South, Miss Tessmacher! South! The girls travel downtown in a car, and I just have to guess at the direction they're traveling because if that's not Chelsea at the other end of this journey then I don't know this town at all. Knock knock! Who's there? Hypocritical opportunism! Hypocritical opportunism who? Hypocritical opportunism named Robin and Shannon, who are bible-banging commandment-followers when it comes to the other girls in the competition, but free-wheeling, gay-times-loving fag hags when they're trying to advance themselves. Sorry. That "knock knock" joke kind of broke down in the middle. See, because I don't really write jokes, per se. more so, I coalesce the vapors of human existence into a viable and meaningful comprehension. Really, I'm more of a philosopher. And, sometimes, I might accidentally talk about the show I'm supposed to be recapping.
The Wednesday night crowd at Big Cup is all, "Like, we get it, Jay. You're having a party. Like, yeah. And whatever" as the six remaining bitches clomp up the stairs above their heads and show up at the finely-appointed apartment of Jay Man-"I Feel Like A Woman"-uel. He opens the door wearing a shirt that reads simply "Colombia," and it's England 2 and Colombia nil and I know just how those Colombians feel. Fashion-wise. Jay notes Shannon in her black miniskirt and Robin in her entire endangered Bengal tiger, chiding them, "You didn't have to get that dressed up. We're just hanging out." Translation: "This shirt cost me $400. Stop being prettier than I am." As the ladies file one-by-one into the apartment, Jay proudly announces, "I just figured out who got cut." Everyone's counting tonight! Out: reading. Five minutes ago: writing. In: 'rithmetic. Always, always out: the word "guesstimate."
Holy escrow, y'all look at this place! I guess being a makeup artist to the stars (and, also, to Alicia Silverstone!) really does have perks other than learning how to successfully rouge away the aftereffects of an all-night bender with Brian Bonsall. It also gives you parquet floors. IN SIX ROOMS. As the ladies file in, they're also greeted by Tyra "She" Banks "She" Banks "I'm Wasted By The Way She Moves," who is flanked by a very tall boy with troll-doll hair and an orange shirt that the subtitle identifies as Tyra's assistant, "Ty." And I'm not saying that Tyra has a history of attempting to make the world over in her own image, but what I am saying is that, upon meeting an assistant with the exact same name as his boss, it would be all I could do to stop myself from turning to the remaining six girls right now and being all, "Congratulations on becoming America's Next Top Model, Kesse."