It’s here! The late delayed live recap of the top 11 results show.
Which if you ask me, was a lot more fun than both last week’s results show, and Tuesday’s abysmal Beatles night. I guess they’re not bullshitting when they say there can be too much of a good thing.
So, what’s on the menu for tonight’s show?
More of that stupid useless so-called “call-in”. Great, we get to find out what bra size Krist-Hee wears as well as Carly’s favourite brand of lip-gloss. That’s gonna be sooo exciting, you guys. What else… Oh, yeah, Kellie “Cal-haa-may-ree” Pickler will be swinging by later on to promote silicone breasts, and maybe even sing a song.
Ah, something got my interest: who will the mentors be this season? Well, we already knew that Mariah Effing Carey would come and flash as much bare flesh as it is legally possible, but for the others, we’re still in the dark… Ah, the anticipation is almost… over. Idol, season 7 mentors:
-Dolly Parton. I’m no country fan, but I like Dolly; she’s cute, she’s witty, she’s funny and she is the one and only Dolly Parton, so although I’m not particularly looking forward to country night, I’ll bear with it, and hope that Dolly comes up with a bunch of good zingers, because I know she can.
-Divah Carey. I’m sorry, I cannot stand that woman. Never liked her; there is something about her that I’m completely unable to pinpoint, but that I just really, really dislike.
And I don’t like her music either, so that is going to be a painful night for yours truly.
Oh, no. You’ve gotta be kidding me.
-Andrew Lloyd Webber, really?
Fuck, I think “they” are trying to prevent me from even wanting to blog about Idol.
I don’t like musical theatre, I don’t like show tunes; I don’t know “Phantom of the Opera”, but I’m sure I don’t like it.
What did I do to deserve these crappy mentors? Why are they being so cruel and mean to me? Why so much hatred? Where are Bon Jovi when you need them?
That is gonna suck.
On the upside, these might short recaps; I’m not that good at fighting off sleep, and I predict that these two shows will be more snooze-inducing than Paula’s horse-strenght medication.
I’m not very familiar with his body of work, but I do like “Sweet Caroline”, and I’m sure Neil will be a welcome relief after having to stomach Divah Carey and Sir Andrew and his OTT cheese. (No offense, but show tunes make me want to howl, and not necessarily at the moon.)
Ryan also tells us something about some songwriting competition that they started last year (I think), and bringing back this year.
Here is how it works:
-You write a song
-You send it to them (Whoever ‘them’ are)
-You cross your fingers, toes, legs, balls, anything that comes in pairs and is physically crossable (like don’t pull your eyes out to have them switch positions, cos’ that’d be stupid). If they like your song, cross your pairs some more, so that someone that you like will win Idol, because the winning song will be performed by the Idol winner on Finale night.
To me, this is a double-edge sword. It would indeed be an honour to have my fictitious winning song performed by Melinda Doolittle, or My David.
However, having to listen Jordin *&$#^@ Sparks or Sunshine Yellow perform my still fictitious masterpiece, equates, to me, to some form of undeserved punishment for a sin I did not commit. However, if you’re masochistic and would like to hear Kris-Hee turn your lovely ballad into a drunken honky-tonk karaoke disaster, by all means, go ahead and submit away.
Ahhhh! Everybody’s favourite moment, especially Amanda: the group performance!!!
We’re starting off with this ever-so-wovewy shot of Wittle David sitting on the dock of the stage, singing “While my guitar gently weeps”.
Then, My David comes on, and I’d be totally swooning right now, if only it wasn’t for his whole Tourette syndrome number from last night. He soon is joined by Jason, and right now, I could almost totally lose it, but I’m a very serious pro Idol blogger wannabe, so I don’t.
To save me by the bell, Chikezie and Michael Australia get up from the step where they were both sitting squished together like a pair of Portuguese sardines, to join the rest of the guys for a number so cheesy, that I almost expected them to strip down to a pink thong. Where the hell is Naughty David when you need him?
I’m sure him and Danny would have done it. The pink thong, I mean.
Sunshine Yellow (if you guys think I’m done with the Yellow thing, you’re wrong) walks on, but I’m still blinded from last night, so I can’t see what the hell is going on on the stage until Dim Ramiele shows up. Then ‘Blackbird’ comes and extinguishes the final notes of that song, which, by the way, I didn’t know.
