Ok, this is my current standing as far as “recapping” goes:
-Top 8 performances: about a third written
-Top 8 results: zip
Top 7 results: somewhere between a quarter and a third written
Top 6 performances: haven’t even watched the show yet.
So I decided to try something new, again.
Last night, I was making a lame attempt at “recapping”, when idol came on. And bizarrely enough, I didn’t even feel like watching it.
I’ve stated my dislike for all things Andrew Lloyd Webber before, so that wasn’t much of an incentive to start with, especially after having to suffer through Divah Carey last week.
Plus, as I over-explained in my useless whiny “Oh my life sucks so bad, and by the way, did you see the riot for the Habs quarter-finals?” post, I had an Idol OD. From the show, from almost incessantly babbling about it on the board, from not getting my “recaps” in on time, and then stressing out like crazy about it, but also from something else.
As I stated, I spend way too much time on the internets, and more specifically, on message boards. And lately, I have witnessed a mega-huge wave of estrogen-fueled fantardiness towards my David.
I personally tend to blame Michael Australia for this, since he’s responsible for taking half of the male eye-candy away from the show; because, apparently, not every woman in the world is into my David “that” way. And I can understand why. I mean, I’ve always found Michael Australia attractive, I mean, he IS attractive, but he’s not like, fantasy material for me. But he is for many women.
And I can understand how my David’s unkempt fresh-off-the-bed-and-straight-into-the-clothes-bundled-up-on-the-floor rocker could put off a few. Personally, I find him to be one of the sexiest guys on earth, but believe me or not, a great number of my fantasies with him involves us… talking. How boring am I, seriously?
I love him, I think he’s a great singer, I think he’s sexy as hell, but the one thing that totally made me fall for him, was his love for crosswords puzzles. And his sense of humour, because he’s got one.
You know how people can function on three levels? Like you can think with your heart, your head, or your dick, kinda thing? Or for the girls, their vagina, although between you and I, mine really isn’t all that expressive, but that is another story for another day.
Anyway, I am totally one of these people who thinks with their head; one thing I do normally, and then again… But yeah, brains really are what turn me on. Looks help of course, but in the long run, it isn’t what matters the most.
Of course, occasionally, I’ll fuck up, will stop paying attention to my heart for a sec, and it will stupidly go and fall in love with some totally unsuitable dude; or some other times, I’ll get drunk and let some dude’s dick do the thinking for me.
IRRELEVANT BITS TIME
But overall, I am a pretty hardcore intellectual who overthinks everything all the time. I’m also a total dork who loves videogames. Kicked my buddy Alex’s ass on the medium level of his own “Guitar hero” game, which I’d never played before! Haha! I love kicking boys’ butts at videogames, man, because they don’t expect me to be good.
Same with pool; when I practice a bit, I’m a very good player, although an inconsistent one, but when I’m on, I’m on; and when you get to beat some big macho dude’s ass, who looks down on you because you’re a girl, and makes some bigoted remarks to his equally retarded sidekick giggly friend, every time you aim to take a shot, it really is fucking cool. Especially when said guy then comes towards you with his tail between his leg afterwards, all, “I have to admit, you can play. Can I buy you a drink?”. Even cooler.
One last thing, before I shut this little section about me, and what I look for in a guy, (sorry, these annoying bits are included with the “recap”, but hey, at least it’s free!) I wanted to add that I love HTML. I didn’t feel like blogging last night, so I just fucked around with whatever HTML of my blogging platform I could manipulate until like 3. The sad thing is, I totally suck at it too.
I don’t know why, but I have this love-hate relationship with HTML. It does my head in, but I still can’t let go. I’ll spend two hours scouring the web for an HTML code that will ultimately fuck up my whole page, and then another two hours fixing it, and then another two trying to figure out what went wrong.
So basically, if you’re male, bright, can make me laugh, are over 18, enjoy videogames and HTML, and don’t mind fake redheads who spend too much time on the web, email me, you may have a chance. If you enjoy doing housework, you have an even better chance.
BEGINNING OF END OF IRRELEVANT BITS
But let’s get back to my David, shall we?
So as I was saying half an hour ago, David Cook has, in the space of a week, become THE sex symbol. For me, he’s been one for a while, so there is nothing new here; I and, I admit it, I will occasionally fawn over a new pic, where he looks hot as hell, but there is limit to the number of times when I can say “OMG he’s so hot and sexy and I totally want to do him”. After a while I get bored and I have to move on to something else.
Now, I don’t really know about the other boards, since I only post on IMDb, although I occasionally read VFTW’s, where fantardiness is strictly prohibited. Or, if I need a laugh, I’ll glance at Idol forums, where the adulation can sometime border on pathetic, or in some cases, downright scary.
But since IMDb’s my turf, I’ll just say that the David Cook mania has taken over to a point when even I got sick of it. When every time you refresh your page, two or three new quasi-obsessive David Cook threads have appeared, it’s just too much.
And to my surprise, all this excessive fawning put me off. I mean, I’ve had boyfriends I didn’t spend as much time thinking about. I don’t know, I love him, but when the boards become flooded with DC threads to the point that it ‘s almost difficult to have a conversation about something else, without someone posting a crutch picture, it gets tiresome.
Which is why last night, I chose messing around with HTML over watching Idol. I taped it, but haven’t felt like watching it yet.
PRETTY MUCH END OF IRRELEVANT BITS
(But I’d like to update on the IMDb David Cook obsession, and I’m happy to announce that things have calmed down on that front, and that this problem has now been replaced with a new one: stalkers. IMDb rocks!)
But then, tonight, came the results. And I realized that if I didn’t watch the results, tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to put on the TV, the radio, or surf the web without finding out what tonight’s outcome was. And then I realized that I kinda didn’t want to deprive myself of all that technology for that long, so I decided to watch the results show live.
Then, a couple of minutes after it started, my hand reached for a sheet of paper and a pen, and started taking notes, in spite of the fact that I had said to myself, before the show started: I am not taking notes for this, I’ll just re-watch it online”.
Unfortunately, tonight, I’m inspired. So I figured, why not “recapping” the results show anyway? Considering it’s 85% filler, 30% of which is spent watching bit of last night’s show anyway, I figured, why the hell not?!
So I had a brief discussion with Ryan, pre-show: “Hey, Rebel, where the hell were you last night?
Rebel Without A Clue: I was in bed, fantasizing about you, Ryan.
Rebel Without A Clue: No, not really. You’re cute and all, but no.
What happened was, I fancy myself as a computer geek, but really, I suck. It took me like four hours to figure out how to change my text font on my blog, without fucking up my nav bar.
Ryan: Are you sure that is not code for “I was in bed fantasizing about David Cook”?
Rebel Without A Clue: Ryan, you’ll never believe me when I tell you this, but I needed to take some time off him. You know how I hate overhyped stuff, right?
Ryan: Well, actually I d…
Rebel Without A Clue: Well I do. Anything overhyped, movies, actors, singers, TV shows, I h…
Ryan: If you hate overhyped stuff, then why the hell are you recapping this show then?
Rebel Without A Clue: First of all, Ryan, it’s not recapping, it’s “recapping”. If I only recapped, you would never get to have sex at all. Well, at least, not with the contestants.
