Yeay, dude, no more partying instead of blogging. That is a lot of catching up to do.
Plus next week, we’ll have Idol, then Idol Gives Head, then Idol again.
If I do any recapping of stupid Idol Gives Head, I’ll keep it strictly about the contestants. But screw recapping the whole thing. I want at least a little bit of a life.
And talking about recapping, how about I do some of that, huh?
But first, I want to give you a quick update on the state of my balcony: Ladies and Gentlemen: THE SNOW HAS MELTED! Confetti! Another four weeks, and I actually will be able to get outside! I will be able to garden (gardening is awesome, it’s very relaxing; some people do yoga; me, I plant flowers and tomatoes, then I watch them grow. It’s really cool, and pretty easy.)
But anyway, enough about me.
AMERICAN IDOL 7 – TOP 9 RESULTS!
I missed the first couple of minutes, so when I burst into my place and put the TV on, the group cheese had already started. It looked half decent, but I didn’t really care, because the only thing I wanted to know was whether or not My David was in it. And he was. Still looking a little tired, but he seems okay. Good.
Carly is obviously well aware of Simon’s sudden disgust towards her, as well as his equally sudden praise for all thing Krist-Hee. And Carly don’t like no competition. In the past, Carly has tried, “with a lot of help from her ‘friends'”, and failed. With a second opportunity to try “with a lot of help from her ‘friends'” AGAIN, this time around, Carly is determined to not let some stupid tall, thin, blonde, skanky, patriotic horse-loving hick of a sock-blower get in her way. And if that means smothering Krist-Hee with a pillow while she’s asleep, or slipping cyanide in her Diet Sprite, nothing will stop Carly. She’s the Blackbird, and blackbirds are evil. Paula said so in her Animals 101 special from two weeks ago.
So Carly has a strategy up her sleeve, in order to preserve her status of ‘Simon’s fave’, part of which involves her going all “sex kitten in heat” on Simon.
During the group cheese, she curls up on the desk, right in front of him, and purrs into his ear: “If you want me to, I’ll blow you out of your socks, tonight after the show. Meet me in the parking lot if you want. I’ll be humming “Come together” so that you can spot me easily. Then, we can go in your car and do whatever you want. Like I can do that tattoo that you were talking about the other week, the one with the three dollar signs on your butt? I’ll do it, free of charge.
Of course, it will be hard not to be tempted to tattoo “Krist-Hee can suck America’s dick” instead, but I’m sure I can control myself. Well, I hope, anyway. So, whadda ya think?”
Simon doesn’t get to answer, because My David interrupts them. He’s bringing a blanket for Carly, who is by now almost completely naked, and he also has to sing a few lines to Paula and make everyone believes that he cares. He does look fine, I’m glad he’s okay. And he’s still hot. He always is, it’s just in varying degrees; some nights, he just looks hotter. But even on a “bad” *scoff* day, he’s still a total babe.
But anyway, this is the top 9, not the top 2, so let’s see what the other contestants are up to.
They are up to the same thing they were last night, since this is the performances recap; images of Jason being… Jason, My David being his usual great and solid and consistent, and I’m not just saying this because he’s hotter than George Clooney: he IS good. Even the judges say so, like they show us in the recap.
And then… DAMN. Stupid. Phone. Don’t these people know better than calling me during the Idol results show? Who the hell is the moron who…
“No. I don’t want to buy any cigarettes from the Indian reservation, but thanks for calling, Matt. Yeah, I’ll see you around, buddy. Bye-bye.”
OK. That was quick. Where were we?
Oh yeah. Paula going all “Oh my God!” on Carly, Wittle David grinning to an almost head-splitting point, Aussie Mike being absolutely great and getting tons of well-deserved compliments for it, and Dolly confusing her songs with her children.
Dolly, as we all know, wasn’t born yesterday, and her eyes are well-trained; she says she has “spotted the good ones”. Hello, Dolly? Me too. Like ages ago. Back in Hollywood, I started spotting people. My David? Spotted right off the bat, during his first audition, but he’s special.
Actually, he’s not all that special, because I do remember a lot of these guys first auditions: I remember Carly, Wittle David, Michael, Syesha, Asia’h, Danny, Kady, what’s-her-name-the-other-blonde… Actually, I remember all of them. Well the ones that they showed anyway, because I don’t recall seeing much of Jason the Stoner early on in the show… But I digress.
So yeah, Dolly has spotted the good ones. Like Michael, one whose back she intends to make a lot of after-Idol money.
What would be really cool right now though, would be for Dolly to tell us WHO she thinks stinks.
I’m calling Syesha. I think Dolly knew about Syesha’s addiction to Whitney songs, and decided to take advantage of it, thus creating Syesha’s demise.
