(Originally published in FlawlessVision)
Not since Harold Bishop suddenly went missing off Erinsborough pier in 1991, then inexplicably returned to our screens five years later as a sex pest who perved on Madge in the shower whilst playing with his tuba, has there ever been a more underwhelming cliffhanger on Australian television. Overnight, Matty J’s popularity sunk to the murky depths of Jack Dawson rotting away at the bottom of the North Atlantic. Some people (my esteemed colleague in snark, Flawless) went so far in saying that Matty’s eye-rolling histrionics were making their shrivelled tubes pine for Richie’s hideous laugh once more.
Turns out dra-Matty had a hormonal meltdown at the fact that Frankston Cage Fighter Sian couldn’t be fucked anymore with living in a prison dorm with 25 other bunnyboilers, whilst being totally ignored by the only thing she was here for. What a nutcase.
So in this anticlimactic episode, Matty takes Sian outside into the miserable pouring rain to deliver the final death blow to her ego for daring to question him. Presumably he does this away from his harem of frothing despos, in case his brutal rejection results in him getting shanked in the eye socket by Sian’s sharpened high heel.
The remaining ladiez act all mouth-agape shellshocked that Sian has been sent packing. Like a contestant going home after a rose ceremony is COMPLETELY FRICKEN UNEXPECTED.
Matty smugly pontificates that he’s definitely not being controlled by the producers like an acquiescent puppet, while he’s got a producer heavily breathing brainwashing commands into his earhole. Okay sure, because a perfectly sane man would keep deluded slurries like Dominatrix Leah, or Keira 2.0 Jen, in the house of his own volition. Yeah. Nah.
Next day, and it’s Logie-award winning camera timelapse time in Casa de La Shrivelling Ovaries, just to show to the viewers how mind-numbingly boring this place is while the hot babes sit around waiting to be graced by Matty’s blue balls. Jen and Leah crouch together like scheming goblins on the side of the pool; while the angelic members of the Snatchelorettes sit grouped together like girl scouts, with halos practically drawn on their head in MS paint.
Matty’s mum’s youthful doppelganger Lauren reads out the single date card, and whaddyaknow it’s one of the other 20 generic caucasian bronde-haired bishes in the house- delightful no-filter bogan, Simone Warne. Who is going by the name “Tara” in the house. Matty turns up to their date sockless and with his pants rolled up the ankle like he’s just waded through horse piss, riding Mr Bean’s tandem bike. He looks ridiculous, and Tara lols in his face. They spend the next few minutes riding at 2km per hour up a really hideous path, while Tara screams in his ear.
Matty finally has enough of her incessant screeching, and he takes her to George Calombaris’ kitchen, which has long since been abandoned because George is in jail now for headbutting a soccer ref. Tara squeals and goes cross-eyed in excitement that she gets to wear an apron, and when the pasta dough comes out, she starts pretending to be a sleazebag Patrick Swayze standing behind Demi Moore in Ghost. Poor Matty has flashbacks to the time Lee’s tongue took his beloved Georgia on a Dirty Dancing date, which was the final death knell in Matty’s sacred relationship with George. Matty starts crying, but fortunately Tara can’t see his face because she’s too busy humping his ass from behind.
Matty protests that he’s not a fresh piece of tenderloin to be manhandled, and Tara says “Shhh just go with it babe. It’s easier if you don’t struggle”. After she finishes violating him, they sit and eat some horse balls covered in foot shavings. Matty confides in Tara that sometimes, in the dark, he can still hear his ovaries screaming, and then he assesses her suitability in impregnating his mangina. He says he’s super impressed a Super Bogan 9000 like her knows words and emotions other than Devo, Stoked and Heckers. She tries to open up about her insecurities about not being listened to in a relationship, and he promptly shuts her up by accosting her mouth with his tongue and awkwardly fellating her top lip. She finds a rose at the bottom of his tonsils.