Second, you make a damn good point. I really shot myself in the foot by choosing to “recap'” Idol. First, it’s two hours a week, instead of just one, like most of the other shows, and then, since virtually nothing happens in these two hours, I have to make it all up. No wonder writing these “recaps” take me ages.
Ryan: Anyway, I saw you weren’t here last night, but I had a good idea you’d show up tonight. I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep away from a results show, as boring and exhausting for you as they are. So I arranged for half of tonight’s show to be a recap of last night’s show; we’re supposed to have the call-in, but I’ll subreptitiously not mention it at all. Then I’ll get the judges to talk about who said what last night, and speculate about who’s going home tonight instead.
Rebel Without A Clue: Wow, it’s really kind of you, Ryan. But don’t you think they’ll notice?
Ryan: What, the judges? They won’t care. These idiots love to hear the sound of their own voices, so they’ll be happy to babble on until dawn, especially Paula.
Come on Rebel, you out of all people should know how bland, insignificant, boring and useless that call-in was anyway. You’ve “recapped” it a few times after all.
Rebel Without A Clue: Oh, you guys have ditched the call-in?
Ryan: Now that everyone knows that David Cook is single, we have confirmation that the voting demographic made of females ages 15-50 is intact, and will be for a while, so it’s not really useful anymore. If need be, we’ll bring it back to amuse the teeny-boppers, should things go crazy and Wittle David find himself in danger, but I doubt we’ll reuse it. But don’t worry about tonight, no one will see squat.
For all you know, you might even be able to “recap” last night’s show, just with what you see tonight. By the way, what the fuck is up with your recaps, dude? You’re all over the place with them, you’re getting worse than Jason!
Rebel Without A Clue: I wrote a whiny post yesterday, it will tell all you need to know about that, as well as plenty of things you didn’t want to know, about all kinds of stuff you may or may not care about.
Ryan: Sounds boring. Anyway, get your shit together. I’d like to know if I’ll finally make my way into one of your sex scenes before the end of the season. Remember, you said if you didn’t put me in a sex scene, then I’d get to go to second base with you.
Rebel Without A Clue: Second base? I thought it was first?
Ryan: No, it was second.
Rebel Without A Clue: Ryan, you’re a liar. I just checked my last “recap”, the one from three weeks ago, and it said that I’d only let you get to second base with me if you got me a date with my David. This has nothing to do with you personally.
Ryan: How the hell can I get you a date with the dude IF YOU DON’T EVEN WATCH THE FUCKING SHOW??? The guy’s on TV like 20 minutes a week. Can’t you at least tune in for that? Because seriously, you have competition, Rebel. the chicks are literally throwing themselves at him, and everyday, we receive tons of weird fan mail for him. And when I say fan mail, I mean “fan mail”: personalized inflatable dolls, previously used vibrators, previously worn sexy lingerie, and lots of lots of leather items. Any idea what is up with that?
Rebel Without A Clue: Well, I’ve never done the leather thing myself, unless you wanna count the times when I used to ride around with my motorcyclist ex-boyfriend John; but David does have that kinda vibe, of a guy that would try just about anything in bed, and would also come up with many suggestions on what to try.
Ryan: Really? I don’t get it. But anyway. You and I. if you don’t put me in a sex scene by he end of the season, I get to first base.
Rebel Without A Clue: With me?
Ryan: With you.
Rebel Without A Clue: But… On here you mean? On the blog?
Ryan: Nope. For real. On the blog, I get to third base.
Rebel Without A Clue: Hey, but I write the blog.
Ryan: Yes, and I inspire you. In case you haven’t noticed, I make up about 20% of your “recaps”. I think I deserve a little action.
Rebel Without A Clue: But I…
Ryan: I mean PUBLISHED action. I don’t care if you put me in a sex scene in one of your drafts. What good is it if the world never knows about it? I want my moment of gl…
Rebel reluctantly grabs Ryan by the head and plants a big wet one on his lips.
Rebel Without A Clue: You happy now?
Ryan: You smell like Vicks. Do you have a cold or what?
Rebel Without A Clue: I did. I probably still do since I’m still sniffly, bitchy, and on cough medication.
Ryan: Wow, thanks for the virus!
Rebel Without A Clue: Listen, you’re being difficult. But you know what? Let’s just take care of this right now, once and for all. I don’t want you on my back for the rest of this season, so let’s just do this.
*I take my clothes off, and then I tell Ryan do take his off too, so he does, and then we have sex on the stage, and then we put our clothes back on.*
End of sex scene.
Rebel Without A Clue: Was it good? Did you come?
Ryan: No, but yes. And by the way, you suck in bed. I mean on stage… you know what I mean…
Rebel Without A Clue: I told you: I’m sick. I have a headache. I’m not in a mood for sex.
Ryan: Way to state the obvious. Anyway… Thanks… I have to go… Enjoy the show…
Rebel Without A Clue: Ryan?
Rebel Without A Clue: You’re so fucking typical, it’s not even funny. You, men, suck.
Ryan: Why, because I didn’t cuddle afterwards? But you didn’t even move DURING!!!
Rebel Without A Clue: I wasn’t even THERE, you idiot!
Ryan: Tell me about it!!! How do you think I felt, lying about, naked, on the stage, by myself? Terribly embarrassed is the right answer. Next time, try to add a little romance, it might help.
Rebel Without A Clue: I’m not a romantic, Ryan. I like to do it standing up, in back alleys, between tow dumpsters. Sid and Nancy style. On the upside, I’m cheap: no lingerie, no jewelry, no fancy dinners; just beer and the occasional flowers.
Ryan: Maybe we should just be friends then. I like to treat a woman.
Rebel Without A Clue: And I like to beat down tough guys and show them who the boss is. So maybe you’re right. OK, just get on with the show, this is getting awkward.
Ryan: Alrighty then. Good night! OK, America, do we have a show for you or what!!!!
Rebel Without A Clue: Yeah, right!
Leaving me feeling bad about myself for giving in so easily, Ryan goes to introduce us to these mysterious judges, whom we never get to see enough of. Hi Dawg! Randy does this little, like, gesture, with his arms, kinda like dancing, but sitting down.
Then Ryan kisses Paula on the cheek.
Then he totally casually kisses Simon on the head, and it was pretty funny, actually, because the kiss seemed to make Simon both wake up and get very, very paranoid about Ryan walking around him.
Simon: Paula, do you have any Purell, darling?
Paula: Ryan borrowed it. Stop freaking out Simon, he kissed me too.
Randy: He didn’t kiss me… He high-fived me, but didn’t kiss me! Hey! Ryan! I want a kiss too, dude, yo!
Ryan: Oh, for Christ’s… Rebel, you are a BITCH, you know that?
Rebel Without A Clue: Mwahaha! Go kiss Randy.
Ryan: Oh, fine. There you go my big teddy bear Dawg. Smooch! Satisfied?
Rebel Without A Clue: Hahaha! (you guys have no idea of all the stuff that goes on on that show that you don’t see! Lucky for you, you have me to “recap” it! 😉 )
Then Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, whom from this point on, I shall name AWL, says some stuff, and then, there a shot of him sitting at the piano, and he totally looks like the Cheshire cat for a second.
