We have reached the merciful, God-fearing, flag covered, chastity belt wearing, boot scoot boogeying end of this, the longest season on American Idol history. J.Lo’s legs couldn’t squeeze more cheese out of this show had they been wrapped around Seacrest’s neck. In summary, it was a little bit country and not at all rock and roll – a good old fashioned ho-down! Continue reading
It’s down to the trifecta of terrific or the triangle of terror, depending on your persepective (I won’t tell you how happy that this season is winding down but it’s something like this). It’s three for three Wednesday – three singtestants sing three songs. Bring out the big dogs, Ryan! By that I mean Beyonce in her booty shorts, of course. What did SUPERWEAVESTAR Beyonce have to say to the Idolettes? Let’s take a look and see if we liked it enough to put a ring on it. Continue reading
It’s the final four, chickens. How do your brackets look? Are they busted or did you pick Duke to win it all? I’m not going to lie. This is the most insane season of Idol yet. It could be because I started watching 10 years ago and even though none of us have aged, and Yo Dawg has not expanded his vocabulary one syllable, the show has become the babbling, shoulder-tapping teenager outside the convenience store who just will not let up until he gets his 12-pack of Keystone.
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: A country singer, a gospel singer, a rocker, Alfred E. Newman and a harlot walk into a bar. There they meet an Old Lady named Paula, a Dawg and a woman named Jenny who was just walking around the block and stopped in to ask for directions. In the bar, they see a stage with a lone microphone dangling from the hand of a tiny, tiny, tiny man in a suit. They decide to have a good old fashion singing competition…
This is not good. This really is not good. When the night starts off with the singtestants who have been voted off in the prior weeks: Gloria Estefan, Jr., Earth Mother Naima, Not Diana Ross, Pocohantas, Clever Girl, and the man you shield your child’s eyes from, it is not a good sign for the rest of the night. They came out screaming Pink’s redemption song, “So What,” and I couldn’t agree more. No, you are not a rock star. Not at all. In fact, you didn’t even win the tenth season of American Idiot. Who’s gonna win, asks the Fly Girl. The reason she asks is because no one knows. That’s how bad this week was.
Let’s just reflect for a moment on the twatwaffle that is Paul McCreepster. He was brought back and allowed to wear the only clothes in his bedazzled hobo bag. You see, after spending his last sheckels on this Elvis Impersonator knock-off, it’s all he’s has to wear (the last one being his selection for last night’s thing of my nightmares). Here’s the evidence:
Look McCreepster. We see you AND your magic suit of roses. We do. Now, go take a nap somewhere with Solange Knowles, Karina Smirnoff and the Karadashians. Moving on to the performances that actually matter.
I will not slash your tires this week:
It’s so nice that Courtney Love got a weave and a gig singing back-up for Idol singestants. She did a great job singing with that little trollop from high school, Hailey. Hailey has the crazy phantom Mariah hand but the love-child of Joan Osborn and Natasha Bedingfield chose a song that fit that gritty voice of hers and oh how she growled. How has she not lost her voice yet? Better yet, why? Adele will always and forever do everything better than this little captain of the cheerleaders, including breathing, but her performance didn’t make you scrunch your face up and cry into a pillow like when she stole your boyfriend.
One thing that is missing on the regular from Idol is someone who brings the R&B. And not in the Luther/Teddy Bear way but someone more like an Usher or a Ne-Yo. Not since that kid who wore the hat every week has any man tried to dance and sing at the same time. No, not George Huff. The other guy. So for that reason, I appreciated Stefano’s performance. Plus, arms.
Have an antifreeze-laced smoothie:
Overgrown Baby Gay Kurt has completed his move into Adam Lambertsville. He unpacked his chains, hung the leather curtains and sound-proofed the boudoir. What in the Mad Max and the Thunderdome is this, anyway? Watch if you dare, but I do not recommend it. My ears are bleeding and every dog in the neighborhood is at my door.
Get that aw-shucks-country-bumpkin offa mah tee vee. “Run around like you did for you last girlfriend,” says The Old Lady to Alfred E. Newman. Oh right. Like he’s had one. YOU HAD A DECADE WORTH OF SONGS AND THIS IS WHAT YOU PICKED?! This was something that some dudes in Nashville drummed up over their Starbucks venti mocha frappaccinos one afternoon. And shut up, audience. Stop clapping. You too, mee-maw. You know what? You are all kicked out. Every last one of you. My laser site (relax, it’s a cat toy) was on Alfred E. Newman’s wiggly bobblehead within 2 seconds of him singing “we were swinging.” I wish I could sweep his legs like Ralph Macchio did at the end of Karate Kid. Wax on, get off.
