Well here we and here YOU are, minus those 2000 and something souls who are furiously masturbating because they have to do SOMETHING other than potentially watch a pair of low down, dirty whores like Chloe and Kelly cook their way to victory, right?
Rico reckons if he was a fly on the wall, he’d buzz on over to the nearest wanker and tell them to put down their sausage and pick up our most recent journalistic triumph because there’s no way in sweet mother hell the producers will let a couple of snappers who can’t even under-cook a motherfucking CHICKEN waltz away with the victory – not when there’s a giant set of teeth who likes nothing more than yapping on and on about FAMILY to award the big prize to!
Speaking of family, here they come, including a little boy called Dylan who claims to have been poured fourth from Chloe’s loins but can’t possibly be because everyone knows Satan’s handmaidens eat small children, not birth them. But who cares about one small boy when there’s a veritable FLOOD of offspring leaping into the arms of Bree and Jessica and making the production team wonder if they should just fuck off all this cooking bullshit and hand them the cheque already.
Anyhoo, we’ve got more than one drink in our grotty claws so let’s get this foregone conclusion over with!
After the ominous torches and even more ominous uniform allocation, it’s time for the judges and Manu has obviously spared no expense and headed his increasingly chunky self off to THE premiere purple velvet pimp shop on the strip in preparation for the Grand Final. Pete, by contrast, looks somber in dark blue – probably because he can’t stand Bree and Jessica either and is still jacked at the knowledge that he’s going to have to watch $250000 fall into the hands of THAT accent and Mel Gibson’s grumpier, less rational sister.
Stealing her moment while Bree wipes lipstick off her Gary Buseys Jessica gushes that she feels like she has won already, which has Rico rolling his eyes and skulling port until he hits glass bottom, because not even that wailing bitch could have failed to check the colour of her smock when she was yanking it over her head.
But then it’s Bree’s turn – isn’t it always? – and here she goes about ‘proud mums’ and ‘real mums who cook real food’ and how Chloe may have a birth certificate that proves she gave birth to a child, but everyone fucking KNOWS she was born a man and a uterus fashioned out of SCIENCE and SATAN doesn’t fucking COUNT!
Anyhoo, after a little bit of muttering from Chloe and Kelly about being ‘special and, no, that doesn’t mean that they passed their time on the school bus licking the graffiti off the windows’, it’s time to get on, because they’ve got five courses to cook and a whole swag of bored judges who just want to get this mess out of the way so they can hit the groupies at the after party.
And they’re off, with two hours before course one has to hit the tables, and that means there’s plenty to spare for Kelly to start squealing OMGICAN’TBELIEVETHIS and Jessica to give her stove a dark look and start muttering about the apocalypse.
First course for EVIL (oh come on, you know the producers want you to) is a Caprese Salad, which involves Chloe giving Mr Cheese, Jason, the boner of his life, by making her own mozzarella, and Kelly confiting the living shit out of some tomatoes. Over on the side of purity and light and everything GOOD in the world, and it’s a beetroot carpaccio with cured salmon and more talk about how that $250000 is going to TOTALLY change the lives of their families – especially their husbands, who had to give up their matching gambling addictions due to lack of funds.
Anyhoo, there’s some salting of the fish and slicing and prepping and rubbish which pretty much takes up the first hour, at which point Jessie realises she hasn’t really got anything to have a meltdown over, so she’d better start fucking with the horseradish.
‘What do you think of this?’ she asks Bree, holding out a spoon for a taste. Bree swoops in teeth-first and declares it’s fucking excellent and that it’s important to start the night off with a no holds barred ass-banging – like the one her husband got on their wedding night.
But what’s this? That’s right, lovers, it’s time for all the loser teams to roll on in and start muttering about how long they’ve been waiting for their food. Rico wipes a tear from his eye and murmurs that he’s missed the other couples so much he has no fucking idea who half of them are.
