So Much News!
Before I start in with my weekly Project Runway review, I'd like to comment on some juicy news bits I've come across the last day or two.
Bush admitted yesterday that he and his sadistic posse did have a shitload of secret prisons scattered all over, but now he's had the baddest of the bad guys shipped to Gitmo for eventual war tribunals (if he gets permission to hold the tribunals).
In the meantime, he claims, they will not be tortured because as we all know, Bush is The Decider, not The Torturer.
In livelier news, it seems Paris Hilton was busted for DUI in Hollywood last night. Her blood alcohol level was said to be ever so slightly over the legal limit, so I'm thinking the skinny bitch starved herself all day, then ate a martini olive and got buzzed off it.
Kevin Federline whined to Ellen DeGeneris yesterday that being married to his meal ticket Britney Spears was "hard, hard work." Hey, who among us would have a problem snuggling up to her rich butt after a day of being a lazy, talentless baby making machine?
Last night on Project Runway, I was nearly convinced the show was too rigged to continue watching.
Then they voted off Vincent and I sighed with relief. There is justice in the fashion world.
Last week, the challenge was to design jet-set wear for themselves.
Once they donned their outfits, they were all whisked away to Paris where no-chin tattoo neck Jeffrey won the prize with his aging rock star costume.
By the way, his psycho tattoo says, "Hamilton Detroit" with some Italian proclamation of love for his son Hamilton Detroit underneath. Who would name a kid that, much less have it carved into his neck in 88 point script?
Anyway, Angela, who resembles my sister's first girlfriend, was righteously booted off for her hideous brown, silk linen pedal pushers with two of her jumbo, trademark fleurchons planted smack dab in the middle of each ass cheek.
Even I couldn't forgive that ensemble- although Vincent's black and charcoal pajama suit and Kayne's white trash Elviswear were close seconds in the hideous category.
Last night the contestants were tasked with designing an haute couture gown from the workrooms of Parsons Paris.
Haute couture is so fancy, Parisienne designers must intern for about a decade to eventually be licensed by the government to call themselves couturiers.
Couture design is known for flawless finishing, hand-sewn hems and other details, and usually requires a team of tiny handed French seamstresses several weeks to finish one gown.
Not these guys.
They got two days and 300 Euros ($375USD) to put together their entries.
In order of viewer ratings, here's the best to the worst:
Uli the German woman made a gorgeous, flowing gown of pearl gray charmeuse. She clearly should have won, especially since she raised the bar by selecting a solid color instead of one of her trademark prints.
Kayne made a complicated bronze-colored gown with a great corseted top and a skirt that fluttered just right as his model walked. The judges hated it but I thought it was hot.
Michael made a sloppy sort of slate blue gown with goofed up ruching up top. Not his usual quality. The look was improved by his tucking in the big titty cupcakes he'd designed into the gown, but not by much.
Jeff no-neck made a gaudy monstrosity in two patterns of bright yellow cotton plaid and madras, with bells and whistles and tentacles and ribbons... all in different lengths. It looked like a huge pile of fabric on and off the model.
Laura, whose belly is now brimming with a three-month-old fetus, designed an unfortunate slim black gown with a lacy, starchy stand-up white cuffs and a collar that extended into a deep V. Anyone who recalls Yves St. Laurent in his 1970's heyday would see the similarities.
Then there was Vincent- whose gold colored gown was done in a brocade sofa upholstery fabric down below and a silk top, which he unfortunately sewed on backward with the model's breasts exposed just to the modest side of each areola.
The sleeves were especially hideous, shaped a little like the ace of spades.
His model Gia was the one who got hit by a bus- apparently two buses, the first being Vincent's tacky glue-gun couture.
So who won?
That fucking Jeffrey, with his yellow cotton plaid circus tent of a mess.
See for yourself: