Welcome back to the penultimate episode of finale week where the wounds are fresh, the back tatts are even fresher and the ‘shocking new twists’ make you want to chug a cocktail of bleach and battery acid.
Here are 57 thoughts we had during last night’s episode of Married At First Sight.
The episode opens with a seven-minute school camp-style video montage of the entire ‘Social Experiment’ playing to the soundtrack of Nickelback’s ‘Photograph’. It then concludes with Dean getting besieged by Cyclone Tracy in a field of sunflowers and Nympho Trish challenging Dr Mel to a game of strip Twister. The scene then changes to a familiar festering pit of soiled bed sheets where Carly is wrapping her lips around Troy’s naked chest beard AND I AM SCREAMING. I AM LITERALLY CHOKING ON MY CHICKEN KIEV. In an unprecedented turn of events, Carly has docked her boat at Troy’s harbour and I have never wanted to saute my own eyeballs in a mini wok more in my entire life. AND THESE ARE THE SAME EYES THAT HAVE SEEN TRACEY TRY TO RHYME ‘OPRAH’ WITH ‘BIOLOGICAL MOTHER’ WHILE FREESTYLE RAPPING IN MISS SHOP URBANWEAR. Stick a fork in me because I want to be dead. The next seven minutes is just footage of the two of them tongue juggling in matching tennis outfits while the cameraman makes retching sounds in the background. FINALLY, the scene changes to the other lemons getting ready for the dinner party. Nasser is going for a dramatic smokey eye and a nude lip, coupled with a subtle black Mimco pouch. Davina is peeling the plastic wrap off a couple of fresh back tattoos that read ‘he was a sk8er boi’ & ‘she said c u l8er boi’ across her shoulder blades while saying how much she’s looking forward to a quiet night of little-to-no homewrecking. First to arrive at the dinner party is Nasser who’s hoping to have the night wrapped up by 8pm as he has a beef stroganoff tenderising in the slow cooker at home. He is then joined by our favourite multi-hundred dollar invisible boat mogul, Justin, who’s fresh from the Gold Logies of the soft-serve ice cream machine maintenance industry. He’d like to be referred to as Jessica Marais from now on, please and thank you. Meanwhile, the Love Experts are reading ‘Spot Goes To School’ in Rastafarian accents from the fold out futon in the good room next door. Half a dozen more scorned lovers arrive and Nasser is still flapping around with one hand on his hip telling people they look ‘AB-SAH-LOOT-LEE GAW-JUSS’. Eventually, Australia’s crown jewel and born-again feminist warrior, Kween Tracey, swoops in and announces to the group that she hit and quit that lying molesack at the altar. Next to arrive is that faceless young blonde fella, ‘Sean’, who drives a Porsche and incidentally thinks metallic gold dinner suits are a safe option to wear to a nationally televised dinner party where the other men are repping bleached Vans and Just Jeans wife beaters. Once he’s satisfied with how many people have commented on his new peroxide blonde Ellen Degeneres wig, Sean tongue pokes Tracey’s voice box eleventeen times because WHAT THE HECKING FUCK. WHAT ON MERYL STREEP’S FORSAKEN EARTH HAS HAPPENED TO THIS LOW BUDGET CHANNEl 9 DRAMA MAGNET?? Riddle me this: HOW WE HAVE GONE FROM SCOTTY CAM MEASURING DOUBLE GLAZED BATHROOM DOORS TO AN X-RATED SWINGERS PARTY IN THE SAME FAMILY RATED TIME SLOT. Honestly, heaven help us when Love Island starts. I hope BUPA covers brain transplants. After Sean publicly declares that he’s been bringing his al dente noodle to Tracey’s spaghetti house on the reg, Dr John chokes on his party pie and announces that they’ve never seen anything quite like this in the history of The Experiment. He then explains to Love Doctor Mel and Nympho Trish that ‘love’ is a strong feeling of affection, to which Nympho Trish asks if they all want to get drunk and make out on the Commitment Couch while her PA, Irene, films it. Back in a mid-range UberBLACK across down, Davina is sharpening her teeth with a black diamond and counting her horcruxes. Meanwhile, the mood at the dinner party has quickly escalated from ‘happy reunion’ to ‘lets get fucking blind’ in a matter of minutes. Cruella Davina finally arrives with a shot bucket