America's True Top Model

I heart Elyse Sewell.

Then:


Now:

What's in a Naima?

Last night, Naima was selected as the fourth winner of "Tyra Bank's Show About Tyra Banks and Also How Much Tyra Banks Loves Barbecue Ribs, Tyra Banks", a.k.a. "America's Next Top Model". Congratulations Naima, I'm certain your soft spoken demeanor and non-threatening, ambiguous, pan-ethnic facade will sell plenty of Covergirl lip gloss to a generation of hungry 'tween mall brats. I do siimply adore your faux-hawk, darling.

So let's get to the meat of it. "Did somebody say meat?" Aw shit, here comes Tyra! America's Next Top Model sucks now. There. I've said it. Yikes. I'm peeking out my window lest Giganta herself reach into my fourth floor walk-up and pluck me out with her buttery fingers, tossing me into the street like a discarded buffalo chicken bone. Ya'll, ever since her no more wire hangers moment, Tyra-of-the-Tangerine-Ramen-Noodle-Weave scares me silly. As an ardent viewer of the show's entire run, I feel it's my duty to finally express what has been on my mind. This damn show either needs a face lift (any suggestions Ms. Janice?) or it needs to give itself the boot, preferably leather, stiletto heeled, Italian boots. Here's my list. Tyra, please feel free to read this over a light snack of chicken and waffles.

Hay-Hay-Ho-Ho, Jay-Manuel-Has-Got-To-Go. Jay's art direction consists of splattering the girls with too much eye makeup, dressing them in kudzu and/or daisy dukes and directing them with demands of 'make it fierce gurl…fiercer!' What's fierce is his nasty, orange spray tan.
Solution: Tyra you need to infuse this show with a new artistic vision. What am I saying? Forget new, think any artistic vision! Please. Think aloof. Oh never mind, none of the girls this season knew what "aloof" meant. Which takes me to. . .

Short Bus to the Photo Shoot. Lordy, these were the stupidest young ladies ever in the history of Reality TV! (That's a bold statement, yes.) Where did you find these dumb gals? I mean seriously. They were illiterate. They couldn't read aloud, none of them.
Solution: I'm not saying cast the show entirely with models on their way to medical school, but at least cast some girls who have an ounce of book learning. Or better yet take a page from Bravo's fabulous "Project Runway". Their show is cast with up-and-coming fashion designers and the result is a fiercely competitive, fantastic show that from the get go had me guessing who'd win. If you cast ANTM season five with actual models who have been in the business, not only will the photo shoots shine but the competition will step up as well. Maybe you need some Reality TV schooling yourself girlfriend?

Product Displacement: I do not want to see these ditzy models forced to hold a jar of Jiffy Peanut Butter while posing like a Greek statue while hang gliding over a pit of snakes. Everything but the peanut butter is fine. The product placement on this damn show has gotten out of delicately positioned hand.
Solution: If you're selling a product, it better be a fancy scarf or a handbag or a pair of shoes. Otherwise, leave it for the commercial breaks. Speaking of commericials, bring back the awkward Cover Girl Tip of the Week! Naima can quietly mumble how to put on eye shadow while Orange Julius dresses her like Rum Tum Tiger. AND NO MORE EVA PIGFORD! I simply cannot handle her truth.

Finally, Deadwood Homage: Listen to Heather Havrilesky's advice. She's a cocksucking know-it-all whose better off fucking johns in the whore house not writing opinions at the Daily Standard, but she's got fucking damn good sense and I hear a juicy can to rival Tyra herself.
Solution: Read her article about last night's show here.

TYRAnosaurus Rex

In my efforts to better acquaint myself with the quintessence of the modern day couch potato, those Joe Lunchboxes and Sally Homemakers of this glorious, reality-tv suckled nation, I reclined amongst the burgundy pillows and rich, maroon velvet of my Oriental seatee and, eating pork skin flavored pork skins, watched the latest episode of UPN's reality serial, "America's Next Top Model."

Wow. Tyra Banks is one psychotic, yet genius, bitch!

The jest/jist of this much loved series, now in it's fourth season, follows a Los Angeles loft filled with mediocre young girls from all walks of life: a waitress, a homeless girl, a Christian, a wrestler, etc. These delicate kittens pose and cat-fight for a myriad of glamorous gifts including photo spreads and, ultimately, an exclusive modeling contract. The dainties dish and "experts" (like tangerine orange art director, Jay Manuel) give them not very constructive criticism ("be fierce gurl" "just be like rrowrl" "it's not 'uh', it's 'uh') and expect these PYT's to produce Glamour worthy photo-spreads, all the while taking junior-college-worthy theatre courses in makeup and acting and like, modeling stuff.

Let's cut to the chase and talk about poor little Tiffany. (Here she is disguised as a lobster secret agent). Clearly the underdog of the series, Tiffany has been beaten, bruised and tattoed. She's kickin' it from the Miami projects and her granny had to go without power so she could buy Tiff a bathing suit for the show. Tiffany sleeps on a mattress with her baby and her baby-daddy, and this show is the only way she'll ever get out of the gutter.

Girlfriend, I know it. Just two weeks ago I was sleeping on that mattress with your baby and your baby-daddy and I was like "Clarence, pass me the crack pipe. It sho' is cold in this here house with no electricity. Maybe I'll dress like a lobster and get a modeling contract too." He just beat me with an empty 40 ounce, called me pathetic and went to buy some scratch-offs.

BUT MOMMA I LOVE HIM! OH GOD I LOVE HIM!

Enough bout Clarence, let's talk about the beating Tiffany got at the manicured mandibles of omnipotent, bobble-headed Tyra Banks. I'd suspect after four seasons Mizz Banks has gotten a little big headed, make that big foreheaded (granted a useless jab as she mocks her Pacific Rim sized head almost weekly). All my suspicions were confirmed during the final moments of last night's elimination ceremony when TYRA BANKS FREAKED THE FUCK OUT.

I mean the girl snapped. Her head spun around. Her weave grew snakes and hissed and spit. Tyra's eyes shot flames and five chanting men in black robes disembowed a screaming newborn in honor of her exalted wickedness. They smeared the blood from their curved daggers on her boiling skin, and scarabs erupted from her wounds, devouring the eyes of her unholy worshippers as they joyously laughed, lest they look upon her evil. After witnessing her rancor my pork skin flavored pork skins had the taste of ashes, of death. Sobs. And I so love pork skins.

Ah...Reality television once again champions the stereotype of the angry, black sistah! So maybe Tyra was justified to freak out and kick lil Tiffany while she was down so she'll learn to assert herself more and chase after her goals. Conversely, maybe the Tyrant was being a little high on her horse and freaking out at a genuinely good, but abused young lady who her entire life has learned to hide her disappointments behind a facade of jokes and a "whatever" demeanor. Eh...whatever.

It's awfully fun to watch. Pass the pork skins and the crack-pipe Clarence. Your woman is getting bitch slapped again and again!