Elsewhere, above the Giant Trapdoor, a flatter Syesha starts another song that I don’t know either, and then the same old bland’n’borin’n’hopefully gone tonite Krist-Hee comes on and ruins it.
All the girls are now sitting on the sofa, disposed in two layers: top and bottom. Symbolic, you reckon? Distracting, rather. The two layers are swaying in different directions, and right now, I feel very very bad for Amanda who must be regretting that she didn’t conclude her performance last night by mooning these assholes and then walking out to her Harley, and ride back to Indiana.
My David grabs Krist-Hee by the hand, and she lets him, which pisses me off a little, because cocky or smug, he’s still Mine; I told you before, bitch: back off. Both from him and from the competition; you weren’t bad enough last night, you lost my support, you understand? So fuck off.
We get more group cheese and Amanda looks like she’s totally cursing VFTW for keeping her in that stink.
We end with a disgustingly corny finale where they all raise their right arm, like they’re group-auditioning for Fame.
Then, something new: a recap of last night’s show. This will be quick, I promise.
We’re treated to a quick flashback, startin’ with Amanda Growlin’, followed by My David’s Tourette episode -which, judging by the large amounts of sounds of Female Hysteria, must be considered as sexy. To me, it looked more like a passing medical condition, but hey.
Then, they show the 10 seconds when Michael Australia didn’t suck, followed by the strongest moment of Carly’s performance art bit; we catch a glimpse of Goofy-but-aww! SO cute Jason Castro, a little bit of Syesha’s lovely performance and lovely smile when Randy tells her that she didn’t suck.
Then because Idols are arseholes and love to make us suffer, they replay the most irritating one of Krist-Hee’s forty-four takes of “Youuuu gotta hiiide your looove awayyyy”. But because, somewhere deep inside, Idol also pities us, they show us the bit where Simon calls Krist-Hee “musical wallpaper”. Bwahh!
How the hell did I miss that last night?
Then, on stage, there is a flash of Yellow, followed by Chikezie who wishes that for once, he hadn’t followed the light.
I still love him though. I officially love Chikezie, now, so you can’t say bad things about him in front of me anymore, because I’m really sensitive and you’ll make me cry if you do. And that’d be like, cruel. So don’t.
And if you decide to anyway, please do it in the comments section below. Thank you. 🙂
The recap ends, fittingly enough, with prodigy Wittle David, and one of the 1328 moments when one of the judges (Randy, in that instance) kisses his ass.
And now, for something completely different, Ryan introduces us to the furniture:
On the Left, we have the Sofa. That’s where everyone wants to be, the Left, and I don’t blame them. Who wouldn’t want a Democrat in the House?
Hey, make that 10, even better. Go Hillary, by the way.
Then above the Giant Trapdoor, in the Dark, Three Scary Stools where no one wants to sit because:
a) It’s uncomfortable
b)”They” have put some push-pins on them.
c) … pin: up.
d) You instantly go from ‘Top11’ to ‘Home’
e) Unless you’re Amanda, you kinda want to stick around and go on tour and sell your soul and credibility, in order to submit us to more abominations like that barf-inducing number you just inflicted on us.
You’re still with me?
Well, get with it. Personally, I would have let you nap, but Idol decided to fuck with our minds and put some actual content in that episode, so, sorry.
Ryan calls Sunshine Yellow on the stage, and asks her why she agreed with Randy when he said she was awkward last night.
Huh, I don’t know Ryan, maybe it’s because it’s the only comment the judges got to squeeze in before Sunshine decided to take over the show with her Yellow spoken word act?
(Hey, by the way Sunshine, there’s a cafe just up the road from my place, called the Yellow Door; maybe you should come and talk to us once you quit Idol, on the R-rated day when Krist-Hee finally realizes that the only way she can possibly stay in the competition is to take of her shirt and sing topless. Think about it. I can even let you crash on the sofa, providing you’re not allergic to cats.)
Unfortunately, that R-rated day is not today, because Sunshine and her fucking Yellow will brighten up our miserable Tuesday nights some more.
Great. Quick on his feet, Ryan invents a new word: Top-Tenner. I hope that trend won’t last and that Ryan will be less creative in the future.
Then Blackbird is summoned on the stage. She’s saf… … What?
WHAT??? No fucking way…
You guys, CARLY IS IN THE BOTTOM 3.