Back at the Vag Mansion, and Cobie has killed Osher in the Channel 10 basement and stolen his glasses. She waves the group date card around and reads the names out: “Elora” “Lora” “Flora” “Cora” “Whora”. The clue makes the bishes optimistically think that they’re only going to sail down a perfectly reasonable children’s Flying Fox, BUT WAIT TIL THEY SEE THE ALMOST CERTAIN DEATH SADIST MATTY HAS PLANNED FOR THEM, 10 MILLION FEET IN THE AIR. The girls are driven out to Belanglo State Forest, and poor Page 3 glamour girl Simone has a breakdown in the car, because she knows what happens to English tourists in this place. The babes are all wearing identical uniforms of skintight Kmart Jeans and different cuts of white handkerchiefs used as tops, except for Moist Nat, who is wearing black because she’s the black sheep who’s definitely getting sent to the slaughterhouse later on. Matty gets a little stiffy when he realizes how petrified poor Simone is when she finds out they are going Sky Diving to their certain death.
They cram into John Denver’s light plane like anchovies, and Nat prays she doesn’t let one rip in such close quarters because there’s absolutely no ventilation. The women start screaming and clapping in excitement like they’re a bunch of 97 year olds wetting themselves in the front row of a Tom Jones concert. One by one, they are forcibly pushed out of the plane, and none of their faces move in the 714 miles per-hour free fall because of all the botox they have injected into their arteries. Simone is the last to jump, and Matty can’t understand why she’s hyperventilating, as she has built-in air bags that will surely break her fall in case the parachute fails.
Matty’s rowdy harem all manage to survive the fall without dying, and back on the ground they all start jumping on him and humping his leg like rabid horndogs, while he’s lying defenceless on the ground. While Matty reaches for the rape whistle, Osher laments that no one invited him on their skydiving adventure, and he quietly wishes he didn’t tell James Mathison they needed some time apart back in 2001, because he might still have a real friend now. Matty takes Simone on an exotic date to some shitty couch and congratulates her on letting him force her to do something that she hated. He then imitates her: “ERMAHGERD I’M SIMONE AND I’M A BIG FAT SCARED DUMB HEAD”. She laughs. Date over.
Cut to the Cocktail Party, and Matty turns up wearing Karl Stefanovic’s blue suit that he wore everyday for three years because Lisa Wilkinson refused to do his washing. Nat is worried that Matty is going to send her home because she dropped her guts in the tiny plane, then made the mistake of exclaiming “Phwoar, what’s that smell cunz?!” And we all know Aristotle’s ancient proverb about She Whom Smelt It, Dealt It. To distract herself from her inevitable fate, Nat sings a glorious song about poo to the other girls. Cat’s-ass face Jen says Nat has no dignity, which is deliciously ironic because Jen’s the one walking around with a huge shiny pole up her cleft.
Hockeyroo Elise knocks out Matty with her big hockey stick, and carries him in a fireman’s hold to Lake Vag in the middle of Snatch Garden. She then makes him go fishing for various objects that encapsulate her personality; pieces of Nationalistic paraphernalia, her Olympic Gold medal, photos of her family misappropriating Mexican culture at Christmas. She bequeaths him with her lucky coin, and he promises to keep it safe in his sock forevermore. Jokes on her though, because he’s a twat who never wears socks with his loafers.
Cop Michelle wants to put a restraining order on Hideous Sequin Undies that Matty is currently being held hostage by, so she can get some alone time with him to show how ARRESTING she is. But she is suddenly informed that there’s some sort of waiting line to talk to Matty’s doodle, by pedantic know-it-all Laura, who is slowly emerging to be as much fun as one of Nat’s farts in an elevator. While the ladiez are arguing about despo concubine protocol, deluded Jen slithers over to Matty’s doodle like a Voldemort’s snake.
It’s suddenly Rose Ceremony o’clock, and Matty punishes frigid Cop Michelle for daring to not speak to his supreme holiness at the cocktail party, and shoves her her right down to the bottom two with Flatulent Natulent. But he simply can’t forgive Nat’s flippant use of the word “moist” when they first met, so he sends her packing, which is actually pretty fortunate because she’s dying for a sneaky durry on the dunny.
I’m off to knock myself out with some Pinnacle Whipped Cream vodka mainlined into my tear ducts. Till next time, haterz. Stay safe and watch out for Harold Bishop in your windows. xoxox