Back over to Evil and Chloe’s cheese is going well and Jason is halfway to needing a second box of tissues, which is awkward considering this is the moment the producers choose to bring out all the kids.
Chloe’s son looks relatively healthy for a kid who has been locked in a Channel 7 basement for the better part of the last ten weeks, but who cares about him when Bree and Jessica have a seemingly endless supply of ruddy cheeked K-Mart models who cling to them like chubby barnacles and whose chorus of ‘I love you mummy!”s serves to drown out Jessica’s grumbling that doom is upon them.
‘My family sperm me on!’ shrieks Bree, which utterly finishes Jason on the balcony and has Sexy Deb eying him with new respect.
Back to the cooking though because Jess has managed to disentangle herself from her children and get started on the pasta for their second course. Meanwhile, Chloe is still handling the mozzarella, much to the delight of of old bottomless ballsack, Jason.
‘Keep working it!’ he calls. ‘Yeah, like that. Juuuuuust like thaaaaat. Unnnnngggghhhhhhh.’
‘Ten minutes!’ hollers Manu which, naturally, is the exact time Jessie realises she’s cut her wonderfully thin pasta into the wrong fucking shapes.
‘Cuntcuntcuntcuntcunt!’ she growls, while Bree tries desperately to salvage the situation by distracting the cameras with her gigantic teeth and talking a bit more about how much she loves her children.
Not that it’s such a big deal, though, because it only means they aren’t as ahead in their prep as they wanted to be and Rico reckons unless wardrobe come running in during the ad break to rip off their tops and throw them at Chloe and Kelly, she really should just shut the hell up.
When time runs out, both teams have a relatively pretty something on the plate, which means it’s time for an ad break so that Rico and I can play Paper Scissors Rock over who goes on the refill run, and get a bit maudlin that the Dog isn’t here anymore to make all the really funny comments.
Back from the break and it’s time for the guest judges to stroll in – or in Fergus’ case, stagger in fresh from the bottom of a bottle of Glenfiddich.
Because Bree and Jessica are Good and Chloe and Kelly are Evil, they get to be Team 1 and that means their plate is up for the shoveling first. Blondie judge starts off the proceedings with her patented ‘mmmmmmm’ face which everyone tends to concur with – even Fergus and Manu who grumble a bit about the stingy serving of horseradish. Then it’s time for Evil Team 2, which Manu prefaces by telling everyone that Chloe made the mozzarella and that the cleaning crew are still at work on Jason’s section of the balcony.
‘This’ says Skinny Pete, ‘is a wonderful example of confident cooking. Are you sure wardrobe didn’t fuck up the uniforms?’
‘Shut UP!’ hisses Manu, before reminding him they are both engaged and that, last time he checked, neither of those bitches were going to be happy with a registry office and a plowman’s lunch.
Back to the kitchen though because it’s time for course number 2 and Kelly to start off with some more delusional rambling about why they’re going to win.
Over to the actual winners, and Jess is re-rolling her pasta dough and telling herself a cheery little story about two women who cooked like shit and then died fucking horribly. Meanwhile, Bree has taken a note out of Rico’s book and decided that nothing is worth worrying about when you’re too drunk to care, so how about a whole bottle of Ouzo!
‘Whoppers!’ she slurs to the crowd at large, which naturally has Jason cranking up again, and everyone else secretly wishing that that was the real menu.
Back to Evil and Kelly is worrying about fish bones and setting the scene for Gross Guy to choke on one and have Fergus administer a trashed Heimlich maneuver that causes him to spew blood all over the other team’s offering – yay!
Meanwhile, Jessie’s mood is continuing to deteriorate, because she’s finished cooking the pasta and there’s nothing bloody wrong with it.
‘This is going to be disgusting! Fuck this pasta. Fuck the puree! We’re all going to DIE!’
‘It’s fiiiiiiiine!’ reassures Bree, ‘and anyway: we love our kids. We REALLY love our kids!’
