Something's Auf

I can't stitch. I don't know how to sew. And when it comes to fashion, I'm as clueless as an Alicia Silverstone movie. But it doesn't matter, because I am so going to be a contestant on the next season of Project Runway. You see, I used to think that you had to be a pretty good designer to make it onto the show, but now I realize that is pure poppycock. (I also realize that the word poppycock went out of style about 50 years ago, but that's neither here nor there.)

Project Runway has separated itself as the most shameless of all the reality shows in keeping around contestants that have no business being there just because they ''make good TV.'' Of course, this is a time-honored tradition of reality TV: Fox's Paradise Hotel was famous for changing the rules every single week just to keep the most ridiculously obnoxious people (see: Ferrari, Toni) from departing, and The Apprentice has been notorious for letting crackpots (like Sam and Omarosa, among a host of others) who never in a million years could work for Donald Trump stick around for a few extra episodes to keep watercoolers buzzing. (By the way, does anyone really hang out by watercoolers anymore? I mean, I told you about EW's Michael Endleman, who seems to spend an inordinate amount of time by ours, but he seems like the exception — the very lonely exception — rather than the rule.) In fact, even though I look like a complete tool any time I try to wear a suit, I thought about applying for The Apprentice, just figuring I could act like a lunatic and subsequently impress my mom by getting on national TV for a few weeks, but then it occurred to me: Holy crap, what if I win? I'd have to actually work for Donald Trump! So I scratched that idea of the list.

But this Project Runway thing looks promising. In fact, in some lame casting special they ran to kick off this season, cameras caught up with season 2 winner Chloe, and not only does she not have to work for anybody, I couldn't really tell if homegirl even had a job! (She blabbed something about a store she owns, but for all I know that could be some sort of front for where she stacks all her folders filled with incriminating evidence on Bravo executives that led to her beating out Daniel Vosovic... but once again, I digress.)

I bring up the Bravo executives because they and the producers are clearly calling the shots, not the ''judges.'' How do I know this? Because they tell us at the end of every episode! That's where you'll see a super-quick disclaimer that states: ''The judges considered both their scores and input from the producers and Bravo in reaching their elimination decisions.'' (The Apprentice runs a similar one.) Translation: ''We keep who's gonna keep people watching.'' Said disclaimer explains why someone like Santino could end up in the bottom three for, like, six weeks in a row, be told his dresses were ''unwearable,'' and yet still skate through to the final three. Of course, Santino was that season's preeminent smack-talker and rabble-rouser (not to mention Tim Gunn impersonator), so there was no way the producers were going to behead their golden goose.

Back in season 1, it was the same deal with wacky Wendy Pepper. She was bitchy. She was cutthroat. And producers loved her for it. Never mind that she possessed little actual talent. Sure enough, she too made it all the way through to Fashion Week. Now, in this latest go-round, we have been introduced to 49-year-old Vincent, whose attempts to craft a dress (and unfortunate hat) out of household objects in week 1 was downright comical. The only thing more comical, however, is Vincent himself, which explains why going into week 5, we are still watching models cringe as they walk his designs down the runway.

I couldn't help but be amused when that conceited little chump Keith got kicked off the show for possessing guide books that were against the rules. (Bring on the ''reap what you sew'' puns!) ''Project Runway is nothing without its integrity and its seriousness of purpose,'' said Tim ''Carry On'' Gunn after sending the cheater home. That's all well and good, but as long as the contestants are being kept around more for the quality of their sound bites than for the quality of their dresses, it only holds so much weight. So look for me on season 4! I'll be the guy who walks around with a parrot on my shoulder and takes a baseball bat to the L'Oreal Make-up Room. The cameras will love me. So the judges will have to as well.

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OBSESSION OF THE WEEK

I tried and failed to save the Burt Reynolds and Friends Museum. But that's not to say this column has not had its success stories. Okay, make that singular — success story — but one is a start, right? The affair began two weeks ago, when I wrote about the fact that I had never even met my fellow EW writer Stephen King. Then, last week, lo and behold, Stephen King actually e-mailed in! That was good enough. I was placated. Little did I know that this was merely the first stage in an all-out Stephen King blitz! So which EW staffer finally stepped into corporate HQ to meet with all the editors last week? You got it — my boy SK! It seems I either personally shamed him into making an appearance, or he took pity on me and my little schoolgirl crush. Most likely the latter, but in any event I have to say that outside of a painfully awkward greeting in which we both tried to take part in some sort of hipster-laced soul-shake, it was totally awesome. He came in, hung with the staff, drank lots of water (supplied by Michael Endleman, no doubt) and rapped about his fave TV shows (Battlestar Galactica and The Wire) and why he wants to see the new M. Night Shyamalan movie. (I guess he truly is a sucker for a good horror show.) He told me he totally dug the column (nice of him to lie like that) and we posed for a few pictures that were almost as awkward as our original botched handshake greeting. See for yourself:

So, now that my man has responded to the challenge, it seems I can finally put this obsession to bed, and concentrate on more pressing matters, like coming up with this week's List, for example...