Jacob is a trickster. He knew what day it was. He knew was Luther’s birthday yesterday. He chose that day to bring out his Luther and it was so NOT Luther. I suppose Jiminy Cricket just gave up and gave in to Jacob and his cheeseballs. So he got to tell us that his father died when he was young, and that he wanted to sing this song for him. That’s sad, truly. But to sing this song about Luther’s deceased father, on Luther’s birthday, and dedicated to his own deceased father? Pass the bottle.
Speaking of hitting the bottle, The Old Lady got bleeped twice. TWICE! This is American Idol, lady. A family show. Despite Fozzie Bear’s increasingly crazy eyes (during a Maroon 5 song?), the judges tripped over themselves to praise the gingerbread headed wonder. No talking about choosing a Maroon 5 song, huh? Nothing at all? And adding to the silliness, Seacretin came out wearing a beard. No, Julianna Hough was not draped over his shoulders. He was making a funny by fake gluing on a fake beard. Oh Seabiscuit, we are so on to you.
So little Lauren got a gift certificate to Wet Seal and sang some stupid song that would have made Simon’s eyes roll so far back into his head that they would have been lost like your poor meatball all covered with cheese. This was 100% Velveeta and she knew it. Everyone knows it. Has anyone on this season’s Idol heard of any of the following country artists: The Dixie Chicks, Alyson Krauss, Dolly Parton? Apparently not. Truth is, there is no one here this season to put the fear of Gawd in their little patoots. Simon would have taken a lightsaber to this night. Here we are, a perilous six weeks away from the next Idol being crowned and we are being served up benign drivel in a denim and lace mini-skirt.
So the interns at Jive Records are staying up late tonight, trying to get ready for whichever singtestant manages to outlast the others. After tonight, there is no winning, there is only staying alive – and by that, I mean those of us who watch the show every week.
**Author’s note: Upon review, I have noticed that I have twice practically quoted The Old Lady’s comments. I’m going to take some time, get jury duty drunk, and think about my life choices.
Bottom Three: Jacob, Alfred E. Newman (ohpleaseohpleaseohplease), Stefano
UPDATE: For the love of humanity, Idol. As if “Soul Sister” has not invaded every elevator, commercial, grocery store and orifice in America, you inflict it upon us. And it only gets worse, I don’t care how you feel about Coldplay (you’re probably wrong) but to have Baby Lock Them Doors to utter any lyrics from this band is like a lizard walking upright. I saw my future, and it was not pretty.
So Jacob gets his chance to speak the most, which everyone knows, means he’s on the chopping block. Diva? Defend yourself. Technical glitch? Defend yourself. Also, sit down…in the ejector seats.
Oh David Cook is there! Remind me again of who he is, mamma forgets. He’s last season’s winner? You don’t say? Why is every single thing he did on Idol better than that crap he sang? He looked hot, though.
Okay! Back to the dramz. Whatever on the dramz – Stefano got sent to the plastic chair of death. Surprise, surprise, surprise – not!
Then normally candy coated Katy Perry came out as Sigourney Weaver from Alien and sang with fake Kanye. Wait a minute! Kanye showed up in his ferret pelt coat that has been around the world maybe on too many times. I get the feeling that thing stinks as bad a roadkill. Good performance, though (for the people there).
The show returns and they do the lovefest “dim all the lights” [sweet darlin’ cuz tonight is on its way]. Our little rigatoni is going home. Our David Archuletta the Second is gone. Is R&B dead? Is it? Ursher seems to be doing okay but maybe this genre is experiencing a lull. Maybe, perhaps ‘Muricah wasn’t ready for the Italian Stallion to sing and hip thrust. So here we are. Carol King is next up. Best be ready to cut a bish.
Welcome to Hollywood! What’s your dream? Is it to sing a song from a forgettable movie? You’re in luck! American Idol will promise you the world and then crush your dreams, in one fell swoop. Elvira is there? Is she going to be revealed as Seacretin’s mother? She truly is the Mistress of Milking of 15 Minutes of Fame. Take lessons, Idol Singtestants, because we won’t remember any of you in 6 months.
