Shake Ya Not-y

S02E07

Give me your tired! Your poor! Your huddled masses yearning to lunch on ketchup and pickles! The wretched refuse of your teeming Walgreen's express lane! Or so seems to say the regal opening check-in with the Statue of Liberty this week, a shot which will also appear on the cover of Exceedingly Cliché Establishing Shots Weekly, available on newsstands now. None of these girls has even ever been to the Statue of Liberty. With the exception of one field trip in fourth grade, I've never even been to the Statue of Liberty. So unless the topic matter of this show has somehow morphed into America's Top Student In Mrs. Karpen's Class At Birch Lane Elementary, let's montage over to the mainland and make fun of Camille. Follow me!

Up in the ZoLoft, we check in first with that very Vice Bootee from last week's Catwalk Of Doom elimination ceremony. Nursing a self-righteousness hangover -- what I can only infer is the morning-after curse of those who go to bed while drunk with self-righteousness -- Camille stumbles around the ZoLoft in the early-morning hours. Ssssh! Turn it down, Camille! You'll wake my private store of unused Jensacia-sleeping-late jokes! Camille pulls off that sleeping-mask thing that is essential sleepwear for divas, the Elephant Man, and those brave NASA technicians hard at work setting up that new space station ON THE SURFACE OF THE SUN, confessionalizing, "I'm not eliminated." Congratulations. You're still in the running towards becoming America's Master Of The Obvious. She continues on, lapsing into an unfortunate bout of generic realitybabble (one word): "I'm continuing on this journey." Oh, you're continuing on the journey, are you? You feel that you and top modeling have a "connection," do you? We watch as Tyra does the booting of Catie, and Mercedes reminds us that there are six remaining girls -- fine, here they are: Sara, Mercedes, Yoanna, Shandi, Camille, and April -- as Catie takes her tearful (after such superhuman stoicism! I could hardly believe it either!) leave. There's a ridiculously quick pan of the rest of the girls, and as Catie exits, Sara actually has her hands cupped over her mouth in utter, total, I-am-watching- a-baby-carriage- fall-off-a- roller-coaster shock. Either that, or she's just trying to deflect attention away from the collagen porn lips that make the judges think she'd be perfect for a Hooter's calendar featuring "Our hottest racks, of ribs and otherwise."

By Djb

Sitting in a confessional room she apparently brought with her and won't let anybody else use, Yoanna sits in the room with the huge green street sign featuring the words Fashion Avenue (get it? GET IT?) superimposed behind her and thinks, "confessional? Maybe we'll rethink this pink scarf ensemble thing for once. Y'know. For ONCE." What she says, however, is even more about her, if possible: "Catie being eliminated just goes to show me that the tables can turn any time during this competition." They then splice together four separate thoughts delivered by Yoanna on four different days in four different vocal registers, cobble them into some semblance of order using gauze and a toothpick, and patch them together with bubble gum until "Yoanna" "says" something like, "I really thought...that Catie...had what it takes...to be a top model," even though the sentiment probably began before the editing room as, "I really thought Camille was annoying and that Catie thought so, too. If Camille had what it takes, she'd be more like me, the ideal, scarf-donning candidate and most likely to be a top model. Oh, and I hate Camille."

"I've changed," Camille tells us. And you know, give her props. It's true. Before? Black tank top. Now? White. She's versatile enough to play either character in a live-action version of Spy Vs. Spy. And they said her acting was crap! "I've made an effort to not talk over people," she promises, instead opting for the far more sly conversational gambit of never having allowed them to get a word in edgewise to begin with. "All I can do is be me, is be me one hundred percent." With the exception of the troublingly go-getter and mathematically dodgy "one hundred and ten percent," I simply can't envision a worse thing for her to be.

A shot of the Brooklyn Bridge (I can see my house from...oh, ever mind) swoops us over to a shot of the somewhat unappealing southern skyline (or, as I call it, "Downtown Hartford"), which I guess symbolizes that we're about to take a sudden, chaotic journey to the outer boroughs...of the soul. Back inside the ZoLoft, we discover Shan-Deee-Lite- From-The-Global-Village- In-The-Age-Of-Communication (whatever. Her t-shirts use all the good nicknames, so I end up with these hoary, arcane ones. And, anyway, that album rawks) on the phone with someone the subtitle believes is "Shandi's boyfriend." She kicks things off by telling him, "I'm wearing your dress," referring to a brightly-colored potholder that proves her boyfriend's identity once and for all as noted fashion designer and renowned color-wheelist Roy G. Biv. Roy, elated, squeaks out a pleased "Yaaaay!" Shandi shares with us that she's been dating this so-called "Eric" for two years, adding, "He's my best friend." Yup. Your high-talking, dress-making (or dress-buying, dress-sending, whatever...the fact that he's a dress-knower-about-er at all is more than enough information for me) Eric is going to be a lot of girls' "best friends," my dear. They end the quickly-montaged-through call with exchanged "I love you"s, though they've clearly edited out Roy's well-known tagline and corporate branding catchphrase he calls out at the end of every conversation, "Biv and let dye."