I don’t know what to say besides:
?????????????????????????????????????????????? WTF!!!!!! &??????
Seriously, I’m stunned. Why?
OK, all the tone-deaf folks, raise your hand.
Now, all the deaf folks, raise your hand.
No. I still don’t get it.
Trapdoor for Carly. WTF.
Paula is standing up and booing. And although I’m aware that Paula is hardly a good example to follow for a nice, sober, non-cussing Catholic virgin like me, I would do the same thing if I was her; and I’d also down whatever is in that motherfucking giant Coke cup of hers while I was at it.
Paula says America is fucking stupid and should get a fucking clue, and Randy says ‘Fuck, yeah’.
Simon says fuck all.
I‘m sorry you guys, but 10 minutes into the show, I’m already super-pissed, and making up for it by taking lots of notes. Fucking enjoy.
27 female teenagers pass out in the studio.
That’s because Ryan said the words: “David Archuleta”.
When David actually shows up, Paula, who’s the only one allowed to bring her purse in the studio, has to call 911 for the other 54 who just were victims of a Sympathetic Asthma Attack.
Then Donald Trump shows up, says ‘You’re fired’ and falls through a big trapdoor.
Meanwhile, Wittle David merrily jogs across the sea of tears separating him from the rest of the top 10, aka Sunshine Yellow.
This is really nauseating, and it’s not even 9.15 yet.
I’m going to be a real funny colour when this is over.
A pair of black lace panties smack me straight across the lower jaw, as Michael Australia makes his entrance, summoned by the mighty Ryan Seacrest, who’s asking, all sly:
“So, you idiot, do you think that this experimental garbage that you stumbled through last night could be called a song?”
Aussie Mike; ” Go fuck yourself, Ryan, it’s not funny. Keep your lame jokes for “Idol gives head”, Ok? Yes; yes, it was a song.”
Ryan: “Well, I beg to differ,. Personally, I thought it was a lot of shite, but I don’t have enough seniority in this business to be a judge yet. However, that could only be a matter of time; there are rumours floating around that
Paula might be going to rehab soon, so maybe, I…”
Mike: “Listen dude, I’m happy for you; but I gotta remind you, at least, you have a job to go back to next year. Me, if you don’t stop fucking around soon, I’m gonna have to audition again for this stupid show.
And by then, I’ll be 31, and if I want to go through to top 24 again, next time, I’ll really have to give Simon that blowjob that I promised him in January. The one that I got away with so far because I’m good-looking and the show sort of needs me right now, even though I suck. So give me a break, man, please.”
Ryan: “Oh, I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t know about the blowjob thing. But seriously, next time (if there is one), keep your mouth shut. Literally.
Anyway, who fucking cares, you’re through.
Simon can always pleasure himself with the better half of his “moose.”
Michael Australia falls to his knees, then gets up, plants a big wet one on Ryan’s lips, then runs the Top 2 and tries to make out with them. They say no, so Michael goes to make out with Carly while we go to commercial. She’s not particularly in the mood, but she puts out anyway.
Wow, the way I remember those results shows, it makes me wonder if they shouldn’t be R-rated.
Yeay! It’s Ford commercial time!!!
We loves this shit, right? It will our second favourite moment of the night after Krist-Hee is sent packing, right?
Well, maybe not. But we’ll come back to that later.
In the meantime, the Idols are freezing their asses in the middle of one of one of those typical windy and deserted Los Angeles fields.
And before you ask, no I’m not high.
My David is goofing around and overacting in a 1950s newspaperboy costume. Michael Australia sees UFOs, Jason flies UFOs and Amanda looks pissed while telling us that acting for Ford commercials doesn’t really require much theatre background, not even any at all.
I actually quite enjoyed the commercial, it was pretty funny and better than last week’s stupid political campaign by at least two light-years.
Unfortunately for you, I do not recap commercials. However, I wrote a wonderful review of YouTube on this very blog; I suggest you go read it, then follow the link I provided on the right, watch the commercial described above, then come back here to tell me what you thought about it in the comments box below. Thank you. 🙂
Ryan says: “Dim the lights”. Oh shit, trapdoor time.
Bit less smug than last night Because more smug wasn’t really humanly possible anyway.
“So,” Ryan asks, all smug, “How did you react to Simon’s comment that you were one smug motherfucker?”