Reaching for the stars and catching them:
Witch! She’s a witch! Lauren made me like a Miley Cyrus song. I love that Kelly Clarkson is on tonight because you will understand what I mean by the comparison between Lauren and Kelly – The Greatest Idol of All Time (TM). I hope there’s a grand sing off a la…
VH1’s Divas Live. Dammit I miss that show. I mean, really. Dream pairings of real life divas sanging their ayasses ouff. BOW DOWN! BOW DOWN BEFORE THEM (not because you want to see what scraps Aretha left behind…Yeah. I said it!)! The trailer battles on 42nd Street. The hapless interns running to and fro trying to get the starlettes out of their ego-induced comas.
What I’m getting at is that Jacob took on one of the most incredible songs written and performed as demonstrated here and here (pass the tiss-ewes). So Jacob sang it with the restraint of a forewarned and humbled singtestant and took us to church. Apparently, his voice comes “from the place it’s supposed to come from” as Jenny from the Dump said. Where is that, exactly? I would have said it’s supposed to come from the baby of Whitney and BOB-AAAAAAY! 
But we know that’s not what happened. So, I guess she means it’s supposed to come from Fatburger.
Stefaaaanooooo. Weeeeelcome to Lavender Hill (*whispering* – I’m not wearing any panties). Really, I would have thrown mine onto the stage (despite his moon boots). I wanted to catch a rose that he tossed from the stage in me teeth. I wanted to go backstage and “surprise” him in his dressing room. Marry me, Stefano. We will have babies with great ass…ets.
I had some help this time in reviewing the show and that helped tremendously because I would have turned off Overgrown Baby Gay Kurt’s performance after the first two seconds. BUT! My headbanging friend jumped right in and sang the lyrics to the chorus as if OBGK was speaking English. I didn’t have a clue what that guy was screaming. Let’s not kid ourselves, having Ozzy’s guitarist out there was the tits and pretty much made that performance what it was.
I don’t know why the The Old Lady thinks it’s appropriate to continue to hit on the girl you hated in high school but he does. I thought Haley the show’s resident ho was pretty darn good belting out “Call Me.” Maybe she was singing it straight to The Old Lady so that she can get a “record contract” after she goes home because the other judges hated it with two snaps in a circle.
Did you see that advert for So You Think You Can Dance? Hooooo doggy I cannot wait to recap the shizzle out of that show!
Sleeping with the fishes:
Muuaahahahahaha! Goodbye, Scotty Alfred E. Newman Baby Lock Them Doors! You stunk up the stage worse than a circus elephant just off the Tallahassee to Nashiville train! No! No! No! Don’t tell me that he will not be in the bottom three! Nahnahnahnahanahaaa I can’t hear you.
Fozzie Wozzie was a bear. Fozzie Wozzie was not there. I thought we had established that close-ups of Fozzie’s eyes were NOT a good idea. Yet, I could have been his aesthetician at more than one point last night. Aside from him needed a good pore and pupil reducing treatment, that was way too Esperanza Spalding for Idol AND ESPERANZA SPALDING RULES! But she also got death threats for beating Justine Biebette for Best New Artist at the Grammy and now Casper the Floating Head Gingerbreadman will be ded. Ded, I say. Stoopid judges for their stoopid standing O. 
The Sanjaya of season 10 is still there. I refuse to talk about him.
Bottom three: That guy, OBGK, Gingerbreadman.
UPDATE:
Hallaleezy praise Weezy! Before we get to the good news, I’m going to drive to LA and punch the Idol producers square in their necks for continuing to pair up Alfred E. Newman and Trisha Yearwood for a good ol’ ‘Murican hoedown. Just have them sing “Islands in the Sea” and get it over with. And then what in the name of Sarah Vaughn and Louis Armstrong what that? I’m tired. So tired. Because he was part of the last group of singers, I’m going to ignore their weird rendition of the evil and delicious “Sound of Silence” and “Here’s to You Ryan Seabiscuit.”
After The Greatest Idol of All Time (TM), Kelly Clarkson schooled them fools on how to last in the bizness, Seabiscuit dimmed the lights to watch someone go, like he has so many times before. One, two, three, they went off to the cheap seats – Haley the Show’s (well, you know), Peeping Tom McCreepster, and the little prosciutto, Stefano. Would the female tweenie-boppers of America send another chicky packing? We would have to wait until Hip Hop Ragedy-Anne sang something about how she wants a California King bed (can’t she just order one?).
So! Who was going home? Take off your rose-covered suits, kids, because it’s now in the safe recesses of McCreepster’s suitcase. Good bye, Paul! The only way you out-shined the rest was with your neon sign-bright teeth! Maybe you can go be Rod Stewart’s understudy while he is on tour. He’ll probably break a hip within the first couple of weeks, anyway.