Better make sure you get a big enough cake to write, "Don't let the elevator door hit your bony ass on the way out," just in case circumstances should abruptly change. Yoanna strolls the streets of New York see-tay and just, y'know, happens upon a store which exists in the service of making delicious cakes and pastries. A Faterie, I believe such places are called in modeling lore. She tells us, "It's Sara's birthday, and I think it's sad, y'know, being away from your own home and not having a cake." Yoanna collects a bag with a big white box in it, and picks up the coffee she's bought while skimming off the top of Ken Mok's corporate card (because that's what you do when you pick up packages for the boss) and continues, "And plus, I wanted some cake, too!" She laughs like she's auditioning for a Revenge of the Nerds television adaptation taking place three hours after surgery for a deviated septum. A full-on gaffaw. Real ladylike, like. Back at the ZoLoft, Sara cuts the cake (she's twenty-three, for those fans of prime-number birthdays) and ruminates on the knotty nature of ironic reality show foreshadowing: "I don't think anybody wants this as badly as I do." Wow. She must really like cake.

Sometime Else That May Or May Not Be Later. Back in the kitchen of the ZoLoft, Yoanna sits with Shandi and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks. Except, she just whispers. Reeeeally quietly. This must have happened some time ago, because the only reason I can guess she's saying this so quietly is because Catie is still on the show, and in her bedroom having a nap, a story, and a juice box. Because this isn't really a secret: "My dream is to be in indie European magazines, working with designers, working with people in fashion." Ssssssssssh! Be very quiet or mainstream Antarctic magazines will hear you, and they'll get jealous! What more does Yoanna want? After all, she already has her own place overlooking chic, tony Fashion Avenue! From where she tells us, "I want it so bad, so I'm gonna make sure that I put that out there in the universe." Anyone who knew as of exactly this moment that this episode was going to come down to a Yoanna/Sara cage match, raise your hand and into it I'll put a hearty high-five and a diploma from prestigious Recapping College, Brooklyn Campus.

Yoanna wants it badder than all the other girls want it bad, and she's longing to prove it...with passive-aggressive belligerence! In a car now, Yoanna grills April while Look-At-Me- I'm-Sandra-Shan-Dee looks on: "If you had a choice to be a model or an actress, what would you choose, like, right now?" April thinks hard about closing the little window divide between the back seat where she sits and the front seat that Yoanna occupies, but accidentally hits the "rationalize" button that lies right to it, spitting out, "I view modeling as the base of acting." I'm sure the following modelesque beauties will be interested to learn this: Dustin Hoffman, Al Pacino, Uta Hagen, Jason Robards, and the still spinning, catwalking corpse of Sir Lawrence Olivier. They all viewed modeling as the basis of acting as well. Modeling is the basis of acting. Just as haberdashery is the basis of politics and stained glass skill is the basis of world domination. Seriously. Just follow the logic. April confessionalizes, "I've been told by enough people that, yes, you can be a model," and I can totally understand how exhausting that must be. Back in the car, April fends off Yoanna's ever-morphing series of bemused smirks with the line "It's too early for me to say." Yoanna wonders aloud (I mean, not anywhere near April, but you've got to get it out, y'know?) whether April is really passionate about being America's Top Model, or if she's only interested in the rank opportunism of winning. She notes that, were April to win, Yoanna would be "devastated." When did April become the silver medalist in the Yoanna event at the Camille-lympics?

By Djb

Tyra Mail! All we're told is that the girls are going to need "a lot of energy" today (good thing all of that logged lupus footage has already been resolved, am I right...whichever one of you girls had the two-episode case of lupus?), and we cut to them entering a dance studio and meeting a Tony Michaels, who we're told is "a choreographer." Well, then, Dancing Queen...let's do the starfuck again! "I've worked with J.Lo, I've worked with Céline Dion, I've worked with Prince. The list goes on and on." It does? Do you think later in the list, then, you might remember some of the actual dancers? What moves did you lay on Céline Dion, because I wasn't aware that the clenched fist, when moved from heart to air in a forty-five degree angle constituted a dance move. Got a name for it? The "French Twist," perhaps? No? Then how about the "French-Canadian Twist"? Better?

