America's Next Top Model
The Girl Who Needs Six Months Of Modeling School

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Djb: B+ | Grade It Now!
Stopping Short

But yes, this top model competition requires physical stamina, and so we undertake a big boxing match in which the girl who stops hitting a big-ass bag last is the winner. I think Catie falls first, but the traffic was so noisy that you could not hear me cry, I gave you my love in vain my body never knew such pleasure, my heart never knew such pai-yee-ai-yee-ain, you leave me so confused, now I'm all cried out, over you. I'm just saying that Catie cries a lot is all, and sometimes you need to let the poetry of Allure say it better than you ever could. The boxing match is quickly (well, in montage time) down to Camille and April, with the rest of the girls standing on the sidelines screaming variants of "Go, April!" and "April, woo!" and "I swear by the divine words of Eliot that I do not believe you are the cruelest month!" Schlocky Balboa counts down to zero, indicating that they are of equal boxing acumen, and a push-ups competition in the middle of the ring leaves April the winner. A round of applause ensues and no award is given out in this challenge except an honorary gold medal in the sporting art of "Not Being Camille."

Oh, yes! Wait a minute, Mr. Postman! Mr. Postman, look and see, is there a letter from Tyra Banks for me? There is? Wow. Wasn't expecting that. This week's first piece of Tyra Mail reads, "Your clothes tell the world who you truly are. You are what you wear." Oh, man. I've currently got on an outfit of jeans from the "Gap '92" denim collection and a Phish t-shirt WITH THE BAND'S NAME WRITTEN IN HEBREW that begs for that sentiment not to be true. Catie then mumbles the rest of the note, because she always cries at wedding and at Tyra Mail and at sunflower seeds and at computer paper and at tea bags and at tote bags and at bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. ["And when she does long division and has a remainder." -- Wing Chun] The end of the note demands, "Come ready at 2:00 PM. Wear what expresses you." Just hands off my Hebrew Phish. Borrowing it without asking simply would not be pareve.

Tyra "That's Really Super, Supergirl" Banks enters the ZoLoft with a man I'll guesstimate is, well, Jenascia's dad? Why? Because he's so wee! Tyra's own personal style seems to be typified by an adherence to her own favorite clothing designer, '80s luminary Z. Cavaricci, since she is decked out in a one-piece denim pantsuit that looks in fabric and waistline a leeetle too similar to the eponymous fashion classic and makes me have to plug up my TV speakers to stop the reckless smell of Drakkar Noir suddenly pouring out from them. Tyra tells the assembled girls, "Today you guys are going to be learning about personal style." She introduces her small friend Simon Doonon, who is the creative director of Barney's, the guy who invented windows ("But you must be mad! Glass is but a liquid," they all said before Simon), and the man that launched a thousand annoying and identically-sounding Randy Newman songs by having "no reason to live." Even at 4'6", though, like, eleven Jenascia's could fit inside one Simon Doonan. And why? Because conventional wisdom tells us that she is short.

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America's Next Top Model




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