The group cheese is expectedly terrible, with the three guys singing some boring shit on one side of the stage for an hour, and then the three girls, minus Brooke who’s faking, singing the same boring shit on the other side of the stage for another hour, and then, both groups meet in the middle, where the Cheshire cat is smiling at the piano, and they do this super-complicated choreography where they place themselves guy-girl-guy-girl, just like that, and I love how that show loves to place the shortest person next to two tall ones. It’s not as spectacular as when they had plopped Pikachu next to Michael Australia, in that Ford commercial, but still. Wittle David deserves his nickname, because he is the wittlest on the bunch. I’m sorry guy, it’s getting late, I’m getting lame.
As ALW babbles on about the contestants, and songs, and other stuff that I wouldn’t know about, because I was still in my “I’ll just take a couple of notes here and there” denial mode, some really creepy, horror-movie like music plays in the background. Then, Randy’s voice is heard saying words of encouragement, like “This is gonna be the toughest night yet, for you guys.” But they added echo to his voice for dramatic effect.
And, talking about dramatic, Ryan keeps saying, every five minutes: “This is the most dramatic night so far”, or “last night’s ever-so-dramatic show”.
It’s OK Ryan, I got it, I missed “the most dramatic show so far”. But I got the internet, so I’ll get around to see it, and maybe even “recap” it, who knows…
Ryan: America, we’ll be back after the break.
Yes, Rebel, what is it again? Could you stop interrupting the show every five minutes?
Rebel Without A Clue: It’s the commercial break, we can talk. Why do you keep repeating how dramatic last night was? Are you purposely trying to make me feel bad about missing it?
Ryan: I’m trying to make EVERYONE feel bad about missing it. And believe me, after last week’s Mariah Carey debacle, which turned Wittle David into a leather-wearing bad boy, and Krist-Hee into a sex addict (you’ll notice it didn’t take the boyfriend long to propose, he knows it’s time to unleash the beast), we lost pretty much of all our male viewers. The idea of a ALW night wasn’t appealing to an already thinned out redneck audience.
Rebel Without A Clue: But you said you guys received 38 million votes?
Ryan: Double-think, my friend. I just pretended not to see that dot. We actually received 3.8 million votes; one million for each guy, and the rest, divided between the three girls.
Rebel Without A Clue: So why did you have a bottom 2? Why not an all-female bottom?
Ryan: Vote For The Worst. 20 000 votes that should have gone to the loser went to Brooke instead, which is a good thing. Otherwise, we would have to kick the three of them out, since they had exactly the same number of votes each. So we thought we’d remove one of the Stools, to throw America off.
Rebel Without A Clue: What did you say? Sunshine is still…? But I read that she fucked up again?
Ryan: Yeah, it’s true. It’s hysterical, wait till you see it! We’re gonna replay that specific bit for you in the recap, you’ll love it.
Rebel Without A Clue: I’d love it better if her fuck up showed her the door.
Ryan: Blame VFTW. OK, I gotta go. I’m on my best behaviour tonight, because they didn’t give me anything assholish to do for the first time in two weeks; I want to show them my appreciation, and how wonderful a host I am when I don’t have to hurt people’s feelings for ratings.
You know what’s great? Alcohol. Alcohol can be a lot of fun. This week-end was really fun, in a very stupid, adolescent kind of way. Dancing until 6am, wearing silly hats, and engaging in heavy make-out sessions with the same friend with whom I always engage in make-out sessions every time we get wasted together.
But all that stupidity was strangely liberating. I felt like I was 19 years old this week-end, but in a good way. I had a blast, didn’t do anything really stupid, I got a Habs towel and lots of free beer, laughed a lot, and probably left a huge chunk of my brain back at Barfly, but after the ever-so-shitty last couple of weeks, I think I really needed to blow off steam, and boy did I ever.
I am absolutely wrecked today, but I’m finally relaxed. I don’t feel my head is going to explode anymore. Actually, I don’t feel my head at all.
It was a great week-end; totally unplanned and unexpected (I originally went out on Friday evening to watch Jeopardy, and ended up coming back late last night. That was one long round of Jeopardy. But it was worth it, although I don’t think I’ll be going out for a while after this.
And one last thing: the Habs lost, and last night’s game stank. Get it together boys, dammit. (And since it’s now Monday night, I’m unhappy to say that the Habs lost AGAIN tonight. Get it together boys, dammit!)
END OF INTERLUDE
OK, this is tough. The last time I sat down to write about that “American Idol” show was Wednesday, and for some bizarre reason, it feels like it’s been weeks. It’s hard to get back into it, I find… But I’ll try.
Do you remember the “Write a crappy song and send it to us” competition?
Well, it’s over, but you still have like a week to vote for a crappy song, if you care.
Recap of last night’s show, which I still haven’t seen.
Syesha came out of her shell big time last night, it seems. She’s all sassy and playful, and her performance looks like it was a lot of fun. it was about time. She’s seen getting good feedback from the judges too.
Wittle David: Same old cheese. This kid is so boring, it’s not even funny. He doesn’t even make for good “recapping” material. Ballady-ballada, with Paula Abdul congratulating him for taking a risk. What risk? Doing the same song for the twelfth time in a row? Paula mutters something about a pop ballad. Which is still a ballad. Whatever.
Jason is dressed all in white, and looks about as comfortable singing “Memory” as I would be if you put me a cage with ten hungry pit bulls. It sounds rather sucky, and it probably is, because Simon doesn’t have kind words for that performance.
Then, Sunshine. Who starts a song. Then stops. Then apologizes. Then starts again.
Ryan: How much longer do you expect to be able to get away with murder on this show?
Brooke: What do you mean, Ryan? I’m not sure I follow your thought process accurately.
Ryan: You’re bland. You have no range. You’re annoying. You talk back. You repeatedly fuck up, casually restart, and never get any of the crap that you should deserve for it. In fact, every time you mess up and restart, which has now happened twice, you get praised for it. What gives?
Simon: Ryan, leave her alone. If I had been in her boots, I would have done exactly the same thing: look vacantly into the camera, apologize, then restart. For all I know, I would have cried too. I think Brooke proved how remarkably strong she can be in the face of adversity. Seriously, she really doesn’t have all that much going for her, so I find that she really makes the best out of the crummy cards she’s been dealt.
Ryan: Simon, I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Brooke. Brooke, you fucked up big time last night. Again. Why? What are you going to do about it? How come you’re still here?
Brooke: Simon? Ryan keeps bothering me. Can you make him stop?
Simon: Ryan, leave Brooke alone. She’s my pet. Stop hassling her.
Then, Grace Slick appears, and it sounds awesome. Oh, no wait, that’s Carly, in full 60s attire, singing a song that has “Jesus” in it. It actually sounds really good, and she looks like she’s having a blast. Maybe ALW night wasn’t so sucky after all. Simon has some good comments about Carly’s performance.
And last, but not least, my David, who inherited the pimp spot. His song sounds abysmally boring, like one of these typical over-the-top show tunes which are the reason why I don’t dig musicals in the first place. He sounds good, but the song sucks, in my opinion. However, Randy found it amazing.