My David: “I didn’t.”
(I’m not kidding. Apart from the “motherfucker” bit, that is how the dialogue went, verbatim. It’s in my notes.)
I mean you guys know that if My Snug David had gotten the boot tonight, there would be no recap, due to depression and drunkenness, right?
So he’s through. As I was saying, duh. Final 4, he’ll make it, I say.
Just Like The Other Rocker From Last Year.
And what do those capital letters spell? ‘N.I.C.K.E.L.B.A.C.K.”! YEAH!!! You win a hat and a matching right shoe!
Krist-Hee shows up on the stage before Ryan calls her; a bit like last week, when she grabbed the mike to sing the ‘Good-bye Krist-Hee’ song before Ryan told her she could grab the mike to sing the “Hi, it’s me Krist-Hee again, see you again next week, and then again the week after” song, and that, obviously for the sole motive of pissing us off.
By the way, guys, did you know that Ryan actually knows the results before anyone else, besides the people who tell him what the results are?
Well, it’s true, I’ve seen it on Oprah.
“Jason!” says Ryan.
R: “It’s you, man!”
J: “Yeah, I know. It’s me. So what?… Oh, Ry, can you ask Mike or Big Dave if they have any cigarette papers?”
R: “Jason, for fuck’s sake, Top 11, dude, get with it! And I have some Rizlas, I’ll give you a couple during the commercials, but hurry up dude, Simon is giving me the evil eye!”
J: “Oh shit, the show. I forgot… Oh, I found some papers, dude. Ryan, nevermind the papers, I got some… Amanda, can you finish the joint, man? All of the other folks who can roll are in the top 10, and if I answer Ryan’s call right now, I will join them in a second, so you don’t mind? We’ll smoke it together in the Loser Lounge after the show.”
Amanda: “Yeah, whatever, gimme it..”
Then Jason is safe, apart from the fact that in reality, the whole Saving Public Jason (you get it? 😉 Ha. Lame, I know. Sorry.) thing took about a second and a half. It was more like:
Then he went to make out and roll joints with Mike and Big Dave, while Wittle Dave was watching and wicking his wips.
What are you saying?
What about Krist-Hee?
What do you mean, what about Krist-Hee?
Bottom 3, like, duh. I didn’t even think it was worth mentioning.
Ramiele looks really bummed out, like she’s being forced to go shop for something red at ‘La Guillotine’ on a day when she really wants to wear pink.
Ryan is being super-sweet and affectionate with her, I find, like big brother sweet and affectionate, when he tells her that she’s safe.
Ramiele is such a little bundle of cute that I can’t even hate her for moving on, despite the fact that Amanda, Syesha and Chikezie are still shitting themselves backstage.
But since there is no doubt that Krist-Hee is out, it doesn’t really matter, right?
Oh, the call-in!
Well, since I’m sure that I’m the only person alive right now, who’s desperate enough to get traffic on her blog, that she’ll actually recap this idiocy, I bring to you this exclusive exclusivity: the call-in recap.
Sherylyn, or something: “Dear Simon, why do you spend so much money on cars and so little on clothes?”
Simon: “That’s rude. You’re basically telling me that I look like crap. Elizabeth, in the control room, can you hear me? Cut her mike!”
(If you can send me the links to the videos the two sound bites above are from, I’ll send you one of these big pink heart-shaped lollypops for your birthday. Promise. Just leave your answer, name, address, telephone, email and credit card number in the comments box below. Thank you.) 🙂
Jessica, the next caller, is a fan of Paula, and also a fan of the same narcotics Paula’s usually on. She does a speech where she explains that she has this fantasy of seeing Simon and Paula making out, so could they please indulge?
Simon says that he totally would, since Paula’s one hell of a kisser, but that he wants to keep his breath fresh for later, when he’s gonna make his move on Carly, since there’s a chance that she’ll go home tonight, and then, it’ll be too late.
Ryan, who’s totally into watching them make out, says there is enough time before commercials for them to make it to second base, but Simon says that if he’s gonna play with some boobies, he’d rather they be Syesha’s.
Mary, from Nowhere Land, wants to know what was the last song Ramiele downloaded.
Even Ramiele, whom I suspect of not having invented hot water, is surprised by the sheer insignificance of this question. She responds with something that I bet your ass, is not a song, but a statement: “I’m a flirt”.
