I can’t even make shit that stupid up.
Speaking of stupid shit I can’t make up…it’s time for a phenominal round of failues. We have a 60-something year old belly dancing instructor, a couple guys who think they can imitate other guys and don’t do a good job of it, a reasonably pretty 30 or so year old who opens with a british accent, a fat ex-cheerleader, and some other older lady who tells Gordie he’s “a spicy man” and then starts to cry…
The wanna be brit tells them she’s ready to take the criticism…Joe assures her “it’s comin’.”
Gordie makes the cheerleader spell “NO.”
The rest of them, we just see walk out sad.
Alright, back to another person of interest. Who…well…is moderately interesting, I suppose. I mean, this guy is taller than fuck.
“People always ask me ‘do you shoot hoops?’ and I’m like ‘nah, I shoot onions…into skillets.’”
I’m gonna go out on a limb and suggest that if he ever actually said that to anyone who asked him if he played ball…he’d get his ass kicked. He’d get his ass kicked by a short fat white guy like me, even.
He tells Bastage (after he asked, of course) that he hasn’t missed the boat on the NBA…he just wants to be a chef instead.
Has it occurred to anyone else that just because he’s a humongously tall black gentlemen doesn’t mean he’s NBA material? I mean, that might just be why he’d rather be a chef?
He makes shrimp etouffee, and apparently it’s really good. He gets three quick yes votes. TG teases him for crying a little.
Next up is Shami, from Zimbabwe. Or Seattle.
Shami? More like Shamu.
I’m…yeah, I’ll probably burn for that, huh?
Shamu waddles into the room, and presents a traditional Zimbabwean dish. Something with cornmeal, chicken curry, and collard greens in some kind of peanut butter sauce.
Teddy says he likes the spice. Joe performs his patented stare and slowly walk away move. Gordie says he tastes heart, but he isn’t really sold on the collards in peanut butter. She explains that in Zimbabwe, there’s not always meat readily available, so the PB is there for protein. Gordie counters with “you put meat on the plate here, so why did you stick with the PB??”
Well, then we go on to the judgement. Bastage says he sees her on the plate, and says “yes.”
Teddy comes back and says it really needs seasoning. TG, were you not listening to yourself when you said you really liked the spice?!?
TG passes it off to Gordie…and….she’s hoping for “Sham-WOW!,” but gets sent packing.
Next up is a montage of success stories, including a pair of pretty hot (I’m gonna say) Indian girls (give me a break, they were barely on the screen).
Yes, I can get behind this. FOX, listen up. I don’t think I’ll complain if you keep her around…
So long as we didn’t just admit two more Suzy Singhs…
Ok…so, success montage…followed by something. I’m not really sure what. Just…
What the fuck is this? I know black is a ‘slimming,’ color, but there’s only so much black in the world, and it’s not enough to make TG look like that…
Yeah…the lady made little cake…things? I don’t know. The little figure…things…destroy the cakes….but no matter, the cakes are delicious, and she gets an apron.
So, we’re at the end of the first day…there’s one final contestant, and guess what. Remember that guy last year that only had 3 fingers per hand. I think they’ve gone and one-upped that…
The final contestant is Christine, and she’s blind. Yes, to answer your question, “blind” means the same thing you remember it meaning. She can’t fucking see. She can’t see, and they’re giving her knives and fire. That seems to be the recipe for a trip to the emergency room.
She’s very confident…she set aside her thesis for this competition. Did she not watch last year? Oh…great, yeah…great. I’m…I’m already writing this from the hot place, so I guess I can’t get much worse, right? But, all joking aside, you can see the problem with this, right? If she gets an apron…oh, man, I said “see” again. It’s like when you’re trying really hard not to describe someone as black because you don’t want people to think you’re racist, and because you’re concentrating on not saying it so hard, you just blurt out “he’s the black guy!!!” I guess, on the up side, she won’t be reading this.