Predator Press
[LOBO]
You would be hard-pressed to find a single American who hasn't at least heard of
America's Next Top Model: a glamorous leggy reality show hosted by Tyra Banks.
But few remember the vast number of prototypes attempted previous to it's highly successful format.
Before ANTM, we didn't know that America wanted to watch pretentious and callow stressed-out 80-pound chicks clawing each other's eyes out; all we really knew was that as long as we kept putting crap on television, America would watch with tightly-gripped interest.
Forever lost in the vast archives of failed television -somewhere next to the reels of XFL Football and the Gieco Cavemen show- all the episodes of America's Next Top
Not Model [ANTNM] gather the dusty neglect of failed hopes and dreams.
Perhaps only
I still remember the most exciting and fantastic week of my life.
But that's okay.
I still remember.
***
From the moment the Greyhound bus dropped me off in front of
Château le Scone, it was a first-class act all the way. I had never been to Biloxi, the high-powered world center and apex of international beauty before; it actually
teemed with energy and life.
Once adequately armed against said teeming energy and life with our complimentary guitar-shaped flyswatters and mosquito nets, we were introduced to the other contestants by the pool. My heart sank as I saw the mammoth caliber of my competition: George "The Animal" Steel was getting his back waxed, and Gilbert Gottfried his eyebrows. Paul Reubens was snoring loudly with cucumbers over his eyes, and Chris Farley snapped his Speedo at anyone who failed to resist his obvious predanatural gifts.
Without severe discipline and hard work, I didn't have a
prayer.
***
The only "original" member of the cast that survived to the show's current bastardized permutation
America's Next Top Model is Jay Alexander. I remember him fondly; once he essentially stopped eating to control the nausea, he himself gave me the regimented routines that would prove to be my only chance for survival. Tips like not shaving or bathing and consuming nothing but
Blue Beaver Beer, pizza, Twinkies and nachos 24/7 proved invaluable as the final weeks progressed.
And then that prick Paul Reubens ruined
everything.
He started sneaking vegetables on my pizzas, and switching my beer to
Blue Beaver Lite. He doused me constantly with Aqua Velva under the guise that it was fly repellant.
That prick stole and burned all my turtleneck shirts and parachute pants.
When I saw the footage of what he did to my favorite plaid leisure suit, I wept.
And I was voted off that very week.
***
Once my arteries cleared up, I left the hospital and decided to write my story as a warning. And I'm sure you already know that being overly-possessed with how you look is not healthy, and rampant vanity can be a fast track to full renal failure.
But this is a warning to Paul Reubens.
That suit was
polyester.
We'll meet again, Paul.
Oh yes.
We shall meet again.
Predator Press
Or the draft.
