Poor Nicole. She looks miserable even when she's overjoyed. Look sweetie! You're going to London! Don't cry! Tyra was just making a mean jape at your expense in front of millions of people! Chirrup! Laugh while Tyra leaps like a butterbean that just ate a grasshopper, all while beating a Union Jack into bits of synthofluff.

Smile! It's Jenny Shimizu, dropping by to say hello and answer all your questions. Fun, right Nicole? No? We give up. Kim sure thinks she's neat, being all successful and gay and everything.

"Jenny's [past] struggle is a lot like what I am going through now," Kim notes.

Well, there goes Jenny. Bye-bye, you fabulous minority gay tomboy biker Calvin Klein supermodel who stole Ione Skye away from a Beastie Boy. Ah, the '90s. Or did that happen in the '80s? Whatever.

Everyone is going stir crazy, waiting for that vaunted trip to London. Lisa seems to be bathing in chardonnay and pinot grigio.

"Lisa," a housemate barks. "You look like you're 30. Go to bed."

After a Tyramail that asks the girls to "prepare to meet the ghosts from your past," the contestants get to meet correspondent Kevin Frazier from "Entertainment Tonight." He does his best to scare the bejeezus out of our models by warning that paparazzi are always out there, lurking or what have you.

"The pictures you see in the magazines will make or break you," Frazier intones.

Is that right? Then explain Lindsay Lohan.

The next task for our concave princesses is getting some passport photos at a strip mall. Except the guy taking the pictures has a posh English accent and seem a little too bemused. Wow! It's actually a fashion photographer! The cheek. And it's -- surprise! -- a challenge that will have an effect on the judging to come. Bre wins for having the "fiercest" passport photo. Her reward will come in London.

The girls also get to hear some adoring messages from their loved ones. It's all very touching, I guess.

At this point the show editors trot out the bete noir of this particular episode. It's Kim, who likes to talk trash about everyone for reasons that aren't exactly clear.

In the limo, Bre and Nik tear Kim a new one, accusing her of gossiping and making the House of Top Model a House of Bad Karma.

"I have heard you talk about every single person in this house," Nik hisses.

"Your character is ugly," Bre chimes in.

Kim dutifully breaks down into lake-sized tears, to exactly no one's satisfaction.

Finally our hissing, spitting cats are piled onto a plane and squired off to London, where a squadron of obviously pre-staged paparazzi "attack" the contestants. Nicole poses gamely, but Lisa, who usually eats up a challenge with a spoon and a healthy bottle of wine on the side, dodges and bobs and weaves and ends up looking anything but fierce. Bre also comes out just OK.

"I was scared," Bre says. Bre is also scared of midgets, so that doesn't say much.

After the models check into the posh Savoy, Miss J. greets everyone with a T-shirt saying "Naomi Hit Me." The girls gawp at all London has to offer. After a magic day on a red double decker bus comes a magic night for Bre, who finally gets to redeem her reward with Nik in tow. Two "English gentlemen" arrive at the models' hotel to escort them for a spot of dinner.

Next morning, the models get yet another challenge involving near nudity. (Don't any of them ever get to wear anything more than a towel and a thong?) In a tableau suggesting a flight from the paparazzi, all of the contestants squeeze into one telephone booth like they're hiding from killer flashbulbs. And then someone farts.

"I would like to know the pretty girl that thought it was cute to pass gas in that little box," Bre recalls later. "I could have died in that little box. Just died."

At least she doesn't get cut, which, in this competition, is kind of the same thing. During the inevitable panel, the girls are judged by their behavior during their fake passport shoot, their fake paparazzi dodge and their fake phone booth flight from said paparazzi.

Kim continues to climb in everyone's estimation, along with Bre. Nik seems stuck in a single pose week after week, but at least she's purdy. In the bottom two: Jayla, whose lack of expression is starting to make me wonder about youth Botox, and Lisa, whose fake paparazzi photo just blew. In the end, it's Jayla's frozen ice princess beauty that saves her, and Lisa is sent packing.

Lisa, you look like you're 30. Go to bed.

Leslie Gornstein lives in Los Angeles and will always -- always -- root for the lone fat girl. Go, fat girl, go.