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Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model Search - Episode 1 Summary

'Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Spankathon' By TeamJoisey
Original Airdate: January 5, 2005

Before I begin the summary, let me introduce myself, and explain why I have been asked to summarize the first episode of this most recent entertainment enterprise.

I, TeamJoisey, have been a professional journalist for 23 years. In my current position, I often have to choose the best photograph from among dozens of choices. I understand the nuances of photography and value of an exceptional photograph. As a professional journalist, I also know the importance of the unbiased eye, the reporter’s ability to present the facts without becoming emotionally involved in the subject.

Secondly, I have a 57-inch wide screen HD television, surround sound, and a hi-def digital video recorder. I can freeze on each and every frame with crystal clarity, in poster size, and dissect each image for all the subtle gradations in tone that might appeal to the average viewer.

To this end, I have spent 57 hours reviewing the first episode. I do this, as a professional journalist, in order to provide you with all the details, all the pageantry, and all the intrigue that make this program such compelling TV.
I stop now only for your benefit. You trust me, you need me, as a professional journalist, to document the drama and the imagery, the compelling first episode of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model Search.

Plus, I was starting to hurt myself. And I ran out of Kleenex.

The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model Search. It’s perfect TV. Wholesome. Inspiring. It offers young girls throughout North America, nay, the world, the dream that someday they may be picked from obscurity, removed from their dull lives as Gap salesgirls, and awarded with fame, glory and a one million dollar modeling contract. These are the girls next door, average young ladies who love their Moms, tease their brothers, offer the world a smile and pillow fight with their best friends while wearing thong panties.

Peaches and cream.

Let’s introduce these adorable contestants, shall we?

There is Adadora Akubilo, a 20-year-old college student from Central Connecticut State University. She loves to read, loves pasta. She stands 6 feet tall and weighs 139 pounds. Sadly, she is the Fat Chick.

We have Alicia Hall, who is just 19. She is a web designer with an eighth-grade education who loves playing sports. She has brown hair and green eyes and a feisty personality. She stands a mere 5 foot 8 and weighs 115 pounds. Her love of sports and her seeming devotion to constant exercise may well be a factor in the competition.

Betti Formeus is a 27-year-old woman from Miami, and the oldest contestant. She is 5-10, 130 pounds and exudes experience and maturity. She has dramatically curly long brown hair, and she is an intense competitor.

Jenna Spilde is a 19-year-old from Texas, the youngest competitor. She has blue eyes, blond hair and a broad face, but she is not Jenna Bush. This Jenna weighs 120 pounds, stands 5-9 and loves to read. She has an exotic look, a charming twang, and a vivacious personality.

Little Rock Arkansas sends us Krisi Ballentine, a 23-year-old college grad who loves macaroni and cheese and the color baby blue. She’s 5-8 and weighs just 107 pounds. She says she loves anything adventurous, including water sports. (uhuhhhh…ohgod….. oh god)

OK, that’s enough. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t make this seem like anything more than it is. It’s a tawdry rip off of Next Top Model, but with more exposed flesh. There’s no dignity in this show, and I can’t spackle it and make it better. We are looking at tasteless exploitation of naïve young women. We are watching a dying network desperately pandering to the masturbatory fantasies of a million adolescent boys, and their once adolescent fathers. We are watching a bunch of spoiled dimwits trade dignity for dollars, exposing their shallow personalities and nearly all their skin just for the chance to take their place among the most vapid over-rated celebrities this beauty-centric world can produce. It is shameful. It is disgusting. It is appalling. These are not people, these are body parts. These are not wholesome young role models. These are hideously emaciated trollops with good genes.

Krisi Ballentine… An adventurous girl who loves water sports? We know what that means. She’s a cheap date who loves multiple anonymous sex partners who will cover her in urine. She has gruesome breast implants that account for 25 percent of her body weight, a trailer trash wardrobe and a blonde dye job that looks like her pimp did it five weeks ago.

The next whore-let is worse. Her name is Marcela Ziemianski, and she looks like Paris Hilton, but without the money or the sex toys. Her frazzled blonde hair is so over processed it looks like shredded Glad bags. She’s six feet tall, weighs 125 pounds, and has a haughty pinched face that will be perfect for the upcoming porn career. She should stay away from chihuahuas, except as an appetizer.

