Heya! It's me, Joshua David Stein. I'm back briefly to talk about Bravo's study in sartorial mediocrity dubbed "Project Runway." We're now deep in the heart of Season 5. Post partum party girl Brooke Shields was on Pro Ru last night. She's apparently in one of those television shows that has two names. First name. Two syllables. Is something feminine. Second name is something aggressive—Lipstick, Jungle; Cashmere, Mafia; Pete, Pete. The merry band of idiotic sewers were forced to design an outfit for her. They had to present their sketches to the increasingly more alien-looking actress. They also pandered to her. Particularly annoying was Jerrell—who Richard and countless (well, 1,084) liveblogging commenters already pointed out—is horrible. Later in the show he dressed up like Jesus and was annoying in ways too idiotically subtle to enumerate. Ethinicity also played a role in this episode. My first idea of it started when Ms. Shields told Korto who is from Liberia and who presented an impressive sketch, "The touch of ethnicity is delightful." That was curious and also true. Later, Korto snaps at that guy from Detroit for undermining her (which he did) in front of Tim Gunn. He furiously backpedals and tries consensus building. (Their garment, btw, was in my opinion, lovely.) The moment of wonder: In a segment that was the most curious and also the most true of any statement ever made, Terri questioned whether Suede was packing balls or vajajay. She also noted that she doesn't have any children and that, therefore, no one should be sucking on her titties. (On the other hand, when the artist Peaches sang in a song, "Sucking on my titties like you wanted me," she presumably isn't talking to her infant.) This truly was delightful for Suede is a little whiny bitch. Speaking of! Daniel, who I thought I liked, is a little whiny bitch too! When he's getting made fun of or criticized he adopts this look of helpless confusion like a little doggie woggie. He wore this face on the runway. His face says, "Me? Me? You're talking about me? I don't understand!" Kenley also scored some serious points for helplessly laughing when the little twerp reiterated that he had impeccable taste. I also realized something about orange muppet Michael Kors. His face is never a reliable indicator of his inner life. You could tell him his kid died and there would still be that rictus frozen there. You could tell him he just won Crest Whitening strips, a lifetime supply, and that workmen had just finished installing a carrot juice fountain in his home (two of the things I bet would excite him most) and that smile wouldn't change. All you can judge from are his glazed over eyes which sometimes, if you look closely, are crying for help. Still, balls or vajayjay!