Australia's Next Top Westie Scrag Series Seven #10

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

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.

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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.

1.     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.
2.     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.

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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.

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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.