Nancy Stelmaszczyk is frankly, nothing to look at, except as a sexual toy. She’s 22, 5-10, and weighs 128 pounds. She has weird eyes, and no personality to speak of. She graduated college with a degree in biochemistry, which we know from her frequent appearances in Girls Gone Wild videos. Her bio says she loves to dance. She should invest in a pole, because her new career is moments away.

Sabrina Marie Sikora has a real problem. She’s flat out scary. She weighs 107 pounds and stands 5-11 and a half. She says her favorite foods are BBQ and ice cream. It’s apparent in her 20 years she never actually digested any of those things, so we know there’s a lot of binging and purging going on here. She’s a blue-eyed blonde from Macon Georgia, where people are stupid enough to think “sparkle” qualifies as a favorite color.

Shannon Hughes is nearly indistinguishable from these other brats, except by her “Village of the Damned” eyes. She also has rather large breasts for this crowd, the kind that are available only from the finest surgeons. Brown hair, 5-10, 130, loves Mexican food. Comes from Mesquite Texas. She’s 23. She also has a charming twang, which will she will soon be using to entice passing motorists outside the Lincoln Tunnel.

Shantel Yvonne Van Santen. Ah, who cares. She’s just like Shannon, only a little younger, a little shorter, and a whole lot more flatchested. She has hobbies and favorite colors and none of it matters. She can’t win because she’s freekin invisible in this crowd until she buys breasts.

Stacy Klimek has weird teeth. They are bigger than her breasts. And there's a lot more of them. With strange spacing. Imagine the offspring of Julie Roberts and David Letterman. She’s from Minnesota, where she works at BabyGap in the Mall of America. Another blonde, 5-11, 130 pounds, 19 years old. It’s repetitive, ain’t it? Her favorite foods include cheesecake. Her favorite poses also include cheesecake.

And finally, the Latina. Stella Diaz is from Puerto Rico, but has been totally scrubbed of any discernable accent or typical Latina features. Imagine Puerto Rico if it were in Minnesota. Brown hair and eyes, age 19, 5-8, 110 pounds. She is not bootylicious, unless you like a woman who can sit in an ashtray. Stella’s favorite sport involves a paddle. Within two years she will branch out into whips and cuffs. But that will cost extra.

These “wholesome” young ladies can’t wait to get nearly naked. NBC can’t wait for them to get nearly naked. America’s male population 13-103 can’t wait for them to get totally naked. And really, who are we to stand in the way of blatant exploitation?

The broad-cast begins with a few shots of famous SI models… Heidi Klum, Molly Sims, Elle MacPherson, Roshumba Williams, Cheryl Tiegs, Rebecca Romjin. This has the effect of making the actual contestants look utterly repulsive. Tyra Banks is noticeably absent, much to her credit.

Our beloved Mr. Exposition Hands makes a cameo appearance, running a tape measure over first the breasts, and then the flat belly of some unseen waif. That’s a choice between two tasks, each with its own pros and cons.

As the voice over describes the fabulous prizes, we do a quick fly-by past all the wannabes that were not quite anorexic enough, not quite freakishly tall enough, not quite pedo-whorish enough to make the chosen 12. Yes, it’s American Cleavage Idol, and Frenchy Davis need not apply.

America, stand proud. We have countless thousands of nubile young ladies willing to strip to a thong and gyrate in the surf while millions ogle and touch themselves. Take that, al Qaeda!

We zoom in to Malibu California, where we see a mansion perched high on a hill, and various shots of the upcoming grueling competitions. These include lying on the back and pumping the legs in the air, push ups with derriere extension, beach volleyball, and preening.

We get a taste of the competition, and the three tough judges who will decide who to cut each week. We learn that the finalists will travel to an exotic location (not Minnesota’s BabyGap store) to shoot a layout for the 2005 SI swimsuit issue. The importance of this prize is punctuated by wiggling crotch shots.

And we learn that America will vote: which of the two finalists will be the winner?
Clay in a thong, or Reuben in a speedo?

Again, I think it is important to underscore the dignity of this prestigious event, hence, this illustrative photograph.

Also, I thought some of you adolescent boys might have forgotten to set the VCR.

Astonishingly, I have written 1569 words before seeing the opening credits. Which we now see, set to the song “Girls on Film.” It’s a montage of the 12 bimbette poseurs… posing in swimsuits. America is hardly riveted. Unless you are a teenage boy, and as hard as a rivet.