From the tidbits I’ve seen, it would seem that the best of the night were Syesha and Carly.
Ryan and ALW have a little chat on the front steps of the stage.
Ryan: So, did you have fun with our contestants? Doesn’t Brooke suck hardcore?
ALW: Brooke is in fact incredibly talented, and should not be criticized because of her bouts of amnesia. She was flawless at the rehearsal.
Ryan: I’m sure America will be thrilled to know that Brooke is great when she’s offstage. I’m pretty excited about her myself when she’s elsewhere, and not singing. I really liked her when she went to spend the week-end in Nova-Scotia, for instance.
ALW: Ryan, why are you such a bitch to Brooke?
Ryan: Rebel is making me. She hates her, and because she’s my puppet master, she makes me hate her too.
ALW: Who is Rebel?
Ryan: She is this wonderful, albeit rather inconsistent blogger, who has added a lot of spice in my life lately.
Rebel Without A Clue: Thank you Ryan. Good evening, Sir. How are you?
ALW: Bloody hell, where do you come from?
Rebel Without A Clue: What kind of question is that? I come from Barfly, where I spent the whole week-end. But enough about me. Why are you people making all these excuses for Brooke? She clearly stinks, she ‘s got a bad attitude, a bad memory, and she can’t even play the piano with shoes. How stupid is that?
ALW: I agree about the piano thing, I too find it rather absurd, not to mention irritating and smelly. But this girl is incredibly resilient, and I can only be impressed by someone who is so immune to ridicule. I do watch Idol, you know, and I did see the second Beatles night, and witnessed the onslaught of yellow too. It was both funny and pathetic, and never in a million years would I have ever expected her to still be here on my theme night. I was a tad nervous at the idea of coaching her. My music is so over-the-top and full of fluff and unnecessary runs and superfluous notes, and over-dramatic everything, that the idea of putting it into the hands of that minimalistic wholesome hippie was somewhat worrying.
I really expected her to run off crying the second she would first lay eyes on me, and not only because I’m unattractive as well as little creepy. I just thought my songs would scare her out of her wits, since they’re so stuffy, but she faced the music anyway, and I give her credit for it. I think it’s really brave to attempt something, knowing full well that you’ll fail and stink. Crazy, suicidal, but brave.
Rebel Without A Clue: I guess I can consider this a satisfactory answer. Thank you and good night. Oh, and please?
Rebel Without A Clue: Please don’t come back next year, even if they ask you. For my sake.
ALW: I do not intend to my dear. I hate hippies, and I what I hate even more are hippies who butcher my songs. And a third of these contestants are hippies, who are unable to mimic the loud, phony, nasal style of singing that I enjoy. Hippies have this thing about “staying true to themselves”, that I find extremely annoying.
But at least, Brooke gave it a shot, and I do believe that she can have a reasonably fruitful career as a rehearsal artist. As long as she abstains from playing live in front of an audience, I think she has potential. That’s why I cannot dislike her with the same intensity as you do. It’s not easy to find people who actually enjoy singing my songs, you know? You have to be pretty desperate to sing, to do it voluntarily. Why do you think Broadway recycles so many old Idol rejects? Because these guys would do just about anything to get exposure, as long as it doesn’t involve taking their clothes off in front of a camera. Although I wouldn’t be surprised to find that Constantine guy in a porn movie some day.
Rebel Without A Clue: I agree with you. Constantine totally is adult industry material. How about David Cook? Don’t you think he’d be great in a porno? With me? I can totally see us getting it on.
Ryan: Then it would be a really shitty porn movie. Rebel is super-crummy in sex. I just got it on with her, fictionally, at the beginning of the show, and she really sucked, and not in a good way.
Rebel Without A Clue: Ryan, I’d appreciate it if you could lay this issue to sleep and stop bringing it up every five minutes. I would like to get laid again one day in the future, and repeatedly telling the whole world what a lousy lay I am is not helping my cause, and I’ve just used the word “lay” three times.
It’s not my fault if you aren’t sexy.
Ryan: Wow, thank you so very much. I feel sorry for the next guy who’ll attempt to hump this wooden stat…
Rebel Without A Clue: OK, that’s enough, I’m out of here. Ryan has a very small dick, and I didn’t feel it at all. Good night America.
ALW: Is that true? You have a small penis? I do too. And do you know who else I think has a small penis? Jason Castro. I hate that bloke. He is an arsehole. He didn’t even show up for for rehearsal. He had David Cook passing me the following message: “Jason is sleeping. He’d like you to know that he will be singing “Memory”, and that he doesn’t need your help. He also said to tell you that he hates musicals.”
I mean, is this complete lack of respect, or what? I really dislike this attitude. I’m British, I’m knighted, I believe myself to be important and talented, and I expect others to believe it too.
My David turns up on the stage, and crouches next to Ryan. “Ryan, can we go outside? Carly, Jason and I are like really bored, and we’re falling asleep. Maybe some fresh air would wake us up. Plus Jason has got this terrific new weed, and we’d love to try it. Since this show appears to be all about Brooke, we believe no one will notice if we’re high.”
Ryan: Sir Andrew, are you done with kissing Brooke’s ass yet?
ALW: No, not quite.
Ryan: OK then, go, but hurry back.
My David: Thanks Ryan. You’re the coolest. Syesha, do you want to come?
Syesha: I’ve never smoked pot before, but you’re right, this show is terrible, so maybe I’ll try a little. It can’t hurt, right?
ALW: First of all, I would like to thank Brooke and young David for sticking around, in Ryan and I’s company, which has got to suck.
Sunshine and Wittle David, in unison: We’re Mormons, we’re not allowed to go outside.
ALW: That’s a shame. Anyway, I think you guys should win, because you’re nice, respectful people, unlike Jason, whom I detest. Young David here is absolutely wonderful, and deliciously robotic. I really like him.
At the mention of “Young David”, the peppit reacts hysterically, spooking the hell out of Sir Andrew.
ALW: Bloody hell, what was that? I hadn’t noticed that a you had a live audience.
At the mention of “live audience” the peppit goes nuts.
Peppit goes nuts.
ALW: Your live audience is amusing, although very short.
Ryan: I think they’re bored, and they’re trying to keep themselves awake by screaming and jumping around. And I’m thinking about joining them, because you’re kind of a drag. How much longer are you going to keep talking?
ALW: How long do I have?
Ryan: Depressingly enough, 50 minutes.
ALW: Fine, that will do. I’d just like to say that I hope Brooke and young David here, win this competition, and that I hate Jason, who I believe is only sticking around because of your fine selections of snacks backstage.
Ryan: I believe that too. I even asked him once, but he didn’t understand the question.
Randy: I’d like to say something in Jason’s defense though. I mean yo, last night was one of the toughest nights of the competition. Hard enough for singers to pull off, so can you imagine how difficult it is for a performance artist like Jason?
ALW: I think you should mind your own business. I made time for this kid; I intended to spend at least 15 minutes on him. I wrote a list of advice for him to follow, including “Do not sing “Memory”, “Get a haircut”, and “Do not bother showing up for rehearsal if you don’t intend to follow the above instructions.”