And now that I think about it, it makes total sense.
This is what I’m sure happened:
Someone doesn’t like Syesha. And clearly, it can only be Pikachu.
Why? Because there aren’t enough Whitney songs around to feed two Whitney addictions on the same season.
So it’s obvious that Pikachu is the informer here. She sent Dolly a message saying: “Syesha keeps stealing my Whitney songs, and although she’s pretty bad at them, I’m even worse. Could you do me that favour? And keep in mind that I’m way shorter than you, which is like unbelievable. Just for that, you should give me a break. See you on Tuesday, Love, Ramiele.”
Then, because it was an April Fools Day show, Dolly thought it’d be funny to make fun of Syesha, so she went in on the joke, and handed Syesha the “I will always love you” song herself, with a wink and a nudge, knowing full well than there was no way in the world Syesha would be able to resist the temptation. And it worked, because the next thing we knew, Syesha’s inner-Whitney was out in full force.
But the cool thing is that we all know what a bitch Karma is, and that it would come back to bite Pikachu in the ass in about 50 minutes later. Mwahahah!
The time has come to send people shitting themselves above the trapdoor.
Ryan summons Michael Australia. Is it just me, or do these guys always look tired on Wednesday night? Does Idol allow them to have a glass of wine and stay up until 11pm on Tuesday nights?
Anyway, Mike is dressed all in black, and says that he loves singing the kind of stuff he did last night. (Well, my dear, I love to hear you singing the kind of stuff you sang last night, so you keep it up, and I’ll leave you alone.) And also, we’ll see more of Michael’s adorable mug next week.
I was wondering if Idol would have the decency to tell My David right off the bat that he was safe, what with the stress he’s been under, but no.
Ryan calls the other David instead. Wittle David’s appearance creates complete mayhem in the peppit, and as if his song choices didn’t already give it away, Wittle David reminds us how much he is a ‘songs with a message’ kind of wittle boy, and how le loves to be emotional, because it makes other people become all emotional, and isn’t it fun when everyone in the room is crying?
Wittle David is getting all emotional just talking about all those emotions and messages and stuff.
But Ryan is getting sick and tired of everyone bawling their eyes out on his shoulder already, wetting his shirt in the process; so he just hands Wittle David a tissue and tells him to go to the sofa, and to ask Michael Australia for a hug instead, because he’d like to remain dry and snot-free for the whole show, for once.
It’s Carly’s turn. Ryan has a trick question for her. “My dear Carly, where would you prefer to go sit: on the comfy looking sofa over there, with the little boy and his dad, or would you rather one of these narrow, ugly and uncomfortable bar stools? And FYI, the bar stools? We’ve unscrewed one leg of each, and replaced the screws with scotch tape, so we can all have a laugh when Pikachu lays her ladder on hers later on.
Carly longingly stares at the bar stools, which bring back all these wonderful memories of her drink slinging, Guinness-pouring, then topping, then topping again, days, but she feels bad for the man and the wittle boy on the sofa; they look like they could use a motherly figure. So without a word, she goes to the sofa.
Ryan gets a little panicky. He goes to Simon, and whispers: “Simon, my card doesn’t say Carly is through. My card says that Krist-Hee is through.”
Simon: Shut up Ryan. I’ve changed my mind, that’s all. Krist-Hee is nothing but a fucking tease: she won’t put up. During the group cheese, Carly promised me a post-show blowjob, as well as a free dollar sign tattoo on my ass. Now why the hell would I take a pass on that?
Ryan: You’re getting a free tattoo? That sucks, plain and simple. That bitch charged me 250$ for my Bambi tattoo on my inner-thigh.
Simon: Yes, but you have to admit that she’s a good tattoo artist, at least. Or so I’ve heard.
Ryan: I don’t know, her husband did it. And I haven’t been able to look at it since, because everytime I try to look down, I’m getting flashbacks on his head between my legs, and it’s disturbingly arousing.
Simon: Your problem, not mine. Do what the fuck you want; just don’t get caught; otherwise we’ll have to fire you. But anyway, screw it, leave Carly where she is. I want my tattoo.
The camera shows us the three sinister-looking stools, standing above the trapdoor, which is slightly open, giving us a glimpse of a hand giving us the finger. I bet it’s Jordin under there.
Then the camera takes us briefly backstage, to show us a group of very nervous-looking people, in the middle of which, there is a tall and very attractive guy with a so-so haircut, who should have been sent to safety ten minutes ago.
When we come back from commercials, which is where we went, Ryan surprises us by springing that stupid useless call-in on us.
What insignificant crap are we going to uncover today?
Haley wants to tell us that she’s doing just fine, thanks for asking, and would like to know what it is that Syesha misses the most about home? Syesha says: “I miss hanging out with my friends.”
