That’s what Jay Manuel, right, is in the process of saying to a girl on Top Model who is swingnig around while wrapped up in in a dirty net with dead fish, over a “harbor” that may or may not really be in Thailand. The jury’s still out on whether the models were magically transported (via an appropriately trippy plane with their headshots in the windows) to a foreign country or just a giant bamboo-infused set in the greater Burbank area. Anyway, I hate Jay, but appreciate his existence if only for moments like this, when he insists on fanning himself with a doozy from the box marked “ETHNIC PROPS” while verbally torturing the models.

Hmmm. Is it doozie, doozey, or doozy? It’s probably not even any of those.

It’s the details that make this joke of a show bearable and often delectable. Above, a makeup artist who (we’re to believe) impersonates Tyra in his free time came in to talk to the girls as “Ty-ra Banks (Sutan in drag).” Five seconds later, the actual Tyra (omg!) sauntered in to claim her rightful identity as “the real deal.”

I will now transcribe the conversation that followed TRD’s grand entrance. All of the following actaully happened. I’m sorry too.

The Real Deal: You know what? [dramatic pause; walks over] I am so tired of you impersonating me!

Drag Queen: [to the girls] Am I Tyra? I’m Tyra.

Danielle: [halfheartedly points at Tyra] That’s Tyra.

The Real Deal: Thank you…

Drag Queen: I’m Tyra!

The Real Deal: I am Tyra…

Drag Queen: I’m Tyra.

The Real Deal: I am Ty. Ty Ty Baby.

Drag Queen: I’m Ty.

The Real Deal: You know what? I think the only way we’re gonna settle this IS TO GO TO THAILAND!!!

Okay, here’s the part where readers who don’t care about this show but are still reading this post because I refuse to put it on a separate page…hey guys! should tune in again. Look at how excessively large the text of “thailand” is. No capitalization, no emphatic punctuation. Who was the tool in the graphics meeting saying “Let’s make it take up half the screen”? There’s no need for this. I really think the country’s name is that big simply because Tyra deigned to associate her name with it.

Now I’m going to go off on Tyra. Again. Note my wishful-thinking graphic (left). Nothing will ever come of this. She’ll remain The Real Deal, and I’ll remain the loser with a blog, who two minutes ago finished off a brand new box of Entenmann’s cookies just so they wouldn’t be around to potentially get eaten the next day. Out of sight, out of mind — a philosophy I can’t seem to apply to a bad TV show. Yeah. I think Tyra’s winning.

To spice things up, I’ll go off on her in the style of a junior-high essay contest:

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Q: What is Tyra Banks, besides pure evil? Use a form of the word “metaphor.” (300-500 words.)

A. Tyra Banks is more than Tyra Banks. Tyra Banks is a thundercloud-like persona which has metaphorically swallowed up Hollywood, the “modeling world,” and recently an abundance of bon-bons. Having digested and converted these various realities into something more up her omnipotent alley, the cloud squirts out small Tyra-shaped pellets every seven days. Just like rain.

Tyra’s shit don’t stink, so we get access to it. The pellets are the weekly episodes, which supposedly have to do with a modeling contest and the girls involved with that. Ha! People can be so naive.

It’s actually all a mind game. The entire enterprise is about Tyra. There is no freaking way that makeup guy really dresses up in drag like Tyra Banks for fun. It just wouldn’t happen in a universe other than the one Tyra Banks concocted herself. No one cares about Tyra Banks except Tyra Banks and little girls from the hood who want to be on TV. But it’s mostly Tyra. She’s larger than life, you see. She even has her own magazine, called “Bankable.” Get it? “Banks.”

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I sure hope I win! Also Merry Christmas.

I’m seeing Stick It! as soon as possible.