Brooke: Ryan, Wittle David would like me to accompany him to the toilet. Is it okay?
ALW: I will take young David to the toilet. It wouldn’t be proper for a pure young lady like you, Brooke, to walk into the gents.
Brooke: Oh, It’s okay, I was just going to take him into the ladies.
Ryan: All of you, go to the toilet. We are going to commercial.
Rebel Without A Clue: Ryan has small dick.
When we come back from commercial, Ryan and I are having some awesome make-up sex in the red green room.
I have absolutely no idea how that happened. I went to the fridge to get some smoked oysters, and when I came back, this was written. I suspect it might be Ryan.
Since Ryan is temporarily unavailable for his hosting duty, they roll the Ford commercial to give him the necessary 30 seconds to finish, because I’m that good that it’s all the time I need to give a guy the time of his life.
The Ford commercial is actually really cool. It’s some take of the still awesome videoclip of “Take on me” by Aha, the one where comic books characters come to life, and navigate between the real world and comic book world, and it’s really cool, and man, were these guys hot or what?
And all the Idols have received clothes, hair and make-up tips from Marilyn Manson’s stylist, and they all look wild and crazy, especially Carly, who looks like, insane, and Sunshine’s hair is bigger than Diana Ross’s, and my David looks demented and freaky with his pale contact lenses, and you might as well take a look at it yourself, because it really is cool.
Backstage, the Idols are watching the commercial and giggling like crazy, especially the stoned ones.
Ryan: Rebel, that was great. Can we do it again?
Rebel Without A Clue: No Ryan, you have a show to host, and I have notes to take, for a blog that by the way, you have no business in modifying. Did you write this sex scene in while I was getting my smoked oysters?
Ryan: I kinda did, yeah. I figured that if I waited for you to put me a sex scene, I probably wouldn’t get any until season 10. You have great boobs, by the way.
Rebel Without A Clue: Thanks. I love your nipple ring. Kinky.
Ryan: Carly did it last Tuesday night, when me, her, and Tattoooman got plastered together. I must have passed out, and I guess that is when she did it, because I don’t remember it. Anyway, when I woke up, it was there, and I left it, because I kind of like it.
OK, I guess I’m gonna have to get back to work. Problem is that I have a hard-on again, and it doesn’t seem to want to go away. Hey, control-room?? Can you roll the Bush clip? That should get rid of my boner in no time.
The Chimp and his wife are grinning at the camera, and want to thank everyone who donated their moolah to Idol Gives Head, and say that it’s a good thing that shows like Idol Gives Head exist, because as far as George is concerned, who fucking cares about people dying from malaria if the slums where they live isn’t sitting on some oil reserve. This exasperating Ferret tells us that idol Gives Head raked in over 60 million bucks, that he couldn’t have done better himself, and God bless.
Dear George: Please go fuck yourself away from my television screen. I cannot stand you. Laura seems pretty cool, but she’s either blind, or completely bonkers. Anyone who sleeps with you voluntarily has got to have a few cracks in the ceiling.
Ryan: Well, that was efficient. Boner is gone, so I’ll get on with the show. See you later, Rebel. Thanks for the good time.
Rebel Without A Clue: You’re welcome. And by the way?… It’s not THAT small.
Ryan: Rebel, I think this your best “recap” yet. A masterpiece. And I’m not just saying that because I got laid.
Rebel Without A Clue: No Ryan, you’re saying that because you want to get laid again, and you’re shamelessly kissing my butt. You are so not subtle.
Listen buddy, I’d like to finish “recapping” this before the next season starts, so how about you go and torment those poor contestants?
Ryan: Alright then. And, Rebel? Anytime.
Rebel Without A Clue: Ryan? Your fly’s open.
Ryan: Oh, shit, yeah. Thanks. Ciao.
Where are the contestants? Where is everyone? Simon, wake up!
Simon: Huh? Yawn… Ah, there you are! Where the hell were you?
Ryan: Upstairs, fucking a blogger. Where is everyone?
Simon: Randy, Paula, Jason, Syesha David Cook and Carly are smoking pot outside, Wittle David and Sir Andrew are still in the toilet, and I don’t know where Brooke is.
Ryan: Shoot. This isn’t good. I cannot host a show that only features one judge. Hmmm… OK, America, tonight, we have a bottom two, it’s a brand new innovation that we came up with at 8.50. And these, are the Stools, where the Losers will be sitting, sometime, tonight, if we’re lucky. Simon, can you check the bathroom? I’m a wittle concerned about Wittle David.
America, Fantasia, for some reason, is on a stamp. As in, her picture is on a stamp, but I sort of forgot why, because I left my cue cards ups…
At this second, there a lot of brouhaha backstage, and the stoners make a very disorderly entrance. My David is carrying Paula on his back, and Carly is carrying Jason on hers. They’re all giggling like crazy. Behind them, Syesha and Randy, arm in arm, are belting:
“The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire / We don’t need no water, let the motherfucker burn / Burn, motherfucker burn!”
Then Carly and My David tackle Ryan, and Jason sits on his head and farts. In the meantime, Paula is wrapping herself all over Simon, who initially refused to go look for Wittle David, but who has just changed his mind. As he gets up, Sir Andrew and Wittle David walk in, each eating a humongous banana split. Paula attempts to unbuckle Simon’s belt, and it’s complete anarchy everywhere in the room.
Ryan tries to regain control of the situation, but it’s very difficult to do that when you have three idols lying down on the floor, laughing like hyenas, and holding on to your pant leg. “Rebel, why are you doing this to me? The collective madness? I’m completely losing my hosting credibility here.”
Rebel Without A Clue: It amuses me. Can I help you with something?
Ryan: Can you at least get these guys off me? Especially Carly, who keeps pinching me. I’m gonna have a bruise, maybe even two.
Simon: Can she also get Paula off me, while she’s at it?
Rebel Without A Clue: Hey, I’m not the one who gave them the OK to go get stoned. That is your idea, Seacrest.
Ryan: I thought it’d be funny.
Rebel Without A Clue: Oh, it’s funny alright. Stupid, but funny. Way better than the call-in if you ask me.
OK. since Idol is, after all, a family show, and Ryan is just about to lose his pants for the third time tonight, I will temporarily reestablish order in that zoo of a show, so that he can keep his job.
Ryan calls David and David on stage. They both show up, smiling from one ear to the other, but for different reasons. They are both dressed in black shirts and jeans, which totally proves that My David reads my blog, and started to share my fashion advice with Wittle David. Wittle David has his face buttered with the hot fudge from his banana split.
Randy, all of sudden, decides the time has come to embrace is gayness, and declares my David is a “molten hot lava bomb”, or something like that, which sounds like something I could totally agree with. My David makes a weird face that drives all the estrogen in America completely apeshit.
Simon is in top shape after his nap. He says “You, Wittle David, were weak and forgettable last night, which is not a good strategy. Weak is good, but forgettable isn’t. You need to learn how to be unforgettably weak, every week. Get it?
David Cook, you are so hot, I’m drooling right now. Actually, that is not true. I’m drooling because I’m eating drool producing candies, which tend to keep Paula off my back, because she doesn’t like men who drool.