Haley: But you made friends here, on Idol, didn’t you?
Syesha: These jerks? My friends? Haha, I don’t think so. These guys are more like my family, and like any young person, I hate my family; so torturing them is always fun. Like I love to corner Wittle David, sit on his face and fart. Hiding Ramiele’s make-up is fun too, because she completely freaks out about it, and then she runs around biting people in revenge, it’s really funny.
Ryan: “Tell me about it.” He lifts his pants leg to show a bandaged ankle. “But anyway Haley, it’s great talking to you, but we haven’t got all day, so we have to say bye-bye now.”
Now Robert has a question for My David. That in itself makes Robert less lame than the other assholes who usually call in.
My notes are completely screwed up on this one. This is what I have:
Robert: Have you ever succeeded in something other than music?
David: I’m disorganized and I’m a slob. I feel sorry for Michael Australia and Jason, because I’m aware how much they hate me riding my bicycle in the apartment, or playing bowling in the corridor, but a dude needs distractions. I have a computer, but Mike has pretty much hijacked it. He wants to learn how to use my songs-that-will-sure-take-you-to-the-top-4 generator, as well as a way to view porn without getting a virus.
The next caller is a complete weirdo, who, for some reason, has a question for Randy. Unfortunately, Randy is nowhere to be found.
Because no one ever wants to talk to him on the phone, Randy has gotten into the habit of using the call-in time to go to the toilet and powder his nose.
Ryan doesn’t want to waste anymore time, so he heads to the bathroom, and hands Randy the mike from underneath the cubicle door. “Randy” Ryan says, “We have a fucktard with a question for you.”
Some dude wants to confirm that Randy has, indeed, worked with everyone under the sun including Carly Plant, and wants to know if there is anyone left that he’d still like to work with, or is he just completely blasé by now?
We hear Randy frantically ripping toilet paper, and dropping his mike in the toilet bowl.
Ryan says: “It’s OK Randy, just finish, we’ll wait”.
Randy pops out of his cubicle, and says in Ryan’s mike that the only people that he can think of who he hasn’t yet worked with, don’t yet exist, but one day they will. Like the next American Idol for instance.
Then, while zipping up, he mutters: “David Archuleta”, then leaves the bathroom.
There is some happy gal on he phone, all “Hi Ryan! How are you?”. She wants to ask if Aussie Mike and My David know what they will be wearing for the Idol tour.
Oh, no, sorry, if they know what song they’ll sing, in like, four month.
Seriously. Where do they find these people? And why do they let them go on the air?
I can tell you one thing, neither Michael nor David knows, nor cares, and I’m sure they would totally roll their eyes if they weren’t on camera.
Mary would like to know why Simon always apologizes after thrashing the contestants, or something like that (it’s been three days, folks, one of which I spent intoxicated, so give me a break.)
Simon says he apologizes for this his apologies, and that he will never apologize ever again if that is what Mary wants.
Congratulations, Mary, you created a monster. Do you not realize that Wittle David is likely to suck again, and that now, Simon won’t be able to take back the things he says to him anymore, and that it is likely to give Wittle David a major breakdown, full of tears, emotions, and messages?
Then, out of nowhere, a bunch of guys are coming to sing a song.
Who the hell are they? Where do they come from? Who let them in?
The only thing I know, is that they are not Dolly Parton, and that they’re quite good, although I’m not paying much attention.
Ford commercial: today’s theme: basketball.
Cute, but forgettable, just like Ramiele.
Ryan goes backstage to have a little one-on-one with My David.
“So, what happened Buddy, you had a tough day, huh? How’s the blood? How’s the pressure? How is the hospital food in this neck of the woods?”
My David is no sissy, man, he’s all casual and “That was blown way out of proportions, dude. I’m fine. I have bad blood pressure, but I’m fine. I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry”.
Ryan: Actually, you are going somewhere. See that sofa with the cute wittle family sitting on it? Go join them. You’ll be the uncle.
So My David obeys and goes and hugs his brand-new sister-in-law.
[SPORTS NEWS UPDATE: I have the hockey on in the background right now. This is the last regular game of the season, and Montreal just scored another point against the Toronto Pussies! 3-1! Take that, TO! 🙂 ]
Now it’s Ramiele’s turn to be called on stage.
Ramiele is like totally excited, because yesterday, she walked on the stage. While she was singing, I mean.
Seriously, what does Idol do to make these kids stupid? I’m not taking the piss when I say that at the very start, I did actually like Pikachu. I was impressed by her big voice, and I found her sweet and cute.
Now, she grates. I think Idol has done something to her, you guys. They’ve brainwashed her, or maybe they conditioned her, a bit like they did in Aldous Huxley’s “Brave new world”.
