Volatile attacks mark MAFS end
Two glasses have been thrown and a physical chase has ensued as Married At First Sight's booze-fuelled reunion dinner party stoops to disgusting depths in a series of ugly incidents - the most shocking being contestants are forced to BYO wine tonight.
It's the semi-final and, after six weeks in the outside world, everyone returns. The time-out for personal reflection has resulted in no perspective being gained and we pick up exactly where we left off.
There are people here tonight - many singles who were cheated on - who want payback and rumours of a glassing have circulated for weeks. A glassing is a bit extreme when it comes to revenge. These people could just download the Nat Joyce 12 Week Revenge Body app and transform into a bodybuilder to get back at their cheating exes, but that would require too much work.
"Do you think the same animosity is there," Cam asks us as he gets ready for the dinner party. "Ah, yah," we eye-roll while taking a sip from our wine straw.
We walk in on Cyrell and she's sitting on her bedroom floor in front of the mirror trying to curl her hair with the GHD.
"You're doing it wrong," we sigh, grabbing the GHD from her hands and fixing her kinked wave.
"Honestly I have been thinking about what I'm gonna say to Sam King Ding-A-Ling," Cyrell informs us.
"Honestly, sometimes you just can't top a classic. You should scream King Ding-A-Ling at him at least three times tonight," we instruct her.
It's around now we get peckish and start craving handbag biscuits. We sashay into Lizzie's hotel suite.
"I think a lot of people used to shit themselves when I'd walk into a room. So tonight, I think some people might be shittin' themselves," Lizzie tells us, while applying every piece of jewellery she owns. The six week rest and respite has done her a world of good. Not only has she discovered nude-coloured lipstick, but the break has also allowed time for her to prepare an arsenal of catchphrases to roll out at tonight's dinner party. Most of them are about people "shittin' themselves" and it's similar to the catchphrase I'd use if I were ever on a reality show. "Shit the bed!" I would yell whenever anything happened. It's really an all-purpose catchphrase that works in any situation.
As everyone prepares for this evening, we can tell there's a certain hesitation in the air. Tonight, enemies are coming face-to-face.
Everyone's really down on Ines, but ever since she showed up to her suburban Brisbane court hearing in a limo a few weeks ago, I've developed a lot of affection for her. She's a true optimist.
"Tonight could turn into a party where we all get naked. Who knows," she ponders. She's always been a glass half full kinda gal and that has often been overlooked.
Everyone returns tonight: the good, the bad and the boring. That stripper who Ines cheated on is here. So is the girl who laughs like The Count. Same with that ex virgin and the sex monster who frightened him off.
"I'm no longer scared of conversations!" the ex virgin declares. He quickly changes the subject when we innocently pipe up and ask if he's still scared of vaginas.
As everyone rolls into the warehouse, it's immediately obvious the budget is running out on the show as we're all asked by producers to BYO wine.
Despite choosing to say together at their final vow renewal ceremony, Mike and Heidi enter separately. We knew they'd break up because, you know, they hate each other. But they needed to realise this for themselves.
Mike doesn't say it's because Heidi kept retelling her long boring government housing story but he doesn't have to - we see it in his eyes. Still, a breakup takes its toll on anyone. His shirt is crumpled. He's got bags under his eyes. His tattooed hair is flat and dull. The split has had a crippling effect.
Ning's also down and out after Mark dumped her. But now he's toying with her emotions by using a move well-known to playas: He's sending late-night memes.
"He sends me stupid memes, which I love because I love memes," she sighs, knowing that Mark is exploiting her one true love: memes. It's the most relatable thing of the past 10 weeks.
As the waiter ushers everyone to the dining table, Lizzie does something we've wanted to do since, oh, say, week three, and stabs herself in the face with a fork.
The conversation is crackling tonight and we connect with everyone on both a spiritual and intellectual level. Particularly when talk turns to tricking your parents into funding your lavish lifestyle.