Up on the balcony and recently outed sweethearts, Paul and Blair, are talking about how this is the first time they’ve ever seen the mums really stress, and, come to think of it, Bree has the voice of an angel and Deb is a dead ringer for Sarah Michelle Gellar.
Bickering or not, though, they get it done, as do Chloe and Kelly, and it’s off to the holding pen once again so a group of overpaid people and a slutty Irishman can push their food around their plates and pretend there’s a decision on the table.
According to Logies-crasher, Karen, Good’s scallop lasagne is a ‘fragile, perfect dish that would go great with a tank of Pepsi Max’. Evil gets the love treatment too for their confit Ocean Trout, until the inevitable choking incident which actually involves Pete and who is way too much of a lady to lose his lunch.
Round 3 starts and Evil are cooking veal sweetbreads which has one half of the balcony twins wondering if she remembered to put on pants. Good, on the other hand, are cooking squab and Bree tries to distract from Jessica’s increasingly Emo behaviour by talking about how she doesn’t want to go to Trafalga and start eating pigeons, and anyone who says she’s done that is a lying sack of ex-boyfriend shit who had such a tiny dick you had to coax it out with a fucking chopstick.
Eul reckons this is HILARIOUS and takes the opportunity to tell a bird joke which falls flatter than Shannelle’s face the day she tried to hock her engagement ring and got told it was a Zirconia.
Anyhoo, back to Evil and they are having a fun time talking about how the minute they were assigned the black uniform they decided to take the MKR food budget and spray it into six figures.
‘And so we said: If we’re going down, their bank balance is going down with us HAHAHAHAHAHA!’ brays Kelly.
‘Yeah!’ agrees Chloe. ‘Want to lock up my kid for three months? Say HELLLLOOOO to imported Morel Mushrooms fuckers!’
Anyhoo, what follows is a bit more cooking from Evil in which Kelly worries that her sauce won’t reduce in time, some gushing about family from Bree and some humming and hawing about which novelty genitalia mold to put the lamb shank meat in, and Jessica narrowing down her vocabulary range to words only beginning with ‘f’ or ‘c’.
As time starts to run out, though, Bree has the sudden realisation that she’s totally shoved the shank in the wrong molds!
‘I had alarm bells going off in my head!’ she explains to the cameras. ‘I mean, if I’m lucky, only two out of the six judges will even know what a clitoris is! Who the fuck wants to explain a clitoris to Guy Grossi!?’
Meanwhile, Evil seems to be triumphing, because Kelly’s sauced has thickened and she reckons it’s so ‘in your face’ it’s like HER face, but in a GREAT way, not an Ebola way.
In the final minutes, though, despite both teams looking stressed, only Good are looking like one of them could reasonably end the night without a throat.
‘Work as a team!’ calls down helpful Blair.
‘Go fuck an ocean liner you gay cunt!’ roars Jessie in return.
And yet, magically, everyone gets everything out.
Judging time and Good are first again and Guy uses the opportunity to use the words ‘bird’ and ‘breast’ in the same sentence and not get his usual slapping for it. According the the other judges, it’s a rather super dish, with the exception of the undercooked carrots which Fergus reckons will definitely get an encore performance once he’s allowed to get back to his bottle.
Onto Evil and – brace yourselves, lovers, because Jason isn’t the only one getting off tonight! – here comes Manu’s CUM FACE!
‘Oh. Mah. GOT!’ he slurs, sucking sauce off his sausagey digits, before adding that what he’s about to say is going to be big, but not as big as the pay rise he’s going to get for scoring Bree and Jessica higher than Chloe and Kelly HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The other judges agree, particularly with the bit about the pay rise
But let’s get on to round 4!
Back with Good and Bree is dividing her time between some potatoes and reminding the camera crew how much she loves her family. Jess’ face, on the other hand, is concentrating on terrifying any child who happens to be watching, and Rico comments that isn’t it funny how he used to think Jessie was the pretty one, and how impressive it is that she can portray dismemberment using only her cheekbones.