The real episode begins when six limousines wend their way through the night, arriving at the hilltop mansion. There is a phalanx of faux photographers flashing away to add some atmosphere. The slutlettes disembark, line up with their official Apprentice luggage, and posture for the extras with flash bulbs. Up ahead, along a long stretch of outdoor deck, comes Cheryl Tiegs. She looks radiant in white, but alas, it is not that historic net bathing suit. Cheryl, who has no elocution skills whatsoever, welcomes the girls and explains all the prizes. She introduces the judges. We have:

Jule Campbell, the creator and former editor of the swimsuit issue, who will be playing the part of Den Mother/Cheerleader.

Roshumba Williams, former swimsuit model, who will be the Big Dawg expert with the incomprensible advice.

Joel Wilkenfeld, president of Next Model Management, who will be playing the part of Blunt Irritating Guy.

Grabbing their Apprentice luggage, the girls are escorted into the house by

The girls are escorted into the house by Nikko, their runway director. He has Michael Bolton’s old curls and could be mistaken for Hank Azaria as seen in The Birdcage. Regardless of your opinion of the show’s soft-core pornographic imagery, Nikko is worth watching. It’s Queer Eye for the Straight DAWs!

Nikko explains the girls have 15 minutes to change into the sexiest swimsuits in their suitcase and prepare for a runway show down the home’s long deck. Oooh, the excitement as various garments drop around various ankles. From the carpet skimming angle, it’s obvious the cameraman has fainted.

To further set the classy tone, we learn from Alicia that some of the girls were not properly… prepared…to model.

“Some of the girls weren’t even shaved… but I’m not gonna say no names.”

Really, did you expect to get through the first 10 minutes without some mention of crotch barbering?

Next we see them rubbing oil all over themselves, adjusting bikini tops and fluffing their hair. (On their heads). As she’s being hairsprayed, we hear Shannon say, “Make it big, baby.” America hears her and thousands are already responding.

We see Betti lament the size of her chest, wishing for a couple of Double Ds to replace what seem to be lamentable pathetic, worthless and downright hideous B cups. Suddenly, America’s teen boys begin to deflate.

As they line up, Stacy points at her breasts and declares to the others that she’s “all real.” She pointedly asks Krisi if her disproportionately large, appallingly fake bazooms are real. Krisi confesses to the camera that she got implants because she likes the way Pamela Anderson and Carmen Electra look. She also wishes she had a bigger butt and is considering butt implants. She tells the other girls that her teetees cost $3975.

Now they are lined up by The Fabulously Swishy Nikko, and the strutting begins. As each girl walks the runway we get a short bio and a comment about why they are there. This gives us a chance to hear their voices and their thoughts. Two more reasons to hate them.

The judges make catty comments as the girls walk back up the runway, and Joel the Simon wannabe begins dismissing contestants in the first 15 seconds. We learn that Marcela “does not have anything.” Nancy’s bikini confirms she is not one of the girls who forgot to shave her pubic hair. Jenna wows all the judges. Krisi looks terrified and sobs through her little interview. Alicia reveals she is the product of foster homes, and the judges feel “she’s got an edge.” JoelSimon hates Betti. When they are done strutting, they pose as a group before Nikko swishes them away to get eat and some sleep.

Time to explore the Barbie Dream House! Big rooms, bright colors, fluffy pillows. Two of the girls discover a bidet, and one explains to the other, “it’s for the booty.” The girls are sleeping dorm style, four to a room. Luckily all the obsessive compulsives are rooming together. Old bat Betti derides the young girls, and tries to keep her distance.

Off to dinner, where the girls pile their plates high with leaves. Shannon admits she lives on olives. Stacy is worried about gaining weight. One of the blonde brats brings dinner to a screeching halt by revealing the large chocolate cake. Alicia declines the cake, because she’s taking this competition seriously.

Marcela decides to eat the cake, saying “I’m a fatass, it’s OK. I’ll eat it.” Don’t bother to scroll up. I did the research. Marcela is six feet tall and 125 pounds. This is her butt…

Josh the bartender enters and delivers the first instructions, which are delivered in cheesy fake Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues. This one is immediately swept up by Alicia, whose pushy behavior offends the other girls. Controversy, personality clashes and drama. Now it’s the producers who are getting erections.

We break for commercials, which didn’t involve nearly naked nymphettes, so screw em...