Back at the ZoLoft, Shan-Divas-Live opens a package containing photographs from her boyfriend and some cat in a box, all of which she explains is "a piece of my boyfriend." She reads from a greeting card in which, apparently, he has asked if she's going to be on a show called Who Wants to Hook Up a Walgreen's Employee. Heh. Not bad. When you care enough to send the very best, go to Hall-Snark.

Sara is on the phone with her mom complaining about her knee and sticking her stank foot right into an overhead camera. Hey, feet? Behind the fourth wall is not "the market," so you tell those piggies they can wee wee wee all the way home and out of my face. She complains about her sore knee, and her mother smartly asks if she might consider going to the doctor, to which Sara replies that she thinks she might not so much go to the doctor. She says just a heat pack would do. Shandi? Could you point us to the correct aisle?

Oh, there you are. Shandi is putting up pictures of her boyfriend and feeling generally very lovey about things, until she gets on the phone with him and Eric unwisely kicks off the conversation by asking, "You remember a girl named Lauren?" He tells Shandi that he's going to the movies with said Lauren, "because her husband works at AMC as a general manager, so he's getting us free tickets." Suddenly, big fight. Like, in a troublesome, confusingly edited way, where all of a sudden he's screaming that this so-called Lauren has "a husband and a kid," which causes Shandi to be all je t'accuse! in her response, "So people never cheat on their husbands?" Eric unwisely takes the route of most ignorance, insisting, "No! They don't!" World-weary from the miles she has walked (back and forth on the runway always to end right back at the beginning, but she has WALKED! In heels!), Shandi asserts, "Yes, they do." Yes. They do. She starts bawling and stage-whispers, "I hate you," and she confides in us -- US!: "Going to the movies. That's like, our secret thing that we share." Yeah, well. Sister's got to start keeping some better secrets.

I mean, I love her and I totally want her to win still, but is anyone else starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, Yoanna is a tiny bit more the house pariah than Camille? Because, check it: it's nighttime in big bad New York town, and Shandi, Sara, Mercedes, and Camille are out at a club. Yoanna is, I guess, scarf-shopping on Fashion Avenue. April is renouncing the existence of Japan. The other four dance it up, and, according to Shandi, a guy with the haircut I had in 1996 (which, fine, is also the haircut I had in 2002, so shut up, but...nice middle part) approaches and tells them, "You four girls are the hottest girls in here." On a show about supermodels. Flanked by television cameras. And yet he still only aimed as high as Shandi. And of course she's the prettiest after prolonged exposure, but I don't know...anyone else feel like this guy was hedging his bets according to what he thought he could get? You know? A little bit? In the rock group of those four girls, she'd be the bass player. That's all I'm saying.

By Djb

Yoanna's sublet on Fashion Avenue (does it also say "Madison Avenue" sometimes?) seems to have come to an end. She's slumming it in an ol'-fashioned confessional booth that looks like it was cribbed from The Real World Louisiana Territories. I'm saying it looks a mite old-fashioned, is what I'm saying. And crammed into that tiny room are (a) Yoanna and (b) Mercedes and (c) cameras and (d) us. Yoanna, always the crack-up, kicks it off thusly: "My impression of April is this." Then she does nothing. Mercedes cracks up. "It's the truth!" Yoanna insists in a hoity voice. "She looks constipated." Mercedes, who has lupus, tells us that April is "over-analytical," deeming this quality "annoying," and we're back in la confessional à deux, where Yoanna continues on in an April impersonation, complaining that April talks too much. Which is also what she said about Camille when Yoanna was talking too much about how much other people seemed to be talking, not that I don't love Yoanna because I want her to beat everyone, including Camille, who I just want her to beat up real, real bad.