and a goon bag in hand, ready to set this place on goddamn friggin’ bloody fire because she has been HELLA paid to be a shit stirrer tonight and she won’t rest until every single person in this room is on a no-flight list. She clearly did a few Jagerbombs in the Uber though because it takes her an alarmingly long time to figure out that if Sean and Tracey are together, Dean and Tracey aren’t. Although polyamory is one delicious twist Nympho Trish is yet to successfully weave into the storyline of this shitshow. Like a twelve-tentacled maxi pad rising from the shallows of a Falls Festival portaloo, Dean schleps through the door and into the dinner party to squeals of horror. Mostly from Jo who is seven tequila sunrises deep and has been verbalising her inner monologue for the last forty minutes. Dean then goes around the room individually informing every single person there that he and Tracey are still ‘great mates who exchange text messages on their mobile phones on a very frequent if not daily basis’. Not one person gives a single shit. Meanwhile, in an economy UberX across down, Troy is sitting on Carly’s lap eating cheese and bacon Shapes out of her hand. The couple are ‘eager’ to sink a few mid-strength Heinekens with the MAFS fam, Troy’s particularly excited to show everyone the nudes he took of Carly while she was sleeping last night. Love Doctor Mel praises Troy for this moving display of affection. Eventually, the two of them arrive hand-in-hand to a slow clap from Davina who’s somehow hooked a bottle of Canadian Club onto her veins. Ashley is fucking ropable and is now audibly wishing polio upon Troy’s first born child. ‘Fuck it, upon all of those little dairy-confused amateur tennis midgets’. Carly makes a beeline for Ashley who is lobbing her nude wedges and screaming ‘we were mates you shitbag’ from across the room. Sean then picks this moment to start a fight with Dickhead Dean because, quelle surprise, Tracey’s newest squeeze is also a flaming tosser. Dean’s lawyer has rightly advised him to reply to any and all questions tonight with ‘ya tripping, bra’. His redemption arch is coming along swimmingly. Meanwhile, Tory and Carly are quickly becoming the poster children for abstinence. And Davina has without a doubt been paid ten-grand to turn this dinner party into a confronting 60 Minutes segment about binge drinking. In the 37th blindside of the night, Dean offers Davina a FREAKING APOLOGY while she is four-minutes deep into a monologue about how he’s the hottest uggo in the room. Tracey then takes Davina round the back of the bleachers to give her an earful about how much of a hecking mole she’s been. Davina is beyond flattered and reverse-manipulates Tracey into thinking she’s the son of a third generation bee farmer who sustained a serious head injury and now believes he’s a woman. Tracey. Is. Shook. And quickly leaves to ask her framed picture of Oprah for advice. Meanwhile, Justin is offering to fax Ash through some Lance Armstrong quotes that got him through the loss of his second yacht. Dean then takes Sean round the back of the bleachers to pls explain why he’s so mad that his girlfriend’s phone background is a nude of him in a snapback. Sean then accuses Dean of sending unsolicited nip pics to his girl. Unbeknownst to Tracey, they are both talking about Davina. Dean is suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of concern for Sean, meanwhile, Australia is very concerned about HOW THE FLAMING HECK DEAN IS NOW THE BETTER MAN IN THIS MELTING POT OF SEX PESTS. Both men re-enter the dinner party with a renewed sense of purpose: to be included in the book dedication of Tracey’s next self-help coming-of-age trilogy, ‘How To Bed Wankers & Attract Psychopath Shitbags’. Troy then takes the opportunity to make a speech about ‘how good Carly’s boobs look under 30-watt halogen light bulbs’ and Ash tries to Platform ¾ herself through the wall. The evening then concludes with Jo slurring, ‘you bloody wait ‘til tomorrah bloody night, these all yobbos are gonna get git’. And what the flaming hecking hell did I just friggin’ watch?For all of our other Married At First Sight madness, head here.
Image credit: 9Now