Hark! Do you hear the tinkling of the bells? It’s America’s Next Top Model time! Remember, every time a bell rings, a moddle gets her smize. Wait, maybe that was my microwave burrito buzzer. Whatever. I’ll smize at the burrito, no matter what happens with Ty Ty and friends.
My magic mirror (Tivo) tells me that Rachel Zoe will be our guest judgey-type person this week. Yay?
Mirror, mirror on my shelf, who’ll make me want to choke myself?
Oh, look! It’s Alexandria! My hand is already creeping into the “you’ll be happier blacked out” position. You may remember Alexandria from such fine ANTM episodes as “I know how to direct a commercial and order the gaffers around, even though I’ve never performed before,” and “I think I’ll act out because I got a zit. No, I am not thirteen, why do you ask?” This week she’s whining that she’s misunderstood. Underneath her layers of blonde and bitchiness, she’s
this “positive, artistic, California girl.” Yeah. She’s misunderstood about as much as I’m about to go out and buy this leotard.
All the other ladies-o-the-pose go into the confessional booth to talk shit about Alexandria. Usually I try to be a nice blogger (hey! stop laughing), but I say: go for it, ladies. Talk trash so you don’t smack her upside the head with your fake hair.
Ugh. I am tired of typing out this woman’s name. Let’s just call her She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Speaking of unruly tresses, poor Molly is still suffering from the Weave that Won’t Die.
This week, show sponsor Cover Girl wants the girls to paint themselves using Maybelline (ha ha just seeing if you were paying attention) and make mini video spots about teh makeups. The moddles were divided into positions of actress, writer, and director. FYI, Cover Girl, I am not above being paid for my blogging in mascara. I really like mascara. Especially that Cover Girl stuff Great Blast Vivid Spiky Amazing Unicorn Eyelash Covering. That’s what it’s called, right?
Mikaela was the first to film her video. She looked great, but dropped the F-Bomb more than once. Personally, I would buy the fucking makeup that was fucking shilled like that.
Dalya performed next. Her team elected not to have a script. This approach works really well if you’re Will Ferrell. If you’re a contestant on America’s Next Top Model? Well, let’s just move on.
Last and least, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sat in the makeup chair. She reeked of the opposite of charm. What is that? Vomit? Nuclear winter? Karl Rove? I could tell you the story of how She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was mean to the other girls on her team, but you already know it by heart, right? Voldemort would be much more entertaining on ANTM than this person. Ty Ty would put him in the bottom, he’d Avada Kedavra Rachael Zoe – television gold!
Mikaela, Hannah, and Britanni won the challenge, for sucking the least. Fucking congratulations, you three! They get their own webisode on CoverGirl.com. Be sure and go watch that, loyal smizefans!
When the willowy wimens arrived back to their house, Monique got the potentially amazing idea to read She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s diary. I think we all remember what happened to Voldemort’s diary when he left it laying around.
You’re probably busy making Charlie Sheen more famous, but I have a favor to ask. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE unleash a horrible basilisk to wreak havok and/or general snakey-ness when She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s diary is read. In exchange for this great boon, I am prepared to name my first born “Holy Ghost.” Or “Lucifer.” If I name him or her “Lucifer,” I’m pretty sure he or she will get to star in their own romance novel, which I consider a bonus.
Love and Platonic Kisses,
Mirror, mirror: Tivo machine, when will Alexandria cry and scream?
After this ZOMG CLIFFHANGER, the show cut to the models’ photoshoot the next day. TENSION. I HAZ IT.
They wore pieces from Rachel Zoe’s faux fur collection. And they posed with a baby jaguar! No, not a mini car, an actual growling bundle of fur! At this point in the show, your brave recapper fell to the floor and squirmed about meowing and squeeing. But professionally. I always worry about live animals used as props, though.
Perhaps Jesus sent the jaguar in lieu of a basilisk. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I wish I could report that Rachel Zoe’s faux furs were terribly attractive.
During judging, Tyra dispensed some serious wisdom. “You have to grab onto the handlebars of fierceness and not let go.” Damn. And here I’d been hanging onto the sidecar of fierceness all this time. She also went on to tell Molly that she herself was “queen of the bad weave,” and that terrible hair is no excuse for a poor picture.
Rachel Zoe made the observation that faux fur makes you think of animals.
Hannah won best photo. And no freaking (or fucking, as Mikaela would say) wonder. Look at that!
Molly and Dalya were in the bottom two. Molly, for being vacant while weaved. Dalya, for wanting it too much and veering into desperation. Unbeweavable (I had to) Molly got to stay, and gorgeous Dalya was sent packing.
And what happened with the exciting diary cliffhanger? Nothing. Exactly nothing. WTF, producers? WHY did you foreshadow an extremely explosive situation starring the least self-reflective person in the house and then NOT PAY IT OFF? That’s what entertainment is! Setup – payoff. Play her the tape of Dominique reading the diary, hold an intervention, set the damn thing on fire for all I care – but you don’t do that to your viewers! Boo-urns, Ty Ty. Boo-urns.
I shall imagine She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named crashing through the house riding a basilisk. Daniel Radcliffe will defeat her and her giant snake. With a sword I give him. It’s the ancient sword of Babedor, and leaves a rainbow trail when you swing it. When all the bad guys are no more, Rupert Grint will declare his undying, ginger love for me. And everyone gets frosty chocolate milkshakes.
THAT’S how you end a TV show. Or a blog.