Hurl Power
Pity poor Frankie Abernathy. Earlier this month, the Kansas City native made her debut on the latest season of MTV’s The Real World. The unfortunate girl no doubt arrived in San Diego with dreams of attaining celebrity status such as that of Real World alumni Judd “Hi, I’m a footnote in a Dave Eggers book” Winick and Julie “That Mormon girl in New Orleans who later went slumming for attention on Blind Date” Stoffer. And who wouldn’t want that?
But Frankie blew it. This sirloin hears that she didn’t last through the taping last summer, and it’s rumored that she’ll disappear as the episodes roll. Which means that if the ring-lipped Blue Springs North alumna and former porn-store clerk is going to make it into the pantheon of Real World glitterati, she’ll have to rely on her early highlights.
At least they’re plentiful.
In case you haven’t seen it, “Frank the Tank” — one of numerous annoying nicknames Frankie claims — gets smashed in the first episode, slutting it up for the first meathead who steps into her range of vision. After joking about how, with her cystic fibrosis, she shouldn’t be smoking (Frankie is sooo punk rawk), she stops blathering about her tattoo-artist Blue Springs boyfriend long enough to throw herself at beefcake Brad, who somehow manages to remember that his own relationship is hanging in the balance. (Brad dumps his Chicago girlfriend in a subsequent episode once he realizes that the other girls in the house don’t suffer from Frankie’s skank factor.)
Rejected, Frankie stumbles to her room, where she mistakes her pillow for a commode and heaves.
Oh, Frankie. First-episode skeezy behavior coupled with an early exit does not bode well for your star power — unless, of course, you’re Puck.
Then again, “Frank Dolla Make Ya Holla” — yet another unfortunate handle chosen by our heroine — may have history on her side. Of the many pukers in the Real World‘s fourteen seasons, only our gal can lay claim to on-screen barfitude.
This T-Bone of titillation suggests that Frankie capitalize on the situation — quickly — and put together one of those humorous Friendster.com pages for her famous spew. Here’s a crib sheet, missy:
Name: Frankie Abernathy’s Real World Puke
Interested in Meeting People For: Drinks, dehydration
Status: Single
Age: Fresh and nasty
Occupation: Dietary supplement
Location: San Diego, California
Hometown: Blue Springs, Missouri
Interests: Restoring balance, corroding enamel, Fear Factor
Favorite Music: G.G. Allin, Cannibal Corpse, Necrophagia, Outkast
Favorite Books: Room to Grow: An Appetite for Life, by Tracey Gold
Favorite Movies: Pink Flamingos, Audition, Irreversible, Legend of Baggar Vance
Who I want to meet: Kitchen Drawer, Moon Boot, Laundry Shoot, Milk Carton, T-Top Convertible
Motto: You never know what’s coming up a head
That oughta extend interest in Frankie’s chunky stomach stew beyond its normal celebrity half-life, but nothing lasts forever — Especially given that Frankie will probably be remembered far longer for something else.
In the third episode, Frankie freaks out because she spots a large ocean vessel.
We are not making this up. The cast members find out that their “work” will consist of learning to sail boats in San Diego’s harbor. (Who’s real world is this, anyway?) But before she can leave the house, Frankie sees a cruise liner in the distance and has a panic attack. Bewildered, her fellow housemates ask her what’s wrong, and she explains that she has a deep-seated fear of large objects made of metal.
With that admission, Frankie lunges past Average Joe‘s Melana Scantlin for a clear lead in the contest for Most Inane Person from Kansas City to be Featured on National Television.
After this incident, Hollywood producers will no doubt remind themselves that the next time they choose someone from Kansas City as a participant in a reality show filmed near a coast, they’ll have to explain that, like, there’s this thing called the ocean? And it’s, like, made of water? And when a lot of people want to go someplace over it, they go in these really big things called ships? And when you’re standing like a mile away, they can’t, like, steal your nose ring or anything?
Can no one do this town proud? The Strip wonders if there isn’t a better candidate in the most unlikely of places: UPN’s bitchy America’s Next Top Model, which started its second season recently.
Last summer, this hunk of protein attended try-outs for ANTM at the Independence Center mall and nearly had to come between two shit-talking hopefuls. Given all the hubbub, it was easy to overlook Shandi Sullivan, the beanpole KC white girl who made the cut.
Clearly this season’s nerd model, Sullivan steps into the heels formerly occupied by wonderful Elyse, whose third-place finish last season still leaves the Strip — along with 48 percent of those polled on the UPN Web site — hopping mad.
“The reason I want to be the Next Top Model is because I’m tired of working at Walgreen’s,” Sullivan said at her audition. “I don’t want to work there my whole life.”
Finally, someone with a decent reason to be on a reality show. This tenderloin feels Sullivan’s pain and hopes the drug store clerk kicks some serious bulimic ass.