Linda wants to know how Ryan is.
(He looks fine to me, Linda. Is your television ‘ON’? The switch, on the bottom left? Ah, you can see him now? You’re welcome. Bye Linda.)
Linda wonders if Michael Australia’s Idol experience is everything he thought it would be?
“And even more”, says Michael, “and then more, and then a little more. And it’s stressful too. In fact, I hate it. Plus Ryan Seacrest is a complete dick. Apart from that, it’s more than a handful, and since apparently, I peaked in Hollywood, it’s now obvious to me that they only kept me here as an incentive to keep the women over 30 interested in the show, since the gay stripper thing didn’t work.”
Aussie Mike totally garnered brownie points from little moi, with that “Apparently, I peaked in Hollywood” one.
Make me laugh, or solve my crossword puzzle clue A-17, and you’ll have my unconditional love until next Tuesday, when I meet someone better than you.
Pickler is in da house. With knockers that makes Syesha hate Pickler’s guts.
Syesha had to go through all the circus of finding hers, getting them out, dusting them up, and keeping them up there for a whole three minutes, whereas Pickler just went shopping for a new, improved, and about 16 times bigger pair. I understand Syesha’s disgust.
We see shots of Kellie coming on stage, dressed like Jessica Simpson, telling us that she is like totally the exact same girl that she was before, and that the only thing that’s different about her, is that now, she has a better job, as well as jugs the size of Ontario.
We also find out that she’s afraid of lobsters and that she’s basically a complete airhead.
A singing airhead, as it turns out. Or maybe more of a helium-head, as it turns out. I had forgotten that Kellie was so annoying when she sang.
Kellie’s song is called “Red high-heels”, and because I learnt a lot in a short time last night, from that giga yellow overkill, now I know better, so I go and stand next to the TV for a while. I don’t have a flat screen thing at my place, so from next to the TV, I can still see Kellie, but she’s all squished up and much smaller, which gives my eyes a chance to adjust to the red dress, the red shoes, and the red song.
Kellie wants to get laid real bad tonight, methinks, because she sure is strutting her stuff all over the place. First, she tries with Simon, and pulls a Marilyn Monroe on him, to show him the 50$ bill that is hidden deep inside her cleavage, and that is his if… you know…
But Simon is saving himself for Carly, later on tonight, so he declines.
So Kellie goes to show Randy her bum, but Randy has had a few sips of Paula’s “Coke”, and now, he’s not really in a mood for sex, he’d rather get stoned with Jason, Mike and Big Dave after the show.
So Kellie figures that Ryan really isn’t that bad looking after all, plus he’s probably available, so she’ll settle for him. So she goes back on the stage to feel up his buttocks. Ryan slaps her hand.
About 9 minutes later, Kellie is finally done with her song, and with trying to get it on with every male in the room. So she exits, not without asking Carly on the way out: “Wanna hook up for cal-haa-may-ree and vodka later on?”
Carly says: “Maybe. I’ll have to see how much crappier this crappy night goes first. And maybe, I’ll take a pass on the calamari.”
Kellie: “It’s cal-haa-may-ree. Anyway, gotta go, one of the camera guys is waving at me. Good luck. And if you win, don’t buy now boobs, they don’t really work that well”.
Oh shit. Time to pimp “Idol gives back”.
Seriously you guys, if you like that kind of soppy shit, I suggest you just watch that Oprah show called “Oprah Gives Back Big Time, Even Bigger Than Idol”. I don’t really recap soppy shit.
Basically Fantasia and Elliott go to Angola with some mosquito nets, and Fantasia sings, and a woman gives birth to a little boy, and since Elliott is standing right there in the company of half-a-dozen cameramen, they call him in to tell him that they named the little boy Elliott. Which will probably revert right back to ‘Brooklyn’ once Elliott leaves the building, because ‘Brooklyn’ is such a cooler name, although Elliott is such a cool guy. But ‘Brooklyn’ is still way better.
Elliott does leave the building, all sniffly, and tell us that he’s a Godfather. Aww.
Ryan tells us to join them on April 9th, and that our money will help make Fox look like they’re really really good people although we all know better, and Ryan knows that he’s being a hypocritical bastard right now, and that he’ll have to go to confession after the show.
