Make Me A Supermodel
Meet The Models

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Al Lowe: B- | Grade It Now!
Meet The Models

Down in Miami, the ladies are on the scene. Potential models come from all walks of life, apparently. What are their professions?

Random Girl 1: "I'm a professional wrestler."

Random Girl 2: "I'm a bank teller."

Random Girl 3: "I'm working as a performer at Walt Disney World."

Honest Girl 4: "...Stripping."

Also in Miami: the lovely Heeda, who is Polish/Indian/Black/Italian, and declares herself to be what's hot; and the adorable Holly, from Tinyville, Virginia, who buys her clothes at vintage stores and has her hair cut in a pageboy. Holly is the picture of innocence and sweetness, so I am sure they will make her take nudie shots on top of a building holding a snake.

But, listen, if I was her I wouldn't mind, especially if those shots were with Casey, from Atlanta, who's a musician and a Buddhist (because "the whole love and compassion thing is really awesome"), and gorgeous; or FRANKIE, whose name will always appear in all-caps because he is, FRANKLY, the most beautiful creature living on Earth today. In a home video clip, FRANKIE says what makes him a supermodel is his personality, his looks, and his rock-hard abs. And he is correct. He spends all day on the beach, being stunning, and adds that he's probably the best-looking guy in the country. Again: correct. Even my husband, who was walking through the room, goes "WHOA. They can call this thing off right NOW." Seriously. FRANKIE.

Next, they head to Hollywood, where all the waiters show up totally jaded because they audition for this crap every day in their sleep. One guy, Perry, doesn't seem to realize he looks exactly like that guy from Sugar Ray, Mark McGrath. Before he got the veneers, I'm saying.

Perry's all jokey-jokey, talking about how amazing his girlfriend is, clearly in a ploy to get them to cast him as the "guy with a girlfriend back home who thus is tortured by hookup potential in the model house." Then he takes his shirt off and acts nervous about it, forcing one of the producers to assure him, "Dude, you're good-looking," to which he answers: "I know." All that, plus, he's giving me a touch of the K-Feds.

Next up is Dominic, a professional skin-boarder, who is tall so he figures he might as well be a model. He talks in a monotone, and I am ready to dismiss him until he reveals that he's fluent in Spanish, and would love to be on Telemundo. So, now I love him.

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Make Me A Supermodel




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