"Well, I have something I've got to tell you," Shandi tells Eric, and she announces kind of proudly that she danced with another boy at a club. Without pause or hesitation, Eric shoots back, "Did he touch your butt?" Excuse me? What a strange area to all of a sudden to be concerned with. Not, "Did he kiss you?" or even "Who the hell do you think you are, some kind of supermodel?" He volleys back that the whole thing is just "dripping with hypocrisy," and when Shandi tells him that she might not have mentioned that she has a boyfriend to this strange plot device -- er, I mean "boy" -- Eric hangs up on her. Thank you, reality television, for a Montana and Vaj relationship played out over one episode of hastily assembled footage, delivering the same emotional punch without ever making us look at Montana and Vaj. Well done. ["I just want to add in Shandi's clearly gay boyfriend's defense that the only response her could have to the news that Shandi was flirting with another prospect, without telling him that Eric was in the picture, is to hang up on her. He's justified there, in my view." -- Wing Chun]

The boy/girl ratio was apparently deemed a little too "Seventh-Grade Dance" for the fine folks over at Banks Inc. (oh, to have "Eternal Flame" come on at the end of the night and discover Shandi just standing alone, like the pig at the pig party, the bassist in the band), so they shipped in an extra musical superstar besides those two previously announced. Let's hear it from a somewhat drunk-sounding Shandi, slumped on the chair to the phone, touching her own butt just for spite: "We're gonna go have dinner with Ol' Dirty Bastard, RZA, and Kinetic." Aaaaw, no Inspectah Deck? Maybe his absence will lessen Yoanna's obvious sadness at not being chosen to go. The three gentlemen enter the ZoLoft, and everyone exchanges introductory kisses. Shandi tells us that she's excited about meeting new people, but that she's not sure how Eric -- her boyfriend, in case you forgot -- "is going to take it." Just as Shandi did. Right on the butt.

Shandi's drunken post-evening confessional slurs on with glee, "A Hummer limo!" Totally, totally amazing. Unless you've ever been within sixteen thousand miles of anywhere cars are made or driven. In which case they are just a hazard and a menace. They banter in the car about, seriously, god knows what. They make their way to a private back room of a chic restaurant, where RZA (right?) makes jokes about models' diets (good one! Did somebody say "guest-recap"?), which Shandi deems in her confessional as "silly. Silly silly silly." Wasted. Wasted wasted wasted. But, Shandi tells us, she "really hit it off with Kinetic," and we fall into a confessional featuring April and Sara, wearing these ghetto fab hats and looking utterly urban. Look! April found a culture! Anyway, they fill in some background noise that Shandi and Kinetic are the perfect couple. Back in the limo, Kinetic puts his arm around Shandi, and she tells us in a baby voice, "We cuddled! It was so sweeeet!" Or she could give up this life and go partake in some chaste movie-watching at the AMC down in Rolla. If her butt's in the seat, it's not in some rap star's hands, that's for sure.

Ty! Ra! Mail! Ty! Ra! Mail! Sound it out, Camille. Context clues. Context clues. If you can't pronounce it, maybe it's a schwa. And don't forget the elephant words! "Top models gotta do more than just pose and strut the runway/ So come on and SHAKE YA BODY my way." Now, in fairness to Camille, it's hard to commit to the scansion of the piece knowing it's just going to end rhyming "way" with "way." But on the other hand, the girl can't read.

Up and ready at 7 AM, Mercedes tells us in a confessional, "Wow, y'know, it just keeps getting better. This is great!" Her manic smile, I think, faded into sarcasm at whatever she was saying, but they decided to edit that out because...well, that's what any executive producer would want if she'd just sent you an invitation to her televised karaoke party. Onto a soundstage we walk, where we discover a perfectly awake Jay "'Cause I'm Your Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaady, And You Are My" Manuel, who would probably just sigh drolly and ask, "Darling, do I seem like someone who's even gone to bed yet?" I really don't know, Jay. Just stop calling me "darling." Jay tells them that we've learned a lot this week, and that one of those things we've learned this week is about more than just taking pictures. It's also about pimping your boss's new career. Let's learn more! "Today, you will be dancing in a music video. And the best part is the video is for the debut single from our very own...Tyra Banks!" Tyra steps up to Jay, all, "Who, me? But I was just so happy to be nominated!" She's decked out in dark sunglasses and what I can only describe as une belle chapeau. When did everyone on this show suddenly go so street? Well, don't worry about Tyra, y'all. She sings! She models! She acts! She dances! She cures lupus! She mends diplomatic relationships between India and Pakistan! And if she runs off in a sudden hurry, don't you be offended...she's probably just doing a little quick community service on the side, helping to build a hizzy for some mad poor orphinz.