Carly and Krist-Hee, in case you remember them, are feeling lonely, above the big trapdoor. Ryan deems the time has come to add more weight on that trapdoor, so that it finally opens up to engulf one of them.
How much more weight, like a guy’s weight? Like Chikezie’s weight, for instance?
Nope, looks like Syesha and her magically disappearing boobs will be enough. But Syesha is safe! Good for her.
I honestly can’t imagine Syesha going very far, but at least, she’ll get to travel, what with the tour, so it’s cool. In the meantime, Syesha is super happy, and goes and sits on Ramiele, killing her in the process, and thus creating an opening for Krist-Hee to go on tour.
Alas, no, it doesn’t go that way. Chikezie is sent on a bus trip across America, and Amanda is stuck with Ryan.
Krist-Hee and Carly soon come and join her, and it’s really funny because the three of them are wearing black and white, and I cannot help buy wonder if they anticipated this and all dressed to match, just in case.
Carly gets to go and get high with Mike, David and Jason on the tour bus, because she’s safe!
You can distinctly see Carly mouthing at least twice: “Are you kidding me?”
(Oh come on, Carly, I know that Ryan can be an ass sometimes, but have you ever seen him saying to a contestant: “You’re in the top10!… … Haha, BURN, you’re going home! LOSER! Haha!”
No, you haven’t, have you? That’s because he’s not kidding you. So shut up and go sit down.)
Amanda and Krist-Hee are summoned by Ryan. “You stupid fucks, come here”.
To me, there is still no doubt, it is bye-bye Barbie, and not bye-bye Cruella DeVil.
Well, you guys, I got it all wrong. Amanda’s out, fuck.
Krist-Hee turns her back to the camera, and tries to reason with Amanda:
“Amanda, dude, I can’t got there on the sofa. They’re all gonna hate me and there is no fucking way in the world that Carly will ever want to shack up with me. David Cook offered me to bonk with him, but I know that is because he wants to have sex with me, and I’m saving myself for marriage. So you HAVE to stay, Amanda. Please.”
Amanda: “No fucking way dude. No way I’m sucking up to that slut Carey, and pretending I’m even remotely interested by one of her songs. I’m out of here dude. Every single rock chick in North America now knows what not to do with their hair if they want to go on the Idol tour, so my work here is done.”
Krist-Hee insists: “But Amanda, I SUCK!!! The only people that were voting for me were horny guys with a taste for big breasts, but now, it turns out than Syesha has those too, and plus she can sing too. What am I gonna do?”
Amanda: ” You’ll be Ok. Go sit down and get the hell away from my face, please. I have like two minutes left to get someone to sign me, so back off, ok?”
Kristy goes and joins the top 10, and Carly kicks her.
“Ouch” Krist-Hee says.
“I’m gonna make your life hell, bitch”, growls the ‘Blackbird’.
Krist-Hee shudders, tries to squeeze in next to Wittle David, who, panicked, jumps and lands on Ramiele. And this time, she does dies, but with Wittle David on top of her, so it’s all good.
We get “Amanda’s journey’s trip down to memory lane”, her audition, the Best of her Growlin’ and Mumblin’, and I realize that I’m gonna miss Amanda, and that she totally is the kinda chick I would have a beer with, and then trash talk guys who look like David Cook or Michael Australia.
And then she could give me a ride back to Montreal on her Harley.
Sunshine Yellow and Wittle David are pouting and don’t look happy, while Carly is crying us a Nile of a river.
I like her for that, because she looks genuinely sad to have lost her fellow-rocker chick and roommate, and because now, she’s stuck living with Krist-Hee. I’d be crying too, especially if they only have one bathroom and Krist-Hee is the kind who likes to sing in the shower.
Amanda brings us back to the USSR one last time, and I do like her, and wish her the very best.
You go get ’em, sister, go fill those stadiums now. You got my blessing, and maybe it’s better that way. You would have hated it up there, on Andrew Lloyd Webber night.
Amanda said that Idol was a fun ride.
I also hope it takes her far.
OK, I’m out of here. This was another hell of long recap, but unlike yesterday, I had fun writing this one. And I hope you had fun reading it. And if you did, feel free to leave me your impressions in the comm…
You know what? If you stuck with me that long, you’ll know the drill by now, so I’ll spare you. 😉
See you next Tuesday, for fuck knows what horrible theme awaits us. Until then, take care. 🙂