Ryan: David Cook, whose arrangements did you steal borrow this week?
My David: Hahaha Ryan, good one. Give me a hug, man. I love you, you’re awesome dude. You have to come and get high with us later on, man, Jason’s weed is wicked, man! Gimme another hug.
Ryan: The arrangements, the… Get off me, man!
My David: The arrangements? Oh, I decided to fuck with everyone’s mind this week, by doing Sir Andy’s arrangements. I knew no one would see that coming at all.
Because I’m so original, week after, people are starting to find my originality predictable, so I thought, what better way to totally throw everyone a curve ball, by picking the shittiest song that I sang so far this season, and actually do the original, which is abysmal? And looked, it worked, because even Randy and Simon are lusting over me now. The irresistible sex-appeal that oozes from every square-centimeter of my being is now starting to work its magic on straight men.
Ryan:, Ah, talking about sex, there is a blogger who wants to fuck your brains out. Her name’s Rebel, and she’s got great boobs. She’s a pretty decent lay, although a tad lazy. But she finds you really hot, so it’s probable that she’ll try harder with you that she did with me.
My David: I’d totally fuck her brains out too, because I love great boobs, but Idol doesn’t allow us to have sex until we’re done with the tour.
Rebel Without A Clue: No shit? No sex? Wow, that kind of sucks, considering you’ll probably never get as many groupies again as right now! David?
Ryan, why isn’t he answering me?
Ryan: You’ve been filtered out, Rebel. Your excessive use of foul language does not fit with the standards required of family shows.
Rebel Without A Clue: But you swear too!?
Ryan: Yes, and I’m filtered too. Everytime I say “Fuck”, the word America hears, is, in fact “Coke”. “Shit” is replaced by “ITunes”, and all sexual words, like “boob”, “penis” and “brain” are replaced with: “We miss Michael Johns so much” or “Brooke sucks and should not be here”, depending.
Anyway, you, with the hot fudge all over your face, why did you pick that song?
Wittle David: It’s very difficult to find a showtune that isn’t phony, artificial, and self-absorbed. David Cook wouldn’t download the “Giving a meaning and spreading a message of universal love through a shallow showtune” generator, so I ended up calling Dolly Parton. Michael Johns was there when I rang, and I think I interrupted their game of chess or something, at which Dolly must have been losing very badly, because she was screaming at Michael very loudly when she first answered the phone.
She said to do anything with the name “Jesus” in it, but I told Miss Parton, Carly is already doing “Jesus Christ superstar”. And then she said “Sorry then, you’re on your own. Good bye, and hallelujah!” So I asked my dad to pick a song for me, and then just did my best to sing as well as I could, because that is what I always do, give my best.
My David: You know what? It really sucks that we’re not allowed to have sex during the competition and the tour… I mean, I’m never gonna have that many groupies again, and I cannot “Coke” any of them. That “Coking” bites, man. The irony.
Rebel Without A Clue: Exactly. And if you win, you probably won’t be able to have sex for the next five years, so you should just walk of this show in the top three, and then come over to Montreal to check out my plumbing, until the tour starts.
Ryan: Rebel, I told you, he can’t hear you.
Rebel Without A Clue: I know. It’s really frustrating.
Ryan: David? You’re safe. Go wash your face. David? You’re safe. And the sex thing? Sucks. For you anyway. For me, it’s good. More girls.
After the break, we’ll deal with the rest of the contestants, the ones we don’t care about, because we know damn well that they won’t win. By the way, where the hell is Brooke?
Rebel Without A Clue: She just found out that she’s VFTW’s new pick, and is trying to smother herself with a pillow. Again.
Ryan: Oh, “ITunes”. She’s gonna have that crazy hair again. I’d better go and get her.
Rebel Without A Clue: Tell her that I’ll be happy to lend her a hand next time she wants to try that. Like next week.
Ryan: Oh, go “Coke” yourself, Rebel.
Let’s play a game: which idol rejects got a job on Broadway?
Answer: All of them, besides Scott Savol, who works as a prison warden, Constantine, who is a new reader of mine, and just started his own adult website half-an hour ago, and the handful of Idols who actually do manage to live off their music career, (Carrie, Kelly, and Daughtry). Oh, and Jen Hud, that Oscar thief. And Sanjaya, but Sanjaya doesn’t need a job anyway. He just needs to be, because he’s brilliant. He should be like the next Paris Hilton: completely useless, but at least, he’s likable, and he’s cuter and funnier than that horse-faced skank.
Anyway, Diana De Garmo, Fantasia, Lakisha, Clay, and Tamyra Gray all had to relocate to New-York, but they’re all working in diverse musicals. I’m taking the piss at Broadway, but really, it’s cool. Good for them that they’re getting gigs.
I never saw the first season of Idol, so I don’t recall Tamyra, but she seems pretty cool.
A poster on IMDb went to see “Spamalot”, and reported that right after the show, Clay was outside talking with fans, and signing autographs, and that when he came back 10 minutes later, Clay was still outside freezing his nuts and taking pictures, and that he was very nice. Good for him.
I don’t know why, but I’ve always like Clay. Great accent, and I like his humour. I thought he was hysterical on Live with Regis and Kelly, that one time when Kelly broke a 2 liters wine bottle on his head for putting his hand over her mouth. And then Rosie O’Donnell came in and grabbed Kelly by the hair, and then they had this huge catfight, and Kelly won, and she beat up Rosie so badly that Rosie had to give up her job on the View to go on sick leave, and that bitch Barbara Walters took that opportunity to replace Rosie with two black women, one of whom thought the Earth was flat, until Barbara Walters signed her up for brain surgery.
The View kinda sucks now, without Rosie, but it’s still funny sometimes, when Barbara isn’t on. Barbara is like the Sunshine Yellow of the View. Grating, irritating, talks too much, interrupts all the time, irrelevant, and with a tendency to overstay her welcome. The only difference, is that Barbara loves talking about sex, especially at the wrong place, the wrong time, and to the wrong person. In short, compared to Brooke, Barbara Walters is a sassy mama. Ick.
Back to Clay, he’s gotta a CD either out, or almost out, or he’ll have one at some point.
And do you know who else has got a CD? Some chick called Leona Lewis, who gave Clive Davis a blowjob in exchange for free studio time, and then one to Simon, in exchange for a spot on Idol, in order to promote said CD.
The good, is that I love her dress, it’s very pretty and fluid, and it looks bikable. I’d totally wear that for when I go on my date with my David, circa mid-September, if he doesn’t win, or in 2013, if he wins.
Leona Lewis also has nice hair.
Now, for the bad, I absolutely hate it. Another fucking diva in the making, complete with neverending runs, lots of unstomachable high notes, a very annoying way to kinda slide over some notes, it’s very whiny, and basically, she sucks. And obviously, this show hates me. She ends on some notes borrowed from Divah Carey, that no human can hear, but that we can all identify when Paula’s two Chihuahuas come running onto the stage.
Then, just because this is MY “recap”, and I can write what the fuck I want, I’ll make that twenty Chihuahuas, and I’ll have them eat Leona Lewis, without somehow damaging her dress, and good fucking riddance.