“My name is Ramiele, and I’m an Epsilon. Epsilons are good singers, but they’re very boring. Epsilons wear pink glow-in-the-dark high-wasted pants. Size-wise, you need six Epsilons to make one Alpha.”
(For those of you who like dystopias, like “1984”, I strongly suggest this book.
This message was brought to you by: Oprah’s book club.)
But anyway, let’s get back, one more time, to Idol, and Ramiele, the miracle-girl who’s still flabbergasted by her ability to walk on stages. Well, looks like Ramiele is going to practice her walking some more;this time we’ll see if she can walk on trapdoors, and sit on barstools.
(Pikachu is GOIN’ DOWN, BABY, DOWN!!! Mwahahah!)
Or maybe not. We don’t know yet, really, I should calm down a bit; but still, this is good.
Next is Krist-Hee. Who has been punished, it seems. She’s holding a sheet of paper, with “I’m proud to be an American eight days a week in a coat of many colours” written a hundred times on it. Simon gives her the evil eye.
No, I’m just kidding. She is indeed carrying a bit of paper, but on it is written: “Kristy was here”, or “Kristy will be here in a minute”.
“Kristy’s seat” it says. “Gotta come in prepared, Y’ know.” Krist-Hee says. Then she adds: “But you know what, judges, and you, hot sexy, steamy Simon? It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, it’s only a bottom 3. If you had a bottom 7, then it would really suck.
But I love being here. I love these ugly-ass barstools. This one actually has taken the shape of my butt by now, and it’s become very comfortable. I always try to pick it when I get in the bottom 3. In fact, if you guys could let me have it at the end of the season, it’d be really cool.
But anyway, better be in the bottom 3 than being here at all.
Isn’t it true, Simon Tiger? You are steaming tonight, baby. Oh, and that new car of yours? I’d love to see it. After the show, maybe?
And I’ve learnt this new tricks with pantyhose too, it’s hysterical. I HAVE to show it to you.”
From the sofa, Carly screams “Oh come on, get with it already! Enough with the speeches!”
Krist-Hee: Well, you can talk, you’re not in the bottom 3.
Carly: Yeah, and? I mean, do you really think that you have even a remote chance to win this thing? You’re up against the Blackbird, Barbie, so don’t fuck with me, OK? And stop wasting the sponsors’ time. I’m very expensive to promote, so if I do win, Idol is better have a lot of moolah, if they want me to sell at least 400 albums this time around.
In the meantime, team P/R, at the judges table, is debating. They are both puzzled and confused about Krist-Hee’s bottom 3 status. “But that was supposed to be your week, dude!?” Randy says.
Simon replies “Randy, there’s a good reason Krist-Hee’s up there. There is that one pair of “lucky socks” that she forgot to “put in the dryer” last night. Well, they just came back to kick her in the ass.
But Krist-Hee, I can still save you. In exchange, I want a threesome. You, me, Carly.
Ah, what the fuck, throw in Ryan too. I’ve always wanted to try that.”
Krist-Hee’s all flirty and “I love you Simon” and winking and blowing kisses and socks, a bit like My David and his Tourettes syndrome episode were doing the other week, minus the socks.
In the meantime, P/R are still all wide-eyed and surprised as Randy stares at Pikachu with his binoculars. ” I mean… Ramiele.. she had a good night… she sang good… For Ramiele, it was good.”
Ryan quickly slides a box of Kleenex across the stage floor for Pikachu, who’s looking a bit green, by now.
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:
This goes to all the industrial quantities of Idol rejects who, I’m sure, read my blog avidly: if you want to succeed, move to Nashville.
Remember Bucky? He’s a star. Phil Stacey? Even bigger star. Bo? Not so much, but he’s still great.
Those boys are doing OK, actually.
Bucky says that moving to Nashville was both an intense and smart thing to do. (Krist-Hee, still got that bit of paper? Yes? Good. Take notes.)
Phil has a wife, two babies, and an album out on the 29th of this month.
Bo has had a bit of a tough time post Idol. Health problem, three surgeries. But he’s good now. He’s taken a year off to build a studio, and he’s recording a new album. An album that is close to his roots: Southern rock. He’s got a two and a half years old who plays the drum, as well as a couple of bulldogs 🙂 (I LOVE bulldogs!). He says: “I know I’m known for Idol.”
That was really cool, actually. I was a huge fan of Bo during his season. For the final 2, I even went campaigning for him on the Online Survivor board where I used to post back then!… But yeah, Bo; loved his voice, loved his performances, and I always said that if he came to play here, in Montreal, I would go and see gim; providing he’s not charging 55 bucks, that is.
