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Top Chef: No More Balls, Duets, For the Love of God

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I know I’m supposed to hate Hung’s smug ass, and in real life I would, but I’m really feeling him. That said, they might as well crown Casey right now. I have officially returned to the prediction I started this season of Top Chef with – it’s time for a lady cook. Put me down for, uh, like a dollar? I bought milk with nickels and dimes yesterday, people. Shit is rough.

This week’s episode had some ups and downs. Up: real cooking. Down: painfully predictable outcome. I was ready for Dale to please pack his mo-hawk the first time he referred to his own balls (“I’m going balls out!”), but toward the end of the episode, when he said something about placing his testicles on a table before the judges, a little bit of vomit started to tickle the back of my throat. Not to mention the fact that I banned duets a long, long time ago. He might as well have served his stupid chicken in a shot glass. Jesus.

Anyway, as much as I love old Malarks, this battle is between the mean immigrant and the weepy girl with chunky highlights. Pure TV magic.

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