Rebel Without A Clue: Ryan? Do you think you could bring the dead bitch’s dress to the dry cleaner, and then mail it to me?
Ryan: Only if you have sex with me again.
Rebel Without A Clue: Oh, Ryan, for Christ’s sake. No.
Ryan: Thou hast woken up my most basic instincts, gentle lady, and thou hast turned me into a sex machine, baby!!!
Can anyone bring me a mop, I’d like to clean up this mess? Mind you, these Chihuahuas sure did one hell of a neat job on that girl. There isn’t an ounce of flesh left on these bones. I think a broom may do the job.
Dear Leona Lewis, this is a very sad ending to such a short, but irritating career. You will be sorely missed until the end of the show, and then, we’ll all just move on. Rest in peace, and can I please have Sunshine and Syesha on the stage?
Syesha shows up, alone. “Where is Brooke?”, Ryan asks. Syesha laughs. “I’d never smoked pot until tonight, Ryan, and I’m like totally stoked right now. You look really funny with your fly down, hahaha!
Ryan: Again??! But I…
Syesha: Hahaha! Made you look! Hihi Ryan! Sunshine is in the back, Carly’s hosing her to shrink her hair, which cannot pass through the doorway. Brooke tried to kill herself by gnawing on a a plugged electrical blanket. Almost worked too! Hahaha!
Some ‘flock flock flock’ sounds are heard, and Brooke appears, dripping wet and leaving puddles all over the place. Carly and Jason are heard backstage, hollering with laughter, and My David is rolling under the safa, with tears rolling down his cheeks.
I smell a bottom two right here, but Syesha doesn’t. She goes off to sit with the Davids.
Ryan: Syesha? You’re in the bottom two.
Syesha: No I’m not. All the judges said I was good, and that hadn’t happened since February. They said that I finally showed that I had a personality, and that it was my best performance ever.
Ryan: America doesn’t like people with personality. The fact that Wittle David has never been in the bottom, or that Carrie and Jordin previously won the title, should give you a clue about that. Now will you bloody take place on your freaking stool already?
Syesha: Oh, come on, please, it’s always me, it’s not fair.
Ryan: Syesha, pot usage makes you very obnoxious, you know? This isn’t like you.
Syesha: The old Syesha is dead. I replaced her with a wild, fun, sassy, sexy girl, because I didn’t want that blogger to give me nickname and make fun of me. I’ve read the stuff she’s written about Brooke, and she is pretty mean.
Ryan: Why are you wet?
Brooke: Oh, don’t worry, it’s okay. I’m not cold or anything.
Ryan: I kinda like it.
Then, for some unknown reason, my alarm clock decided to go off at this very minute. By the time I navigated my way through the maze of dirty laundry which has taken over my bedroom, to turn it off, I missed the part of the show where Simon smoked crack, and came back at the moment when he praises Sunshine for fucking up her performance last night. Someone eventually will have to explain to me what the fuck is up with that girl. How can she get away with all that stuff?
Simon: Rebel Without A Clue, let me clear this up for you. I like Brooke. I like her because you don’t. She is weird, awkward, and annoying, and that makes her pretty unique. Do you think people watch this show for the good singers we put on them?
Wrong. The good singers are just an excuse to have a show in the first place. This year, we took David Cook, Carly, and Michael Australia, but the ones that really bring in the ratings, are goofballs like Jason, and artsy-fartsy amnesiac nervous wrecks like Brooke.
Syesha: I’m really disgruntled, you guys. I mean, last night, I played a character, that is everything I’m not, starting with fun, and I’m sitting here?
Brooke: America, I really wish I hadn’t messed up last night, because it was bad, I know it, and I knew it then, and I’m really sorry, and I hope you don’t hate me. And hope that you and I will be okay again, and next week, if I’m still here, and don’t successfully manage to end my days by attempting suicide by microwave oven, I will remember my song, because I’ll sing “Let it be” again, and that one, I do know.
Ryan: Wow, you didn’t say much last night, but you’re sure making up for it now, aren’t you? Actually, you didn’t say much last might? What was up with that?
Brooke: It’s a very bizarre phenomenon. Everytime I see my name on a web page, words like “okay”, “obnoxious”, “interrupt” and “talk back to the judges” are always in its direct vicinity.
So eventually, one day, last week, I read one of these pages, and realized that not everyone loves me, which hurts. People write that that interrupt and talk back too much, which might be why the above words are always found in the same paragraphs my name appears.
And I may be and do all these things, but I’m not stupid. I knew that last night, talking back wouldn’t do me any favours, because my mistake was just so blatant. So I tried to stay calm, hold back my tears, and I just bit my tongue really really hard, so that I wouldn’t say anything fresh, like “it’s okay”.
Ryan: And Brooke? It paid off. You are safe.
Rebel Without A Clue: WHAT?
Carly, my David, Syesha: WHAT? (Jason fell asleep).
Ryan: I know, another shocker, that soon! But it’s on my cue card, look!
Seriously, Brooke looks genuinely surprised, because she just freezes on the spot, with her hand over her mouth, and she just stays there, right in front of Syesha until Carly hoses her off to the safa.
Ryan: So Paula, what do you think about this? Is this okay with you?
Paula: It’s always OK with me Ryan, you should know that. It’s even more okay when I am high as a kite, like I am right now.
Obviously, both Brooke and Syesha have a huge fanbase, but Brooke’s fans own phones, whereas Syesha’s don’t.
Syesha, you should be proud of yourself, because even though you may hit the road tonight, at least, you got good feedback from all of us, for once. It doesn’t matter if you’re sitting in a stool instead of the comfy overstuffed safa over there.
Syesha: It does too matter!
Ads. Which Ryan spends bothering me for sex, again. This is the last time I let him write his own scenes.
Ryan: Hey Syesha, what’s with the long face? You’re not happy?
Syesha: Not only am I not happy, but I’d kill for a joint right now. I think I may be addicted. And no, I’m not happy at all, and furthermore, I’m very uncomfortable. These stools are awful. And if I’m back next week, it will be with a Whitney song. Screw originality, that’s David Cook’s trick. Why bother trying to be fun and sassy when all I could have done was forgetting my lyrics, and then apologize? I think this show is rigged.
Ryan: Yeah, me too. Anyway, you look miserable up here, by yourself. Let’s get you some company. Carly? Jason? Can you come out please?
Ryan: Why not?
Carly: I’ve lost my clothes. I don’t know what happened to them. They just vanished.
Ryan: Just come out naked, it’s okay. We won’t mind.
Carly: Are you sure?
Ryan: Yeah, yeah, totally. I’ll get naked too if it can make you more comfortable.
Carly: I’d really rather not. I’ve heard that you had a small dick, and small dicks always crack me up. Even if I get kicked out tonight, there’s no way I’ll manage to keep a straight face.
Ryan: Oh, come on, it’s not THAT small.
Rebel Without A Clue: Ain’t that big either though.
Ryan: Oh, you, shut up.
Rebel Without A Clue: Hahaha!
Ryan: Jason, Carly, can you please stop fucking about and come out already? CSI are coming on right after us, and you know how they don’t like it when we run late? And you know how we don’t like it when they don’t like us?