And I still would go see him. There are not many Idols that I would pay to see, but Bo and My David are definitely two of them. And I’d also seriously think about Melinda, Lakisha and LaToya.
These girls could blow so much more than just socks. (OK, I’m sorry, I’m a little addicted to the sock thing, I’m aware of it now. It will stop soon.)
Bu anyway, it was great to hear from Bo, I’m glad he’s well and happy, I hope his album blows so… kicks butt, and that he’ll come to play In Montreal one day. And, hey, Bo, if you don’t mind very small venues, I can even hook you up.
And same for My David, whom I’d also be more than happy to accommodate, feed, clean, fuck, etc.
No sweat dude, all you have to do is ask.
Syesha walks out on the stage before Ryan calls her. I love it when they do that. I like to entertain the idea that it pisses off Ryan, and that it’s a form of revenge on behalf of the contestants, who do get tortured a fair bit by Ryan. It’s like silent payback time.
“Couldn’t you, like, wait? Do you guys know that you can watch the show backstage, on the monitors? Give it a shot sometime. If there IS a “sometime”, that is.
OK, Syesha, tell me, In six weeks, you’ve managed to sing 16 Whitney songs. You fooled even me, I have no idea how you did it. But what made you think that it would be “lucky 17″?”
Syesha: I didn’t really think about it; it’s just a habit. I mean, I see a Whitney song, or I see a song that David Cook could run through his “Whitney-songs-generator”, and I just go for it, it’s like an instinct. It’s only when I’m really stumped that I try something different, like Céline or Mariah.
Ryan: Well, Syesha, you’re through. And you better ask David C to get to his laptop and Google you some new songs pretty soon, because between you and Ramiele, you’ve pretty much scraped the bottom of the Idol Whitney barrel at this point.”
Syesha sashays her way to the sofa, as two very miserable looking hippies enter.
I have a lot of notes for this, and sadly, I cannot read any of them. There must have been a good exchange here, because I tried to write everything down, and as a result, none of it makes any sense.
From what I can visually salvage, I think that Sunshine hasn’t watched her performance from last night, so she doesn’t know she sucked. However, she enjoyed herself last night, which must means that she still thinks she was good.
Then I have “Simon has to apologize a lot”. What for, bitch? Not finding you as good as you obviously find yourself?
Man, this chick SO rubs me the wrong way.
As for Jason, I have “liked last”. That’s it.
But none of this matters at all, because this is the best moment of the night:
BROOKE IS IN THE BOTTOM 3, YOU GUYS, OMG, LMFAOROTF!!!
This is the BEST BOTTOM 3 EVER.
I LOVE it. Having Sunshine in the bottom 3 is the best thing that ever happened to this show. Or to me, while I’m watching this show. I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. I’m relishing this moment like you have no idea.
Honestly, this is even better than Pikachu.
(Idol, listen: I’ll make a deal with you: I see your Pikachu; I raise you my redneck Barbie, even though she’s amusing.
And in exchange, you put Brooke in the bottom 3 again next week.
No, no, don’t kick her out. This is way better. Plus, she could decide to sing about another colour one of these days, and I don,t want to miss it. So, do we have a deal?)
Simon shares my opinion. In fact, he too is jumping up and down, clapping and pouring white wine, while giggling like an idiot.
“This is absolutely the right bottom 3”, he says, between two sips of wine.
In the meantime, P/R are still sitting still wide-eyed, silent, mouth gaping open, still unable to fathom Krist-Hee’s presence in he bottom 3 ON COUNTRY NIGHT. KLC NIGHT.
Then Simon loses his interest in the bottom 3 completely. He turns towards Carly and winks at her. “Hey beautiful. I just wanted to say this: what I said last night about your clothes? True. All of it. You could look like a million bucks, and you choose to settle for a hundred grand. What’s wrong with you? You’re a very cute girl, Carly.”
I kid you not, you guys, he did totally say “You’re a very cute girl”, or something very similar. Ooooh, Simon, you naughty, you.
OK, now if THAT was not blatant shameless flirting, well I don’t know what is. I’m telling you folks, Carly might not be preggers yet, but at this rate, she will be by the end of the season. Trust me, I can feel those things.
In the meantime, Jordin Fucking Sparks has got to come and spoil all of my fun and try to sell me a CD at the same time. Go fuck yourself, bitch.
Did you know about Idol Gives Back?
Miley stupid Cyrus will be there, yeay! And Sheila E, too… Wait. Sheila E? Where the hell does she come from? 1982? Do they seriously expect the Miley crowd to know who Sheila E is? Heck, my own crowd doesn’t know who Sheila E is!
We have an Oprah moment, with little Ethiopian orphans who can’t sleep at night, because of all the violence and abductions.
And then, just like that, Idol shows up and reunites two sisters; and if you donate next week, they can reunite even more siblings.
