she spells out the word ‘HAIRCUTS’ in cupcakes and everyone loses their goddamn shit.

Yolanda, second in line to the total unicorn-riding bestie throne, informs us that the girls will all be having a ‘long hair party’, which means different things depending on the kind of websites you like.

Turns out it’s a bunch of scrags shaking their heads around to Willow Smith’s “Whip My Hair”.

Neo has a little bit of a problem at the long hair party, because she’s... well, because she doesn’t... born under a tree, you see, and... oh, look. Let’s just do this thing again and move on:

Challenged

Suddenly the modules are whisked off to the Joh-Tox Bailey salon, where all the mirrors are covered over, presumably to stop Doik Simone pecking at the glass. Each girl learns their follicular fate with varying levels of enthusiasm:

Maddy hears that she’ll be getting most of her hair chopped off, and nervously complains that she likes her long hair.

Are you absolutely and totally sure about that.

Joh-Tox decides not to cut Maddy's hair himself, but to let the little retarded work experience girl have a go.

Maddy doesn’t seem too upset, as she’s happy to have anyone cut her hair. Except... y’know... Charlotte Dawson. Onlooker Caroline says “I would’ve probably turned around and tried to cut Charlotte’s hair off”, because apparently someone asked you, arsehole.

Rachel’s hair becomes short and dark. Rachel thanks Joh-Tox and apologises to the scissors for inconveniencing them.

Saint Sarah tells Alissandra, who goes shorter and redder, that she doesn’t have to hide behind her hair any more. “Except maybe your ears”, she adds. “Keep those things hidden as much as possible, yeah?”.

Izzy starts with plastic cherries and cream in her hair, so we’re pretty much looking down the barrel of that ol’ anything-would-really-be-an-improvement shotgun.

So Kawaii Tokyo happy fun time or something.

The original plan is to give Izzy a platinum blonde ‘do, but after a number of attempts with paint stripper, a bandsaw, sandpaper and a stern dressing down from my primary school headmistress Miss Davidson, that plan is abandoned and she’s died a kind of patchy red that she refers to as ‘Cherry Cola’. See, she makes it sound good. Which is... which is interesting.

Doik comments that “I’m so excited to still have blonde hair, because I’m just a big blonde, and I’d be weird without it”. Also in logic class today: Gravity, and why it’s so wibbly-wobbly.

Yolanda says that she’s had some problems with her hair styling over the years, inexplicably prompting the show’s editors to immediately put this shot up on the screen:

Yeah, bitch. Yo' weave be wack.

Montana’s hair is lightened at the ends, which in hairdressing circles is referred to as ‘balayage’. Montana tries to pronounce ‘balayage’. Montana fails.

Blooyage? Belloggy? Belushi?

A product is applied to Neo’s scalp, but I can’t... I can’t quite see... the label... oh wait, there it is. Tresemme Salon Professional Exactly The Fucking Same Serum.

Caroline has very little change, and says “I don’t wanna sound up myself or anything, but I do sort of think I suit my hair and didn’t really need any fixing”. You know what? Saying “I don’t wanna sound up myself” in that context is the same as a doctor saying “This won’t hurt a bit” before ramming a gloved finger up your rectum. It is a lie.

I don't wanna sound up myself, but I do a really good impersonation of a doctor.

With her new shorter hair, Hazel says “It’s only hair, and it’ll grow, and we got a free haircut at Joh Bailey”, which is a completely fucked up attitude, and she should be ashamed of herself. Still, everybody seems pretty happy with their new look when they finally see it in the mirror.

Phoy-Toy Shoot

The following day, the modules drag their new heads and subsequent skeletal frames to a photo studio, where they’re met by either Josh Flinn or Brigitte Nielsen, because I STILL CAN’T TELL THOSE WACKY KIDS APART!

And yes, I will be keeping this joke going for the whole series, thanks for asking.

Under the tutelage of fashion director Inez Garcia and lens of Holly Blake, the scrags will be modelling muted, pale clothing against a white wall. Now, I know that pale against pale with pale lighting should be interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by the chromosomal difference between us and potatoes.

Four of the photos, however, will end up in the Sunday paper, a fact that Jess says will make her grandmother ‘absolutely drop her load’, because I just can’t hear that enough about grandmothers, and now I can’t even look at a prune.

Caroline comments that she’s not feeling very confident, which is like Jeff Koons saying he’s not really sure if his puppy is big enough or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like Kanye West announcing thast perhaps he needs to come out of his shell and be more of a twat. I feel a little bit sorry for her though. Which is VERY, VERY UNCOMFORTABLE FOR ME.

The make-up team is hastily renamed the acne-concealment-squad, and we’re ready to go.

Annaliese lacks confidence, and on top of that, she says “I had my feet in the same position the whole time. I wasn’t allowed to move them’. MODELLING IS SO HARD, YOU GUYS.