"Everybody knows me as a model," Tyra tells us in a confessional that finds her waaaaaaaaay too close to me, against a blue background that looks like there's a hard-charging Lite Brite behind her with malicious intent, gaining ground every second. "But now I'm moving into the world of recording artist." She doesn't even seem to believe it when she says it, like she knows how much power she wields and finds it somewhat ridiculous. "And I'm nervous. I really am." Oh, Tyra. You're so naïve. Don't you know that the creative community at large is accepting of an artist who wants to try his or her hand at another pursuit? Why pigeon-hole yourself? You just put your mojo out there into the universe and I'm sure no one will ever make fun of your efforts no matter how bad it is. Now, will somebody PLEASE explain to me why I can't get Eddie Murphy's "Party All the Time" out of my head!

Singularly-named and singularly AWESOME (I'm just kidding. I have no idea who he is. But he thinks I should know, which is what's important to him) commercial video director Kennedy (not to be confused with dead presidents or Dead Kennedys) speeches the girls, "You ready for a long day? A real day? A real film shoot! Nowhere to hide!" Yes, Kennedy. Yes. You can spare them the diabolical speeches about shooting action sequences, because the girls are all well-fortified by the numerous bags of Rollitos they've consumed, seeing as they already shot action sequences on film last week. Mmmmm...Rollitos.

"Whatever happens, I was in Tyra's video," Sara celebrates while getting into costume. Well. Barely.

And...action! Okay, let's just take care of all this here, because I'm not recapping the video at the end. Whatever. Send your complaints to Mike Fleiss. Tyra is wearing a crotch-covering strip of black latex and a torn blue shirt, and she stands on a runway (geddit? GEDDIT?) singing as follows: "I don't want to take it slow/ Move your body, let me know/ Let me see ya lose control/ Leave it up to me to take control to love ya." ["I don't think she's talking about dancing, y'all." -- Wing Chun] And if this doesn't explain the music genre this song slots into, I don't know what does: I had it in my head until I went to sleep last night, and I then I couldn't remember it when I woke up this morning. It's one of those songs a friend and I call notsongs, because they just kind of thump along, insanely overproduced, but nothing ever really happens. See: "Miss Independent." See: "Cry Me a River." See also: "O-Town." That said, the bridge -- yes, it actually has a bridge -- is awesome. Oh, yes. And the version that I downloaded? I've listened to it sixteen times.

By Djb

April cries on the phone to her boyfriend that she feels like she's working hard, but that it's never enough. Shandi tells us that April over-analyzes things, which we've still only kind of seen by other people talking about it, rather than, y'know, her actually doing it. Back on the phone, though, April continues, "I can't even say, 'Whatever, I didn't care anyway, I just wanted to win to win.' Because it's not true anymore. This is my dream now. It's my passion." For the last three days. Dude. That's not a particularly sustaining amount of time to know if something is your whole-hearted, all-consuming, overwhelming passion. I mean, if the passion that I've been feeling most strongly only for the past three days were fulfilled, I would have a LOT of clean laundry lying around the place.

And back to the Eliminationary-whatcha-hoozie-whoozie we go. Tyra stands at her usual perch, telling the girls she knows they had "a world-wind [sic] of a week." Whirlwind, Tyra. No "d." All the better for it to make a specious rhyming couplet in your single. May I suggest "strong wind"?

Prizes. Judges. Tony Michaels is chillin' as the guest judge.

Shandi is first for her individual evaluation. We watch her tall, lanky frame kick it in fishnets in black-and-white. For good measure, they even added a bunch of random jargon at the bottom of the screen to make it look like we're watching a "rough cut." Tyra loves it, and Nigel says that he finds Shandi "as sexy" as he's ever found her. Just hands off the you-know-where, you British lothario cheeky bum-looker, you.

Camille looks good! She wearing some color and her hair is all long and down. Uh-oh. Is the tide shifting on Camille? Have they gotten to me, too? Tyra, not so much: "I feel like you have a lot of fire inside you. But it's like you were holding back." Janice -- who did not have nearly enough screen time this week -- merely gets to add, "You didn't give any kind of, like, heat." Camille offers nothing more than a forced "thank you," and takes her leave. Where she goes to the back. And eats the head off a live baby bird.

Janice on Sara: "It was somewhere between a bad music video backup dancer and, like, a belly dancer at a Greek restaurant." Oh, trust me, Janice. It was much, MUCH closer to the first one.

Mercedes didn't so much do the choreography.

April looks like "she has to go to the emergency room," according to Janice. Nigel, to the collective surprise of no one, thinks she was too clinical! ["If by 'clinical' he means 'herky-jerky and soulless,' I am right there with him." -- Wing Chun] Give him a second and I bet he'll also find a way not to like Yoanna's body.