Snow-shoveling for Verizon… crappy movie “Little Black Book” on DVD… McDonalds offers salads for all you swimsuit model wannabes… Troy is offering Brad Pitt for all you gladiator wannabes… It’s OK to steal tampons from your neighbors while they have sex in the living room… and Fear Factor is giving another million bucks to the first couple that can tolerate Joe Rogan for one half hour.

We return.
The girls are lounging around by the pool in skimpy bikinis, lamenting about rejection and how people are so judgmental. Betti points out that these spoiled white biotches don’t know anything about rejection because they are not sistahs.

Enter the drill seargeants!

Three buff young men in fatigues blow whistles and order the girls to line up. Tony Messenger introduces himself as the drill instructor. He has a thick Germanic accent acquired through repeat viewings of The Terminator. He has partners: Hans and Franz. The girls have five minutes to run upstairs and put on cheerleader costumes for a “workout” with the boys.

When they return, we get a Swimsuit Model version of Simon Says. A Reward Challenge for kindergartners. The winner of the competition gets the Supermodel Pass, which is supposed to help in the next day’s modeling competition. Tony will give instructions, which the girls will begin upon his whistle. They are to switch to the next exercise only upon hearing the whistle. I reviewed this section closely, and the exercises were primarily Jubbly-Jostling Jumping Jacks, Kegel exercises, Butt-Clenching Pushups, and the 12-pack Abdomen Crunch. There was no girl-on-girl action. Saving that for Episode 3.

Pseudo-athletic Alicia is eliminated in 21 seconds. Just 50 minutes later, Nancy falters and Sabrina wins the Supermodel Pass. Nancy cries. Along with the Supermodel Pass, Sabrina has won a diamond necklace. This creates more jealousy than whatever the stupid Pass is supposed to mean.

Now the tired ladies are off to bed in their snuggly lil pajamas. At 5;15 a.m. Nikko swishes in and wakes them all with his own whistle. Put on the matching pink sweatsuits, it’s off to the beach for their first photo shoot.

Once they arrive, they meet chiseled, tattooed, handsome sleazeball

Brian Lovely, Swimsuit Photographer. He has a perpetual tan, perpetual stubble and enough goop in his hair to lubricate Kirstie Alley. Each girl will get 10 minutes posing with Brian, while the three judges watch from chairs on the beach.

Sabrina now gets to use the benefit of the Supermodel Pass. She can place the girls in line to be photographed. It’s never explained why this matters, but it’s fairly easy to deduce that one might be able to pick up a few tips while watching early shooting. Clearly, the person photographed first will be at a distinct disadvantage. I’m no Supermodel, I figured that out.

Sabrina makes quick use of this awesome power. She chooses to go first. She then selects all the other girls in some random Duck Duck Goose fashion. Clearly, intelligence is not a factor.

It’s 27 minutes into the broad-cast, 2932 words into the summary, and finally, we have swimsuit models thrashing their sexual organs in the surf. One by one they pose for the camera. It’s hard to do this scene justice without the visuals, but let these words suffice:

“pull your hair to one side”
“she’s got a good body.. long and lean”
“go girl, work it!”
Open your leg a little bit, yeah, like that.”
“She’s got a great tushie, too.”
“Be careful, those waves are strong!”


Ohmigod!! Jenna’s been swept out to sea!!!

Commercials…. Michael Keaton is hearing White Noise, or echoes of his lost career… Taco Bell wants to fill you up with gut wrenching crap… Lots of people want a computer virus, also known as AOL… The Apprentice 3 is coming… Battlestar Gallactica is coming… The New York Boat Show is coming… snow is coming, so buy a Mercury Mariner … and whiten your teeth with Crest cellophane tape.

Back to the models, and Jenna’s awful injuries. She scraped her shin!!! “It’s the life of a model,” she cheerfully exclaims. “That’s why I always carry kneepads!”

More modeling, more hips, more orgiastic posing. I live near a beach. I’ve never seen girls do these things in the surf. If they did, lifeguards would be summoned. After a few hours.

Shantal’s enormous buttocks are awash in waves, and Jule Campbell wants to know her name. Betti’s got great legs, hideous hair. Alicia gets to pose with an oar, which is causing problems until she tosses it away.

Marcela is posing with her scrawny butt in the air, looking a lot like Paris Hilton before the phone rang, and the judges are already dismissing her. “No star quality.”

Honey, pack your suitcase.

The next morning, back at the mansion, the shower-fresh girls have gotten another magazine clue. It tells them that they will be brought to the Staples Center, and each girl must dress to make an impression. But each have her bags packed. Four girls will be eliminated tonight. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a razor blade, like fine cocaine.