Over to Evil and Kelly is yabbering that their trick of cooking up all the bits of a whole hog is RIGHT up Fergus’ alley, because it’s a little known fact that Fergus once auditioned for Man vs Wild and when Bear Gryls won the part over him he was so pissed he comfort-ate a bulk pack of Dorsogna and then threw up into the deep fryer.
With forty five minutes remaining, Jess has found another target for her dire predictions: the ice cream!
‘Just put it in the freezer!’ begs Bree.
‘Fuck the freezer! FUCK everything! This show is a CUNT! Help me stab something! I just want everyone to DIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!’
To the cameras Jessie says that, yes, she was losing it, but that she had to ‘push through’.
‘I realised there was no way I was going to get away with it on national television. So I had no choice but to push through and commit bloody murder once the cameras were out of my fucking face.’
Back to Evil – but only briefly, because – well, you know why – and Kelly is confident they’ve picked all the toes out of the trotter meat, so she’s given Chloe permission to work on their dessert.
‘The rose flavour is a tribute to Carly and Tresne!’ giggles Chloe, before adding that she realises that roses aren’t a typical ‘lesbian flavour’, but that hemp would have tasted like shit so what the fuck else was she supposed to do?
Speaking of Dessert, Jessie is working on their own chocolatey thing and clinging to her commitment to calm the fuck down like the faithless bitch she is.
‘Why?’ she wails. ‘Why? Why? WHHHHYYYYY?’
‘Because you’re a whinging WHORE!’ bellows Rico, finally losing his shit and lacking the Dog’s stoic presence to keep the lid on it.
Miraculously (and rather unfortunately), Bree does NOT wheel back and punch Jessie’s nasal bone up into her skull, and therefore Jessie is free to finish the ganache and start freaking out over the greens.
‘They’re brown, I tell you – BROOOOOWWWWWNNNNN!’
Up on the balcony and sexy Deb has taken a break from trying to arrange herself as the hot meat in a Harry and Christo sandwich, to quickly call down to Bree and point out that her teammate is a fucking psychopath.
‘I know!’ trills Bree. ‘But how awesome is this lamb?!’
‘That lamb is about to go up your ass!!!’ Roars Jessie – but then, like magic, she sees her husband on the sidelines, her children cowering in abject terror, and…
‘Well,’ she explains to the cameras. ‘I realised there’s no way I’m giving up. Or at least that’s what security told me after they managed to get my hands unclenched from my husband’s throat. I was so gonna kill that smug cunt.’
With five minutes left on the clock, Bree is thrilled that Kelly hasn’t snuck over to their bench and dropped any floaters into her consomme and that Jessie’s horse tranquiliser has started to kick in. Evil, meanwhile, are looking like they might not make it, but then time is up and they’re hugging, so go fuck yourself suspense editing team!
Out to the judges go the plates and first up is Evil’s dismembered fried pig which Fergus, predictably, admits is his type of cooking. Blondie Liz gushes that she is ‘astounded’ at the level of skill and Manu seconds the motion until Karen brings them all down to earth by saying the flavours are a touch repetitive and coughing ‘payrise’ behind her closed fist.
On to Good and it’s a rhapsody about the consomme and the cameras zoom in so close to Blondie Liz’s ‘mmmmmm’ face that Rico’s fingers get all twitchy just thinking about the blackheads. Fergus admits that lamb shanks are a bit pedestrian for a Grand Final, but that their decision to shove them into willy-shaped molds has taken it to a sexy new level.
Back to dessert, though, and it’s time for some slow-motion camera tricks courtesy of some idiot who clearly has no understanding that we just want to get this nightmare over with.
‘Let’s win for all the mums out there!’ exclaims Bree.
‘Ummmm – what about Chloe?’ mutters Jessica, in a brief moment of rageless clarity.