Neo ‘finds it difficult to do the simple kind of moves’, because here’s a dictionary, that’s why. You could almost say she didn’t like it. Josh worries that Neo relies too much on her natural beauty. Oh, yeah. Oh, I know how much that can suck. We need to start a charity to get onto that shit and sort it out.

Alissandra, who is a size above the other girls, tells us that she was not given the most flattering outfit.

SHUT UP NO WAY

After her zipper won’t close, Josh decides to do a facial close-up of her. This is going to end up fine. Alissandra will be fine. Nothing bad could possibly come of this.

Elizabeth and Yolanda are predictably gorgeous (next club meeting is on Thursday at three, ladies – bring a plate), Maddy and Doik rock it, I finally get to see what all the fuss about Montana is, and Hazel is draped in Christmas lights.

Caroline has a bit of a cry because she’s stressed about her lack of confidence, which makes me feel like an arsehole for calling her an arsehole. It doesn’t put me off my Twisties or anything, but it’s there.

The only interesting thing about Amelia’s shoot is my surprise at how boring it is.

Rachel, who was raised in a religious family (I think it’s the Church Of Jesus Christ Of Latter Day Gratitude), doesn’t want to get her boobs out and asks that they be taped in. The shoot goes well and she thanks everyone. Thank you. Thanks for testing my faith and nipples. No, thanks. Really. Thanks a lot. Ta.

Jess joined Banarama, and her new single is out in October.

It's called 'Grandma Dropped Her Load'. Do yourself a favour.

Eliminationosity

Lesson learned, challenge accepted, phoy-toys shot, and prizes (which I think this year include fifty sheets of coloured craft paper and a skateboard) droned through, the girls gather at the Eliminarium to see what’s what and who’s not. Er, staying. Yeah. I didn’t think that through.

Saint Sarah, who is wearing a frock that I want for free, only just makes it in time to greet the girls after the inaugural meeting of the People Who Only Have Their Natural Beauty To Rely On Society. She introduces Charlotte Dawson (dressed today as the leader of an all-girl bikie gang that’s just going really fast right now), Shiny Alex Perry (dressed today as the member of the mafia that’s responsible for stealing sunglasses and furniture polish), and Inez Garcia, who’s pregnant I hope.

Photographs are pored over, but I’m distracted, because I’ve FINALLY figured out what that big weird blank rectangular panel on the front of the judges’ desk is.

It’s for screening subliminal messages to the girls. Der.

Izzy’s new haircut is discussed, and Shiny Alex Perry asks if Paris is ready for the ‘Newtown waitress look’.

Alissandra’s close-up is examined, and the judges wonder why there’s no full-length shot. Shiny Alex Perry stresses the importance of fitting into sample sizes.

When asked what she thinks of her phoy-toy, Caroline barks “I actually like it for once”. As an excuse for its shortcomings, however, she offers “It was a little bit hard because Holly was so particular about what we were doing, so it was hard as well having to do everything the way she exactly wanted”. Wow. That DOES sound hard, doing exactly what the person who’ll be paying you to do stuff pays you to do.

Simone is asked what she was thinking during her admittedly gorgeous shot. She answers “I was just listening to the photographer and... just stand and... be normal”.

The judges deliberate and scrags are narrowed down one by one until only I Don’t Like It Neo, Bottle-Opener Annaliese and Alissandra the Expandra are lef... WAAAAIT A SECOND. That’s three people! Which can only mean a SHOCK double elimination! I WISH I HAD SOME NATURAL BEAUTY TO RELY ON SO I COULD COPE WITH THIS.

Anyway, two and a half seconds pass without the customary self-esteem crushing, and Alissandra and Annaliese are out the door.

Bye, Alissandra and Annaliese! I’ll miss your prominent features and almost impossible to spell names!

Doik is happy that Alissandra has gone, and says so freely and gleefully, which is confusing, because I can usually only deal with one arsehole at a time. Except in Right Said Fred. Seriously. Those guys were arseholes.

******

Aaaand with Episode 5 comes verse 5 of the world’s best ever country song about Antipodean televised modelling competitions. It’s a crowded field.

If yoooou’re

Ill at ease with a big trapeze ‘cause you’re shy, or scared, or minging;

You can let it all out with a great big shout, you’ll be learning while you’re swinging.

If your hair looks strange or like matted mange, you need cutting and blow-drying;

You can watch your pink bits go down the sink, now you’re learning while you’re crying.

If her boobs are out, or she’s getting stout, then you’ll need to clip or tape her;

She can be a scrag in the Sunday mag – it’s the one that’s in the paper.

Now we’ll kick two out – oh my god! Far out! ‘Cause elimination’s dawning.

If I can open beers on your teeth or ears, then it’s probably not your morning.

(And finally, in a completely transparent plea for your approval, somebody nominated me for this Pedestrian tweety thingo, and I'm a very, very competitive person when I'm not, y'know, saving puppies from drowning and stuff. If you felt like voting, I'd be the last person to stand in your way...)