By the way, I’m not taking the piss at the kids situation here; at all.
But you have to admit, Idol’s approach can be a little nauseating at times. A little-ish.
Time for the Dolly performance. For the occasion, those bottom 3 losers, composed of I don’t care, Pikachu and BROOKE!!! (Hahaha, Brooke you guys!!! This is so good!!) are allowed to enjoy once again the softness and comfort of the safa. (<< Not a typo.
I want to give the sofa a pet name, like I did with the peppit. The safa (SAfe soFA) is symbolic of victory now. So safa it is.)
And they might as well make themselves comfortable, because they might want to take a nap.
Dolly? Not good.
The outfit is okay, I guess, for Dolly Parton. Not me though. White capris, white jacket, white high heel boots, white sequins? Nope.
First, my body rejects white. Then, my feet reject my body when I wear stilettos, so Dolly’s outfit would be a perfect fit for me if what I was after was a complete disaster.
Dolly is singing, rather badly, a song about ‘having both Jesus and gravity’. What is this? An “Evolutionists, meet Creationists, and now, see how we can all get along!” kinda thing? Seriously, this is not my vibe. In fact, I think I may even hate it.
I’m not a country fan.
And very much less, a religion fan.
So both of them rolled up together like that, I find it hard to stomach. I mean, Dolly does hit the odd high note here and there, but that song is so infuriating, with its “Jesus is my life” message all over the place, that I just can’t give her the credit for them, just out of spite.
(Wittle David? Are you here? I’m sure you are, my blog is so totally appropriate for you.
OK, let’s have a talk.
This song, the “Jesus loves gravity” one? Do it, for Idol Gives Head. It’s perfect for you.
And while we’re here? You’re good, but you annoy me.
Last season, Simon told Melinda to stop smiling like an idiot all the time. I’d like to know how come YOU get away with it? Something we don’t know? And one last thing: you’re boring. Bye-bye.
Hey, did you know that Dolly’s been taking preaching courses? She’s going al “Hallelujah, Hallelujah” on us, and … What the hell is going on here, exactly? What is this? Church? Since when do we praise the Lord while acting like a headless chicken on Idol? Since when do we praise the Lord on Idol?
Can’t I watch a fucking entertainment program without someone going all “I love Jesus” on me? People don’t seem to be able to shut the fuck up about their religious beliefs on this side of the pond.
Seriously, that annoyed the crap out of me. And no, Dolly wasn’t being obnoxious or preachy about her shtik, but still. Didn’t like it. Those states of semi-trance, where folks are going all berserk and acting like they’re possessed or something, make me uncomfortable. It obviously wasn’t to that extend tonight, but this is American Idol. not Christian Idol.
The song itself was bad enough, I really could have done without the theatrics that followed.
OK. I’m done with ranting. I think… Yes, I am.
So once Dolly’s done with the “Hallelujahs” and the arms up in the air and the twirling around like a dervish, she tells how awesome a time she had last night, watching Idol in bed, and how honored she felt, when Jesus woke her up after the show with a congratulatory phone call.
She then adds that Brooke should really learn to shut the fuck up when she’s given feedback by Simon:
“Simon speaks the truth, Brooke darling. It’s totally okay for you to steam-roll all over the other two, because really, no one cares what they think; although Paula does occasionally make for good TV, when she shows up for work after hitting happy hour. She usually makes absolutely no sense, then, but at least she’s funny. As for Randy, he’s as boring as a lamppost.
But Simon, he’s the Man. The Man who signed the cheque which convinced me to come here and coach these knuckleheads. So YOU, blondie, let him speak. Got it?
Oh, and Paula? I LOVE working with you, and I think it’s absolutely great that we can swap clothes. I love that hot pink straight-jacket of yours, by the way, do you think I could borrow it sometime? I’ve been invited to the monthly “Country and western fetish extravaganza”, back in Nashville, but I don’t really have anything suitable to wear, so I haven’t given them a definite answer yet. But if you can help me out and lend me some gear, I’ll go, and I’ll even try to score you an invite if you’d like to tag along. Whaddaya think?”
Paula: Oh, you can keep the pink straight-jacket if you want. I have six others, and anyway, pink is soooo 2006. It’s all about electric blue this year. Or it will be, later on this year. I like to be avant-garde. And thanks for the invite, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it. Madonna’s having an S&M wine and cheese at the end of the month, and I’m invited. I went last year, and it was a lot of fun, although hanging from the candelabra did hurt a little. Especially after the second day. But it was all in good fun. I’m sure they didn’t mean to forget to unhook me, I just think that after the party, everyone was just tired, and no one thought about looking up. But all ended well, the caterers found me when they came to clean up, they got me down, and after 6 weeks of physio, I could walk almost normally again.
