<![CDATA[Gawker: defamer, balls to the bluefly accessories wall]]> http://tags.gawker.com/assets/base/img/thumbs140x140/gawker.com.png <![CDATA[Gawker: defamer, balls to the bluefly accessories wall]]> http://gawker.com/tag/defamer/ballstotheblueflyaccessorieswall http://gawker.com/tag/defamer/ballstotheblueflyaccessorieswall <![CDATA[Emergency Drag Squad Called In To Rescue Lamest 'Runway' Cast Ever]]> Whatever investment we still had in Project Runway—the once-great, now-irritating sartorial decathlon presided over with an iron fist by Teutonic Sealfucker Heidi Klum—it was quickly sapped away by last (Lipstick Jungle!) week's corporate synergistic (Lipstick Jungle!) episode guest-judged by Brooke (Lipstick!) Shields (Jungle!). Still, challenges are at hand, models require fittings, and various Its are in need of being made to Work; so we trudge ever onward, swallowing our basest designophobic tendencies as we endure a violently unlikable bunch.

There's of course that blonde freak whose obsessive need to append the suffix "-licious" to any word he cant think of can only be logically explained away as some ugly neurological byproduct of methamphetamine addiction. There's Suede, he of the blue mohawk, because just a wispy, gelled mohawk isn't quite stupid-looking enough; did we mention he goes by "Suede," and refers to himself in the third-person? Is it any wonder, then, that the laser-depilated, elevator-boot-wearing drag cavalry was called in to shake up the proceedings? There's really no following an act like Christian Siriano: This show is a victim of its own fierceness.

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