So lovers, last year at about this time we wrote an article poking the finger at MKR’s white supremacist tendencies with regard to their Grand Final Winners. Then it happened again: Bree and Jessica wearing the white won and while we understood that there would have been a mass revolt of stupid people had wardrobe put Chloe and Kelly in any colour not associated with purest evil, we really thought that MKR was digging a nice comfortable grave for itself and lining it with herpes.
Anyhoo, after tonight’s semi-final our greatest fears became realised: Will and Steve will be wearing The Dreaded Black and that means, even though it’s a lovely slimming colour for Will and makes Steve look even more capable of ripping your knickers off with his snaggly English teeth, they have the weight of prescedent against them.
Not to mention a production team who loves to award the Big Prize to the gently stupid.
All that aside, though,what an absolute dog’s hungover breakfast tonight’s semi-final was. Entrees – lovely. Mains – questionable. Desserts – bitches, please! Rico reckons if he didn’t have his four litre cask to hang onto, he would have concussion from the onslaught of last course-related fuck ups.
Were last year’s teams this rubbish? I seem to recall a close race for reasons of decent cooking, not who could hold their pants up just a smidge above their ankles while blowing bowel chunks onto plates.
In fact, by far the best point of the night was when Skinny Pete gushed about ‘what a competition’ and Fergus gave him the look he usually reserves for women who order a salad, not to mention tiny orange judges whose feet only just peek out from the production team’s anus.
‘You’re the little Asians who could!’ Pete gushed at the end to the departing Eva and Debra. ‘Engines, I mean. I so meant engines!’
Oh lovers, Rico and I will be bunkered down with a literal wall of alcohol to get us through tomorrow night. Not only that but the Dog has agreed to invite some friends so that if the worst happens and The White once again prevails, and Mount Isa cuts lose on its biggest party since the Major dipped his rear in the town pond and didn’t immediately start farting radioactive nuggets, at least there’ll be a tag team to pour us into bed and hoover the Pringles out of the couch cushions.
Until tomorrow, lovers!