‘Oh no, fuck that bitch. You’re not REAL mother if you don’t have a HUSBAND – AMIRIGHT Channel 7? HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!’
Over to the Pete and Manu, and Pete is setting the scene to explain Chloe and Kelly losing by talking about all the teams who have lost based on their dessert.
“Like, there was – umm – shit, what were their names? The one who said ‘yeaaaahhh’ a lot!’
‘Leigh un Jennifer?’ offers Manu.
‘Yeah! That’s them! They SO would have been MKR champions!’
‘Ahm, Pete? Dey ARE MKR champions.’
‘Are you kidding me? Aww fuckshit, that year too?’
Moving on to the actual cooking, though, because the ice cream that Jessie spent so much time prophesising would birth the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse has turned out perfectly and she’s desperately looking for something else to complain about. Meanwhile, on the other side, Kelly is using the powers bequeathed to her by the Devil to fire up the figs, while Chloe makes something called sugar shards, which turns out looking like someone spilled the pot purri into the ice cube tray.
‘I can TASTE the money!’ squeaks Kelly, who has just been over to Bree and Jessica’s side of the bench gotten a tongue-full of Jessica’s white smock.
‘One minute!’ screams Manu.
‘Thirty seconds!’ shrieks Skinny Pete.
After a fair bit of hugging in which all we see are Bree’s teeth and Jessie somehow managing not to punch them out, Rico mutters that, once again, it’s a Grand Final where none of the teams have managed to fuck anything up, and HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE WHEN EVERY ONE OF THESE BASTARDS HAS SPENT THE LAST TEN WEEKS MAKING AN UTTER DOG’S LUNCHBOX OUT OF SIMPLE TASKS???
Ok, let’s get this over with. Off to the tasting table and Evil’s figs and pistachio ice cream is up first and Gross Guy says he thought his palate was going to be dead and buried until he hit the late night kebab shop – but what do you know, because this has given it a jump start! The fault, they all agree, is the glass and the producers waste no time showing us the other teams snapping their fangs on it and shuffling off to the emergency dentist.
‘It should have been left off’ says Skinny Pete, to which Manu agrees and Rico snaps is ironic considering that fucking jacket.
Anyhoo, onto Good and here comes the hero music!
According to Fergus, their dessert has all the flavours he grew up with – minus the potatoes and blood. Gross Guy gushes that it’s a ‘flavour sensation’ and Karen enthuses that she can’t think of a better way to finish their five-course meal – with the exception of a shotgun.
And then it’s off to the obligatory edge-of-your-seat ad break – only the seat-edge Rico and I are balanced on is the toilet, and because we’ve only got one of those, we had to take turns.
When we get back, the show is just about to come back on and Rico turns to me and says that, ok, imagine if this year they were really going to turn it all on its head by not only having the losers in white, but also giving the winners their judgement FIRST!
In the words of the mighty Cher Horowitz (although slightly less mighty now that Alicia Silverstone has outed herself as gibbering fucktrap): As if! Because, that’s right lovers, it’s Evil who get their judgement first, and any fool and their dog and their dog’s least perceptive snapped-off nugget, knows that that means VINDICATION for all the bully-haters, and OH, CRAP! when those same bully-haters finally remember that The Worst Accent in Australia is now going to be all over Breakfast Television.
Not to mention that Tasmania’s dumpier, creepier sibling has now taken out this program for the second time.
Anyhoo, once Bree has jawed on and on about how she and Jessie are doing this for their family and their husbands, the difference in the end is two points, with Blondie Liz and Fergus dealing the blow (though in Fergus’ defense he probably thought he’d given the nine to Chloe and Kelly, and owning up to his mistake would have meant another few minutes being horribly hungover, rather than fabulously tanked – unacceptable!).
And then of course it’s the confetti and the hugging and the obligatory winners’ shot that now joins the parade of evidence that Channel 7 are really, really keen on white people:
And that little look exchanged between Skinny Pete and Manu?
Until next year, MKR lovers!