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Elyse rocks.
(Rocked?)
Since Satan gave me a brand spiffin' new TV for christmas, I thought it was my duty to catch up on the reality TV craze. Now, there are many that just do not entertain me enough, but one fateful night during January I caught an episode of the first series and I have never ever looked back since. I loved the drama inherent in the bitchy world of modelling, I adored Elyse with her far too intelligent eyes, I hated that Bibletrash thing who shall remain nameless but we can call her Robin, if you like. And after she won, I warmed up to Adrienne during another rerun, where I followed it from the first episode and onwards.
Now, the second series is even better. The drama has been amped up to eleven. The embarrassing behaviour of the object of my hate who shall remain nameless because I have forgotten her name, but that she is Jamaican and appalling in every way are two leads you might use to track her name down. And I just did, fuck!, and I just found out unwillingly who won.
Never mind. I shall enjoy my girls for as long they are around and I will miss them when they are gone. My Monday nights will never be the same again when it stops. |
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