Abbie Chatfield
The Cheap Seats
Osher
bosses have told off for her sleuthing techniques.
Abbie spilled the tea on on Tuesday night and frankly, it was upsetting. Apparently, the good sis was trying to suss out the sheathed celebs’ identities based on their heights. Miss Marple has been found shaking.
“I was told I was height-obsessed and to stop obsessing over heights because it was ruining the fantasy and that it could be someone else,” she said.
“But I was like, I know how tall is, and I’m going to work back from there – and I was usually right.”
I am flabbergasted. Disgusted. Do the big bosses not know how goddamn hard it would be to guess who is frolicking onstage, piecing together an identity based on cryptic, fleeting clues in theatrical montages?
Have we all forgotten the sheer mystique surrounding Knight’s performance, with clues such as “this is my trusty steed, far happier to see me now than in the past” and “I wouldn’t say I was unforgettable but I am more often forgotten than not”?
The judges guessed Nick Cummins, David Hasselhoff, Brendan Fevola and Shannon Noll, which is an extremely random assortment of men. But who did it end up being? None other than Ryan Moloney, aka Toadfish Rebecchi.
I demand a Royal Commission into how the judges were meant to guess that, for Mr Toadfish and the Hoff shouldn’t exist within the same plane of existence.
Mel B, Dave Hughes, Chrissie Swan and Abbie, if you’re reading this, please know you’re doing amazing. I think you should all be awarded the Medal of the Order of Australia for your outstanding achievements in sleuthing. Scooby-Doo has been found screaming, crying and throwing up because he can’t compete with your marvellous detective skills.
And if said skills include Googling contestants’ heights, like Abbie has ‘fessed up to doing in several episodes, what is the crime? Being thorough and creative? Thinking outside the box?
This is a travesty of justice. I will not rest until peace has been restored.
I also will not relax until Abbie gets the opportunity to perform on the Masked Singer in her disguise of choice. In her Cheap Seats interview, Abbie revealed she would love nothing more than to sing as a beautiful blob of burrata.
“I would be a big ball of cheese and I would want one number to be me squeezing myself and then it would spurt out the top. There would be a lot of PEDESTRIAN articles,” she said. “I would want the drama with it, as well, you can’t forget that. I want to look like a lactating tit.” Abbie Chatfield, I would become PEDESTRIAN.TV’s official Masked Singer correspondent if you performed as a squirting ball of fromage and sang something like Divinyls’ “I Touch Myself”. The literature I would produce!
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