By Djb

"I'm pissed!" Yoanna wails from her perch back at Fashion Avenue. She's so brave. For continuing to style her hair like that. Even after the judges told her she looked like some kind of flightless bird.

New outfits now, we're taping what Kennedy tells us is "a house party." Meanwhile, Tyra just adds water to her Insta-Legit powder, frothing up a thick cream of propaganda. "For six years, on the down-low, I've been ducking in and out of studios, cutting tracks" she tells us. Wow. Six years on one single. No wonder it sounds like no human beings were used during the recording of the vocal track of "Shake Ya Body."

Okay, house party. Shandi goes first, and she rocks. Kennedy worries that Sara "is thinking too much," which I guess isn't a problem he comes across with particular regularity in his line of work. She loses her choreography completely and slinks back to her place in the party. Camille has "presence," including presence in week's episode, despite her attitude's constant undermining of her talent. Ooooh! What a critically sound statement that was! I didn't know I could actually say something that didn't end with "or not." Yoanna can't find the beat. She then runs back to her place at the party and falls flat on her ass. No one really tries to help her up. Did you touch her butt? DID YOU TOUCH HER BUTT?

Back at the ZoLoft, it's already time for some Tyra Mail, and we learn that the reason they will never boot Yoanna is because, seriously, she's the only one who can read. "Tomorrow, you will meet with the judges. Only five of you will continue on with the hope of becoming American's Top Model. One of you will be eliminated." Sara repeats that she wants it more than any of the other girls. Yoanna notes that they have to be "multi-dimensional," speaking again in a pure, crisp way that makes it sound like she learned English by listening to the results of British football matches. I'll bet she could pronounce the hell out of the word "nil."

By Djb

Prizes. Judges. Tony Michaels is chillin' as the guest judge.

Janice on Sara: "It was somewhere between a bad music video backup dancer and, like, a belly dancer at a Greek restaurant." Oh, trust me, Janice. It was much, MUCH closer to the first one.

Mercedes didn't so much do the choreography.

Yeah, so they show Yoanna falling. "What the hell was that?" Janice asks. Tony says she didn't take her time. Tyra says she was off-beat. Nigel tells her she has "a gorgeous face" and leaves it at that.

By Djb

Alone with the judges now, Janice thinks Mercedes is "capital I-T." Nigel hates Yoanna's motion, and he thinks he should be out. Janice thinks Sara is a "belly-dancing stripper," but Tyra thinks she'd fit in at a photo shoot with Tyra, which is clearly high praise. Tony loves April, but, seriously, Nigel thinks she's too clinical. You guys? I know it's the same girls every week, but it's also the same audience. Shake it up a little or just let Janice have her own planet already. Janice "wants to see an Asian girl win." Why, Janice? Do you know one? They all celebrate Camille's lack of attitude this week, but Janice worries, "But is that an act? Maybe it's like a multiple personality!" Hee. Everyone loves Shandi.

Which is why she's still in the running to become America's Top Model! And so is Mercedes. And Camille. And April. Oh, dear sweet Jesus.

Yoanna and Sara will please step forward. "Yoanna," Tyra says, "you were so all over the place and so unfocussed. And sometimes you only get one chance." Yoanna's perfect green eyes well with tears. Sara is "sexy," but the judges worry that it's the kind of sexiness that will only translate to men's magazines. Yoanna's bawling, even though Sara's just been pegged the porno star.

Because it's all about her this week, Tyra sees Yoanna's tears and bursts out, "I'm starting something new in my life, something that I'm putting myself out there for the world to put me in the position that you are all in now. So who am I to stand here and tell you that you have to leave when I'm starting something that the world is going to be criticizing me." Okay, enough with the global kangaroo court of the media viability of Tyra Banks. Seriously. While the nine people who watch this show are an educated group of viewers who highly prize television and its brilliance, there really are still only nine of us. Nine of us who watch Sara get booted, and all the girlies cry. Yoanna doesn't even go to get her picture, but instead turns around and hugs Sara, who is standing in the middle of the room unabashedly bawling. Tyra gives her a big hug, and Sara makes for the door in slo-mo. "This is my dream!" she voices over, and we cut to her face literally drooling mascara as she tells us that this is not going to stop her from making her dream come true. I've got a Photoshopped photograph you're being faded from that tells me how wrong you are.