America’s Next Top Model has become almost as stunt-oriented as Make Me a Supermodel, but, oddly enough, I’m still tuning in -- and still secretly deleting Make Me a Supermodel from my DVR so my girlfriend doesn’t waste her life watching something that is the epitome of the word “mindless.” Sometimes I wonder why I keep coming back, especially considering how I’ve dropped numerous other reality shows (like Survivor and American Idol) when they became too ridiculous to bear, but I can never come up with a satisfactory answer. Mostly, I think I’m just used to watching escapist television on Wednesday night and no amount of inanity will break me of that habit. Oh, and my aforementioned girlfriend likes to watch it with me. It’s “us time.” Thanks, Tyra, for bringing my girlfriend and I closer.

Anyways, the two of us -- my girlfriend and I, not Tyra and I, unfortunately -- crawled onto the couch together last night and, even before anything interesting happened on Top Model, we were ranting about how Dominique, who is clearly a dude, shouldn’t have been let into the competition at the conclusion of last week’s premiere. Apparently, we’re not alone either. Later in the episode, the models paid a visit to Elite Modeling Agency to be evaluated honestly by a fashion expert, in this case new judge Paulina Porizkova (who still looks beyond stunning at 43), and Dominique was told she looked like “Robin Wright Penn, but the transvestite version.”

The producers also gave us more Fatima/Marvita drama. This tag team of dysfunction should keep the show interesting for at least five or six more episodes, but it’s amazing -- given the way the editors cut together seemingly non-stop recitations of the personal tragedies these two have suffered -- that you can actually end up sick of hearing about something as terrible as Fatima’s genital mutilation in Somalia or how Marvita was homeless, molested, and raped. This shocking personal indifference is almost as cold as the producers' decision to dress up homeless people in high fashion and let the models play at being sexy homeless women in a photo shoot with them. Who thought of this? It didn’t raise my awareness of homelessness, as Tyra hoped; it just made me think she didn’t have a heart. “Did you like that dress? Oh, too bad. Maybe we could loan you some scissors to cut it into a blanket you can use -- because you’re homeless!”

In the end, neither my girlfriend or I were shocked when 18-year-old Atalya was sent packing, but we were shocked when Kim, a possibly "slow" blond whom I’m pretty sure couldn’t make me a milkshake correctly at McDonald’s, announced to the judges that she hated high fashion. Flabbergasted, Tyra asked, "You want to just go home?" “Yeah.” “Well, go home.”

I might have hated Kim because, well, I hate stupid people, but last week she stole her slot from several models who would’ve killed a loved one to win it. Hopefully one of them will track the blonde twit down and strangle her with some expensive couture.

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