Runway Jury: It's an Ad, Ad, Ad, Ad World

MORNING AT ATLAS apartments. Keith brushes his teeth. With a crash, the door opens and a white-bearded, starved-looking old man, nearly naked but for a loincloth, stumbles into the bathroom.

Keith: "Mmf?"

Soothsayer of Terrible Prophecies: "DOOOOOMED!"

We all saw this coming. Shrederella had about 5 minutes and counting left to win the judges over before they tired of his fabric-rending antics and sour attitude. The editors, sick unto death of the boy, conspire to make him look extra super evil in the editing, which is the only way anyone on reality TV can look evil, because they're all really good people who got screwed by bad editing.

Then again, no one in the cutting room made Keith say this: "I deserve this more."

Or this: "I don't know how to get out of Utah."

Or this, to his model: "Watch the breathing."

That's right, bitch, don't breathe, because I've stupidly underestimated your size even though I have your stats right here and even though human beings can't physically get any smaller than models, I've gone and run out of fabric for this ugly, poorly made, hole-gaping skirt-thing an enterprising 12-year-old wouldn't claim in 7th grade Home Ec. Did I say you could breathe, woman? Cut that out!

YOUR NAME HERE, FOR A FEE
Suede's "whackadoodle" count: Two too many.
Guest Judge Usefulness-o-Meter: 10

LET'S START THE SHOW
Laura Bennett is sitting in for Neenagahcia, and doing it beautifully. A hideous, tangle-maned tree hag is the guest judge. (A mojito to anyone who spotted the portentous Elle cover at the top of the show, featuring hideous, tangle-maned tree hag One of the Olsens.)

Blayne couldn't find anything neon in the car trunks, so he's gone the easy route with a long gown of woven shiny taupe seat belts. It's a very pretty idea, and very pretty color — good work, automaker "color stylist" — and he's glued broken mirror asymmetrically around the neckline. The effect recalls Ken Russell's segment in "Aria." But! With each woven layer of already thick fabric, Blayne has given himself no leeway on the fit of this thing. The top is just appalling, gaping out under the arms and no doubt providing eye-opening side-boobage for poor Polina.

Jerell — jeez, does he blow hot and cold; you just never know with this dude. His panel-plenty suede-and-leather bustier over miniskirt is really charming, doesn't look like car parts and has a retro-futuristic style that's both cheeky and wearable. I wouldn't recommend wearing the pieces together, but that's because I like more than 15 percent of my skin covered for most occasions.

Straight Joe's red-black-and-white leather-heavy vest, top and mini are tres Nascar, if anything Nascar can be said to be tres, as is much of his work. It's a solid, middle-of-the-pack effort, a shame considering how he flourished under the hothouse lights of Miss Varla Jean Merman. The man needs another drag queen to awaken his creativity.

Stella may smoke what she sells, but at least she's trying, putting Ratbones!!! — but not only do the aesthetics clash, worse, the almost-pinky-beige ivory of the skirt is wrong, wrong, wrong against the moleskin gray of the vest. I mean, she doesn't have to have taste, or good taste, but she does have eyes, right?

But it's Kenley who's most hidebound by her aesthetic, and whose little flower patches and whatnot with which she routinely patches a bald spot on the left side of her head make me want to strangle her through the screen. She likes sharpness, structure and clean lines, which is all good, but this thing — crazy paper peplum courtesy of Sharpie, white knee-length skirt with black band that looks immovable, like a cardboard column, simple, unpersuasive leather top. This costume should be more fun, but isn't. No sleeves, because, as Hedda Lettuce pointed out, these bitches are too lazy.

Korto ends up in the top three with her gorgeous woven car coat with funnel neck. The Who Should Have Won Brigade lick their pencils.

Suede — whatever. Disco car-wash skirt, one-shouldered woven floor mat top. And those probably took him every second of the allotted time, whining all the way. Shut up, Suede. I'm sorry I was ever nice to you.

As for Terri (the Who Should Have Won Brigade grabs the legal pad from the Terri Got Screwed Corps; they tussle briefly, then begin to scribble furiously, taking turns), her leather-like white pants with black bands at the knee and black inseam, dangerous little halter top with woven top half and hot, chain-dripping belt are just divoon. Not for evening, unless Ratbones is your date.

OK, so Leanne and her stuffed, padded, highly structural skirt give her a well-deserved win — one she might-could have deserved for the New York Inspiration challenge. It's all leather but looks intricate yet soft and wearable. Again, it's not much clothing, but what's there is gorgeous and well-made.

And Keith, well, the mysterious old bum cackles from behind the scrim, his Terrible Prophecy come to pass. I mean, did you see the back of this thing? Ahahahaha! Look, Keith doesn't care, can't sew, bosses his model abominably, sasses the judges, cries like a little bitch and can't seem to find his way out of the state of Utah, indicating that he may not know that at that very moment he is, indeed, not in the state of Utah. That's what happens when you're the victim of mean editors and uppity, sit-downy, breathing models.

Next week: not entirely sure. Inspired by the repeated use of the word "garment," MHVC was babbling excitedly about Len Garment, who was Nixon's White House counsel. Talking about Nixon always makes his eyes shiny. I missed the preview. Betcha somebody said, "Oh, my God!," though.

Photos courtesy Bravo