Dolly: That sounds like fun, y’all! Hee-haw! Hallelujah!
Simon: Dolly, that’s enough with the religious stuff, please. It really irritates that nasty Montreal recapper, who already doesn’t seem to like us very much. Don’t make things worse.”
Now is the time for my favourite moment of the week: the one when Ryan torments my least favourite contestants since… ever.
You guys, this is almost orgasmic. Sunshine and Pikachu both in the bottom 3… Wicked! Brooke being the wickedest…!
Orgasm over: Brooke is safe. Oh, dang.
Still, it was fun while it lasted. And it could always happen again next week.
You can clearly see that Sunshine didn’t see that one coming at all; this obnoxious Mormon obviously think that she is in NO WAY bottom 3 material, and this is what is so deliciously ironic about the whole thing.
Ryan: So Brooke, how do you find that helping of humble pie? Bit dry, isn’t it? This is your first time in the losers’ corner, how do you like it? And how does it feel to sit on a bar stool for the first time in your life?
Brooke: Ryan, do you have a tissue please? This is very hard. Oh, thank you, Ryan. First of all, sitting on a bar stool makes me feel like a sinner. Second of all, it’s embarrassing to be put on the same level as skanky Krist-Hee over here. So I’m feeling really emotional about this whole thing, Ryan, you know? But it’s okay, it’s okay. I will rise above this, Ryan I have learned a lot about myself tonight, and I […] but really, I thought picking “Jolene” would […], and then my brother told me I could play the song in C, and then […], and this is why I picked the yellow dress. And I th…”
A phone rings.
“Hello? Yes, yes, this is Ryan Seacrest… Tom? Tom who?.. Oh, I’m sorry, Tom Bergeron!… Of course, I didn’t recognize your voice… How’s it hanging, buddy?… What? Are you kidding?… 9.15pm already?… No I knew we were running late, but I didn’t think we were running THAT late…
Yes… Yes, it’s HER… Yeah, the blonde, yeah… No, that’s the other blonde… She’s annoying too, but not quite as much… I know…. Haha, Tom!…
Yeah, tell me about it, haha!… Oh, come on, that was MEAN! Haha!… Yeah… What?.. No, she’s always like this…
Tonight?… No, it’s not even her… No it’s not her either… The little one, yeah… Yeah, she is sweet, but man, she cries A LOT…
Huh?… No, Simon’s alright… Yes, I will say hi… When he wakes up, cos’ I think He’s kinda dozed off… But…
What?… Yeah, normally we do have half hour results shows at this time of year, but you know how “some people” can be “long-winded”?… Haha, Tom!…
Oh, yes, yes, definitely! Next week, we’re dealing with that bitch first thing, so that we get can along with the rest of the show… No, the others aren’t quite as attention whorish… Well, not to THAT point, anyway, so even if she yabbers on for half of the show, we’ll still manage to fit the other seven in whatever time we have left… Yeah… But you have my word Tom, this won’t happen again…
Yeah, I too hope she’ll be gone next week… Yeah… Well, thanks a lot, buddy… You too… Oh, say hi to Carrie-Ann for me, will you? And sorry about this again… Ok… Bye, now!
Erm, Brooke? Are you done? Because that was Tom Bergeron from Dancing with the Stars, and they’d like to know if they can start their show sometime tonight. They have Kylie Minogue, who apparently has anger issues, and has already trashed two dressing-rooms so far. They say you’re costing them a lot of money on furniture. So just go and sit down, and for the love of all things holy, just SHUT YOUR FUCKING PIEHOLE ALREADY GODDAMMIT!
Krist-Hee? Rednecks still love you, go sit down.
Rami, you’re… Rami? Where are you? Ram… oh, what are you doing under the safa? Come here, please.
Oh no, Ramiele, please don’t hug me, I don’t want to end up with snot all over my pant leg like yesterd… Oh well, too late… Thanks a lot, AGAIN.
Geez, if I wanted to get drooled on every fucking night, I’d get a bulldog…
Anyway, listen Rami, I’m really sorry to have to ask you this, but you have to do us a favour and go home, please.
You actually are not the one with the least votes; Danny and his friends voted for you like crazy last night, so that’s not the problem. The problem is that the person who got the least votes is Brooke, and… wow…
I mean, you CAN imagine the drama, if we send her home tonight, right?
NO WAY will Dancing with the Stars even come on at all, and then, they’ll sue the shit out of us; so for financial reasons, we can’t afford to eliminate her tonight.
But we’ll do that next week, and do you want to know how? Let me tell you a little secret:
I’m going to call a bottom 3 of Syesha, Jason, and just to throw people off, David Cook. So we’ll keep those three sweating buckets on their stools, just long enough to create some suspense, but not too long, because we don’t want to send David Cook to the hospital again.