"I'm not working, my parents are supporting me," Martha proudly tells the table.
Jessika's in a similar line of employment.
"I don't know how I still keep getting money. My dad's like, 'Do you need five grand?' I'm like, 'Yes daddy'," she splats. "I always get what I want. Who knew taking someone's husband could be so com-pro-ver-phil?"
We don't even bother correcting her.
Cyrell has come for a fight and Martha and Jessika's smugness pushes her over the edge.
"This experiment was about love and everyone's made a mockery of it!" she yells to the table.
Jessika and Martha roll their eyes.
"All she does is bark like a dog," she splutters. "She looks like a smashed crab."
Cyrell won't back down. She's determined to get a reaction from those who have done wrong at the table.
"Let's just switch husbands! Hey, my hoo-ha is bored! I'm gonna jump onto your husband!" she screams, mocking the cheaters. "Hey! My hoo-ha's bored, again! I'm gonna jump onto that husband!"
Cyrell turns on Martha's husband Michael and tries to bait him.
"When it comes to your wife, you have no balls!" she yells.
Michael's mascara smudges as he tries to hold back tears.
"You're single for a reason! You're single for a reason!" he whimpers.
But Cyrell isn't done and begins drumming on the table with her palms while chanting: "Michael has no balls when it comes to Martha!"
She gets so caught up playing air-drums that she doesn't even see Martha in the shadows, running down the length of the table while holding a glass.
Within seconds, Martha launches a surprise attack on Cyrell, who's still too distracted air-drumming. Martha stretches her arm out and holds the glass over Cyrell's head.
"Shit the bed, she's gonna glass her," we whisper while picking up a Coles muffin from the junk food platter.
But she doesn't glass her. She just dumps the giant glass of merlot on Cyrell.
The red liquid slaps down on Cyrell's head and slops down her face. She squints in shock and whips around. Martha runs away and Cyrell picks up her own glass and chases her.
"Shit the bed, she's gonna glass her," we whisper, again.
But she doesn't glass her. She hurls the wine across the room and it splashes down Martha's white dress. Martha doesn't care, her dad will just buy her another one.
Mike and Sam tackle Cyrell to the ground. Michael is slow to the rescue because he was redoing his ponytail, but when he eventually reaches the scene he throws a chair in Cyrell's path to hinder the attack on his wife.
It's ugly. Still, we're disappointed Martha wasn't wearing a silicone face mask during the attack like when Cyrell mildly choked her.
Meanwhile, Ines isn't really rattled by the drama unfolding around her and decides it's time to make it about her. She can't just sit back and let Sam make her look like a fool. She cheated with him thinking it was the beginning of forever. And then he just tossed her aside like she's … like she's Lizzie. Ines is mortified at the similarities between her and Lizzie's lives now and she needs to rectify this.
She stumbles over to Sam, plonks down next to him and starts reciting Destiny's Child lyrics.
"My Gucci bag? I bought it. The shoes on my feet? I bought them," she snips before ramping up to a scream. "Don't you ever make me question my worth! You Liar! You piece of scum!"
Even with context it doesn't make sense. Now we can't get that Independent Women song out of our heads.
Cyrell and Martha and dragged into a room and made apologise to each other. It's in this moment Cyrell softens. She looks down at the floor. "I'm just gonna say it," she says remorsefully.
"Oh shit the bed, these two are about to become friends," we whisper, choking on a handbag biscuit.
But then Cyrell scowls.
"You're as fake as your nose, lip and boob job," she hisses. "It's a shame you couldn't find a plastic surgeon that could fix your personality. Because that's what's fakest the most, honey. And that red stain suits you, because you're as trashy as your dress. Goodbye."
We walk into the experts' secret lair. They're slumped over their desk, staring blankly at the five CCTV screens in front of them.
They all mumble in unison: "Shit the bed."
For more observations on at-home spa days and the Nat Joyce 12 Week Revenge Body app, follow me on Twitter and Facebook: @hellojamesweir