Pretty crier

Two nights ago I watched the finale of Germany’s Next Top Model. And wow... that show makes me want to slap food out of my own hand like, “Agnes, do you really need to jam that entire suckling pig into your mouth all at once like that?!” (Obviously yes or why would I have built a fire and set up a spit in the middle of the living room?)

So yeah, if you ever invite me to your house with the intention of showing me models, expect for things to get freaky. I do not get separated from food without a battle. Also if I accidentally slap you with a crowbar, I’m really sorry.

What I wasn’t prepared for when watching said reality TV show with said models, was the rude way in which the finalists looked stunning while having emotional breakdowns. THE NERVE!

As far as I’m concerned, crying is the domain of flared nostrils, contorted constipation faces and drool. When I cry, I look like an enraged piglet: wrinkly and pink and covered in slobber.  My face turns deep red, its muscles contract and twitch like epileptic seniors at a rave party and then my body releases an irrepressible, endless torrent of snot.

Oh the snot! It gushes from everywhere – my nose, my eyes, my mouth, my ears...and the next thing you know I’m in a kind of slimy clear cocoon, shaking, moaning and scaring all of the passengers on my bus.

But if I could just harness the ability to produce it at will, I could do some real good in the world. It is Niagara Falls powerful, so I should be able to at least find an alternative means of renewable energy or something. It could work like this:

We’re going to save the world, my gushing snot and I. And what have models ever done? Aside from making life beautiful with legs that connect to their chins, that is?