And then I’ll say, all solemn and sinister and stuff: “And the person who goes home tonight is… … … …
… … …”
And then I’ll turn very fast towards the safa, and will point at Brooke, and I’ll go “Brooke White!”.
During that time, Randy will have called security, and we’ll have her immediately escorted off the stage, the building, and the city, all that faster than you can say “I love Jesus”. Michael Australia is even willing to lend a hand if she fights back too much.
So Rami, you HAVE to watch next week, it’ll be hilarious. And I’ll wave at you too.
Are you OK?
Ramiele: “Well, like, no, but…. *, sniffles, sobs, waterworks* Bwah, Ryan, bwah!!!…”
Ryan: Rami, look, look, here on the screen… It’s you! Yeay! Let’s watch a recap of your happy times here, I’m sure it’ll make you feel better! Look!”
So we see clips of Ramiele, back to when she was more cute than annoying, (although she suddenly has become cute again, as far as I’m concerned). She says that she would have liked to be the first Asian American Idol, and she says other stuff too, but after recapping Ryan and Brooke, I’m all out of words.
But still, I do feel a itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini sorry for her.
But it doesn’t last; hey, look at me now, I’m over it already!…
Yeah, I know, I’m just resilient like that…
We see a montage of Pikachu hugging just about everyone under the sun, including Dolly Parton, and this is when I realize that Pikachu really is bloody minuscule, because Dolly looks like a basketball player when standing next to her.
In the montage, we see a shot of My David and Pikachu sitting in front of a laptop, and that infuriates the fuck out of Michael Australia; if you listen well, you can hear Michael’s voice in the background, grumbling to My David:
“Oh. I see. “Apparently” Mr. Cook is too busy to help his good mate Mike, but if you’re a girl, he’ll somehow find the time, huh? First Carly, then Syesha, and now, hey, look at that, Ramiele too…! Double-standards much, motherfucker?
David: Listen, Mike, I’ll make it up to you, buddy. I promise, next time we go to the strip-club, it’s on m…
Pikachu’s montage ends with her trademark: “Oy lo'”, or “Oh, lo'”, or whatever it is that she says, and then, just like that, the end.
On the stage, poor little Pikachu is going full St-Lawrence River on us, bawling her eyes out, to the point where even I, this cold-hearted bitch, feels bad for her.
Interesting fact: While Pikachu is flooding the stage, you’ll notice that all the girls are around her.
The guys? Nowhere to be found. Even the ever-so-sensitive and emotional Wittle David didn’t bother coming down to give her a hug. My explanation for it, is that the guys are all wearing black, so they don’t want to get covered in snot, because snot on black is too visible; but then I see My David is wearing beige. What gives, baby? What’s with the cold shoulder?
As for Michael Australia, he’s green with jealousy, which is perfectly understandable, given that My David appears to be very picky when it comes to Googling songs.
Ryan feels bad for man-less Pikachu, so he gives her a pep-talk which only makes it worse; the poor little thing is totally losing her shit, and cries, and cries, and cries some more, to the point where I think even I would give her a hug.
After swinging by the nearest seafood restaurant, and asking for one of these plastic aprons they give you when you order lobster.
Then, Pikachu has got to go through the final torture, the “Sing us out, loser” bit, which has got to suck, whoever you are and whether or not I liked you.
It’s kind of funny, because the four tree-women are still lined up behind her, and it just looks like the chicks from Sex and the City have just collectively adopted a little Asian girl.
To her credit, I’ll say that little Pikachu gets herself together pretty damn quick, and she puts on a brave front.
As soon as the music starts, she immediately stop sobbing and sniffling, and starts singing, while the amazons behind her, dance and wave their arms. After a while, My David gets over himself, and finds it in his heart to go wiggle his adorable butt with the ladies. Encouraged by his efforts, the other boys join in, including a not-so-quite-disgruntled-now Michael Australia.
Ramiele tests one last time her “walking on the stage” new found super-powers, just to make sure she hasn’t lost them overnight, and, while she’s at it, also tests her “Shaking hands with the crowd” abilities and discovers that Idol gave her that power too! Yeay! Confetti!
And you know what? She doesn’t even sound that bad, in retrospect. Check it out for yourself, here’s the elimination video.
Conclusion: Meh.. Pikachu wasn’t THAT bad after all, really. And she’s a good little soldier too. I was pleasantly surprised to see how quick she regained her composure after they dropped a brick the size of Maryland on her head.
I wanted to finish on a heatfelt message for Pikachu, but I’ve reconsidered; I’ve decided that Pikachu deserves her own post.
So stayed tuned. See ya soon.