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THE LIST

With the latest James Bond film (Casino Royale) set to drop in about two months, it seemed like a good time to look back at the franchise. Now we could rank all the actors who have played Bond, but what fun is that when we all know that George Lazenby is going to be No. 1? So, instead, it is time to present The Top 5 Sexually Suggestive Bond Girl Names.

1) Pussy Galore (Goldfinger)
Not unlike George Lazenby, was there ever any question?

2) Holly Goodhead (Moonraker)
Makes one wonder: What exactly was going on in that centrifugal chamber?

3) Honey Ryder (Dr. No)
The first Bond girl remains one of the best. So does the name.

4) Plenty O'Toole (You Only Live Twice)
She walks up to Bond in a slinky dress showing off all her assets and says, ''Hi, I'm Plenty.'' To which he responds, ''But of course you are.'' Damn, he is smooth.

5) Xenia Onatopp (Goldeneye)
Got to love a woman who achieves orgasm through killing people. Unless, of course, you're the one being killed.

Honorable Mentions: Kissy Suzuki, Thumper, Pan Ho, and Octopussy.

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READER MAIL

First off, again, I would just like to thank everyone for their incredible e-mails. While I don't have time to respond to ones other than the few that appear here each week, believe me — they are all read and all appreciated. It seems readers were pretty split on whether Boy George deserves our sympathy for having to pick up New York City trash for a week. No shortage of love for Kari Wuhrer and her skintastic B-movie career, however. And ''Pac Man Fever'' composer Jerry Buckner is back for more!

I find it offensive that Boy George is being treated in such a degrading way. How many other people who live in New York and are caught with drugs receive this kind of punishment? Boy George and Culture Club provided me with a lot of entertainment back in the '80s, and I just think this plain stinks. —William Eline

You're preaching to the choir, William...in the church of the poison mind, I might add. (Sorry, couldn't resist.)

I don't agree with you feeling bad for Boy George. What he did was illegal! He should be punished for that, and having him pick up trash where people may recognize him is easy. So what if he's humiliated? Tough; he shouldn't have broken the law! —Lisa Brenner

Lisa, I'm not one of these people who feel celebrities are above the law. But I do still feel kinda sorry for the guy. I mean, first he has to spend years standing next to a guitarist with a cheesy mullet, and now this. The dude just seems cursed or something.

Stephen King going gangsta = recipe for a great new novel where there will take place a nauseating, beastly death of a shirtless senior editor from a popular entertainment magazine. Make sure there's an actual floor in that elevator before stepping inside! —Nikki Metzger

Receiving an e-mail from the man was cool. Meeting him in person was cooler. Potentially being disembowled in one of his novels? Well, I would say I could die happy now, but I'm not quite sure how happy one can be while being gutted. Only one way to find out, I suppose.

What's up with Stephen pulling a K-Fed on you a$$? Wisen up to the nastiest addiction on HBO since The Sopranos, the coolest of the cool, The Wire. Not only does it feature Entourage's ousted Dom in his COOLEST role of all time, but Sheila from Rescue Me is another crazy beeyotch in it (she and Charisma Carpenter need to get new agents, I think). Why isn't this show bigger than it is? Hmm, because only awesome people like Stephen King, the editors of EW, and myself watch it, I guess. Because obviously the ratings show that no one else does. Pimp this show. The Pop of King and his minions have spoken! —Brett Colbo

Brett, I'm already hip to that trip, my friend (and I'm not just saying that to stay on King's good side). In fact, I have DVDs of the upcoming season 4 just sitting on my desk. The reason I haven't started watching yet? Because I know that when I start, I won't be able to stop and I'm just too damn busy now to give it the proper attention — and if there is one thing you need to do when watching The Wire, it is pay attention. (The first time I watched season 1, I had no idea what the hell was going on.) In any event, respect is due, and respect shall be paid.

Best Kari Wuhrer movie...
Vivid (1997)
About an artist who creates a new style of art by having sex on a canvas covered in paint. Kari is his main ''subject.'' —Rod Williamson

You know what they say: A litte Kari Wuhrer goes a long way, and a lot of Kari Wuhrer goes...even further! Apparently, this movie can also be found on DVD under the title of Luscious — as if changing the name would somehow make it even sexier.

Well now you've really gone and done it. It's one thing to work me over in your column, but to insult Pac Man is taking things a little too far, my friend (but let's be honest, Cujo can kick Pac Man's ass any day of the week). Don't be fooled by that smile on the little guy's face, Dalton. He has a hot temper and can turn nasty very quickly. He was picked up in 1989 for slapping Ms Pac Man around after catching her with Mario. Another time he punched Frogger for giving him ''a funny look.'' So don't blame me if in the middle of the night you hear the faint sound of wocka wocka and find a Donkey Kong head under your covers. You've been warned. —Jerry Buckner

You know what, Jerry? Tell him to bring it on! In fact, I keep a little fellow named Dig Dug on a security detail for just such occasions. The best part about Dig Dug: Once he whacks somebody, he can dig their grave and bury the body in, like, five seconds.

Any pressing thoughts on '80s videogame characters? Have a favorite Bond girl? Loving or loathing Project Runway? Send your questions, comments, and quibbles to theglutton@ew.com, or just fill in the handy-dandy order form below. See ya next week!

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