We cut away to the judges, who are reviewing the photos shot at the beach, and deciding which girls to eliminates. I recall again that Tyra Banks is a former SI cover girl. Janice Dickinson is not.

For those teenage boys with a lot of stamina, we now repeat large portions of the surf modeling, with freeze frames to represent various still photographs. They comment on each of the girls, American Idol style.

Alicia takes the worst of it. Simon says she has love handles, and her asscheeks are sagging. Like Asses of Death, we cut to a quick video of the horror of Alicia’s jiggly bum. Personally, I am appalled.

Exhibit B: Alicia's repulsive hindquarters:

The judges hate Betti’s hair. Love Krisi, hate her hair. Nancy has no neck. Marcela burnt her hair. And what is with these teeth?

The judges look at the walls, where SI covers stare back at them. Those famous models have some special spark. There are four contestants here who obviously do not. They have made their decision.

Commercials… referees steal beer, which explains that call in the Giants game last week… Blockbuster is eliminating late fees because they realize their entire business model has become obsolete... Verizon is still shoveling bullsnow over their family share scam… Remember when M. Might Scarymammalian made that good movie? Well go rent it from Blockbuster, because The Village is available on DVD but that really sucked… NBC’s “Must Avoid Thursday” is lame, but Law and Order is next and Jerry Orbach’s not dead yet!…

Back at Swimsuit Sorority, the nervous girls are packing their curling irons and thongs. Krisi confesses if she stays, she’s gonna crap her pants, and if she goes, she’s gonna crap her pants. Stacy tells the camera that Nancy is a beautiful girl who is going to win this whole thing. Alicia laments that they didn’t come here to make friends, but now people are getting attached. Betti says Alicia will not make it to the next round.

Right now, we can speculate. Nancy has been anointed the winner; so she’s leaving. Betti says Alicia is going home; so she’s staying. Krisi is gonna need new pants.

Cut to the Staples Center. The girls enter in a swarm of spotlights and line up in the center of the basketball floor. We begin the eliminations, and in turn, the judges describe just how nauseating they find these models:

Nancy, you have no neck. You’re fired.
Shannon, we’re keeping you despite your affected mannerisms.
Krisi, your hair and clothes make you look cheap, but you stay.
Stacy, you are awkward and have no confidence. Sit. Stay.
Shantel, you’re boring. Get the hell out of my office.
Jenna, stop flaunting like a centerfold. Come here and do me.
Betti, your hair is revolting, your face is nasty…

Commercials… AOL... OLAY... Raisin Bran… The West Wing. Things hit things, so buy a Honda, which is so cheaply made you can replace all the parts with those stolen last night on the streets of Newark… Orange Bank... Bounty, which loudly claims to be useful for sticky messes, which seems appropriate for this broad-cast. Geico insurance, and a winter storm watch here in the



Media Market.

Back to the Staples Center.

Betti, your hair is revolting, your face is nasty. But you’re channeling Omorosa, so you’re sticking around.
Stella, your pictures look like a corpse. You have to stay.
Alicia, you're fat and your asscheeks sag. But the other girls hate your guts, so baby, you have a free pass to the finals.
Marcela, you look like a whore, we’re sending you Vivid Video.

Sabrina and Adadora, one of you is staying and the other is leaving. Come over here and let us bitchslap you together.

Adadora, your mouth is creepy and your hair looks like a bird’s nest. You scare small children.
Sabrina, you are beautiful and talented, but too nice to provide drama for the remaining broad-casts. Get the hell out of my masturbatory fantasy.

A tearful Sabrina leaves, and the remaining eight are all flashing relieved smiles. But in confessionals, the claws come out.
Alicia: I wanna win really really bad
Jenna: I wanna go out and kick those other girls butts.
Betti: Am I winning this thing? Yes I am.

Sadly, the episode is over. There will be no more butt-arching boob-thrusting torso-gyrating crotch wiggling tonight. At least on TV.

But take heart, America’s teen boys: For more exclusive footage, go to to Swimsuit Model Search on AOL. (Surfing for pornography online, imagine that.)

Next week: They learn to dance like Lakers Girls. Betti declares herself the winner, buttocks are vigorously thrust into the air, Jenna gets nasty, Stacy threatens killer instinct, two more girls go home, and another 940,000 boxes of Kleenex get emptied.

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