Carly: Oh wait! I found my clothes! I was wearing them the whole time, but I thought they were my tattoos. Here I am. Hi Ryan. Jason has got like the best weed ever. I bet if he’s sent packing tonight, all the other contestants will quit, besides Wittle David and Brooke.
Ryan: That good really? That you would walk away from a potential lifelong career to smoke some dope with a useless stoner?
Carly: That useless stoner is the one thing that makes this hellish show bearable. Our curfew is at 8.30. Pm. What do you think we do at night, to keep ourselves amused?
Ryan: Read Rebel’s blog?
Carly: I would, but she hasn’t updated in like two weeks. No, we get stoned with Jason, then we trash talk you and the judges, and laugh at your expense. I’ll have to tell Syesha and the boys about your small dick, they’ll love it! Hahaha!
Ryan: I’d really rather you didn’t. Anyway, where is Jason? He’s in the bottom two tonight.
Carly: No fucking way!!??
Ryan: Yes, way. but seriously, you wouldn’t mind going home? Because if you guys are all gonna quit anyway, the season will be over next Wednesday, and we were hoping to milk this cash cow until June.
Furthermore, I will lose my job, Rebel will stop writing her “recaps”, and there will go my sex life.
Carly: I understand. Can I think about for it for a few minutes? I just need to do some quick calculations. So far, I have had three weeks of mediocre exposure, and six weeks or not so mediocre exposure. If I extract the square root of 33, and multiply it by the number of hair on David Cook’s head, and subtract the number of dreadlocks on Jason’s, it means that I will sell 700 copies of my next CD, which will still be twice more than the total sales of my last CD, so I guess that yeah, I could go home.
Simon: Ryan, what are you doing? You can’t put her in the bottom 2, she gave my favourite performance of last night.
Ryan: Simon, seriously, what do you prefer? Carly going home, or Mormon idol?
Simon: Bye Carly.
At this moment, Jason enters the stage, trips, falls, giggles, gets up, trips again, then goes to Ryan and messes up his hair.
Ryan: Are you fucking crazy? Kick me in the nuts if you want, but don’t touch my hair.
Jason: If your nuts are as small as, as rumour has it, your penis, then I won’t find nothing to kick. Anyway, how are you? Do you have any cigarette papers? Your fly’s open.
Ryan: Oh, for Pete’s… Oh shit, it is actually. Thanks.
Jason: I didn’t want your microscopic penis to embarrass you, you know. I care. Mine is huge, man. I have to sleep on my back, otherwise, I look like I’m levitating if I’m lying on my tummy.
Ryan: I would really love it if you guys could not mention my attributes for the rest of the show? Please?
Jason: Buddy, these are not attributes. They’re more like handicaps.
Ryan: Fuck you, Jason. Judges, anything negative you’d like to say to Jason, before I kick him in his giant penis, and slide my foot between his giant testicles? So if any of you would like to call his performance a trainwreck, I’d let you. Randy?
Randy: Yeah Jason, last night was really the wrong vibe for you, yo, and I didn’t like it.
Simon: You know what last night reminded me of, Jason?
Jason: Bad karaoke? Bad hotel? Bad cruise ship? Bad? Just no food analogies please, because I’ve got severe munchies.
Simon: It reminded me of someone who has been tricked into singing at a wedding, and they really didn’t want to.
Jason: What kind of wedding? is there food? I’d kill for lamb chops right now…
Ryan: Carly, you changed your song choice, didn’t you?
Carly: Yes, I did. Up until yesterday, I always picked songs that I hated, but that I thought showcased my voice, and it’s paid off. However, this show is such a spirit killer, that I decided to throw caution to the wind, copy Syesha, and have fun, sing a good song, dress up as Grace Slick, and just go all crazy 60s on everyone.
And I really thought that singing a song mentioning Jesus repeatedly would be a fine touch, and would garner me some Christian votes, so I made damn sure to get my hands on “Jesus Christ superstar” before Wittle David had a chance to.
Jason: Ryan, I really don’t wanna sing right now. Can I go sit down, my head’s like fuzzy?
Ryan: So Carly, your mind’s made up, yeah? You go home and Jason stays?
Carly: But can’t you send Syesha home?
Ryan: Carly, what part of “AMERICAN Idol” don’t you understand? Like, you know what “American” means, right? Like: “not from Ireland”?
Carly: But I always thought that America was the land of opportunities?
Ryan: It is. Only just for Americans. More specifically, rich Americans. And also, the odd snotty British bloke. And talking about stinking rich snotty British blokes, Simon, how do you explain that the one time these two chicks get good feedback across the board, they find their asses in uncomfortable stools, instead of a luxurious cozy safa?
Simon: Brooke is awful, but at the same time, she’s so human, that any other human watching the show and prone to panic attacks will relate to her.
Jason is a complete fucktard who couldn’t sing his way out of a paper bag, but he’s charming, and the fact that he well endowed just South of the border will only add to his inexplicably growing popularity. And by the way Ryan, I heard about your… “problem”, in your… “Southern regions”, and I’m sorry.
Jason: Seriously, can I go and sit down? I really want to tell David about Ryan’s invisible penis.
Then Jason runs off to the safa and jumps all over my David, and then they hug and play fight like two moronic 8 years old until the end of the show, and once in a while, they point at Ryan and laugh.
Rebel Without A Clue: 😀 ?
Ryan: Oh, nevermind. You’re a bitch.
Rebel Without A Clue: Hopefully, that will teach you not to tamper with my blog anymore, while I’m not watching.
Ryan: You think? I don’t. Next week, I’ll just add myself five or six inches, that’s all. But until then, let’s listen to Carly one last time, since she accepted to gracefully bow out of the competition, so that her fellow contestants could keep on living the high life for a little while longer.
And then after, we’ll listen to Syesha, just for the hell of it, and also because she’s in the bottom 2, which is even deeper and badder than the bottom 3. And also because she was good last night, for a change, and that might not happen again. Come on Syesha, let’s dance!
Carly sings her final song, and it really is quite good. I liked her outfit from yesterday better than the one she has on tonight, but I’m surprised to see how well this style of music suits her. It’s high energy, and a lot of fun, and the fact that Carly is going home tonight makes absolutely no sense to me at all. This is probably one of her best performances. So I really don’t get it. Syesha and Ryan are swaying to the beat in the darkness of the Losers’ corner, Paula is shaking her booty all over the judges desk, and then, Ryan switches the girls.
Syesha goes off on a little rant, before singing her song: “I’m getting a little tired of this show repeatedly kicking out my roommates, just as I’m finally starting to get along, or at least, put up with them. Just as I was getting used to Carly’s bras, cigarette butts and whiskey bottles lying about everywhere, BAM, she goes home.
And now I’m gonna be stuck with Brooke, and that, is no fun. Lights out at 9pm, yoga and chanting at dawn, and she’s anal about everything. I almost hope that I get kicked out next week, if she doesn’t. I’d rather shack up with David Cook, honestly. He snores and he’s a slob, but at least, he’s cool, funny, and doesn’t chant.
Syesha then sings her fun sassy little number from last night again, and although I don’t think these are her best vocals, the performance itself really is quite good, and it’s cool to finally see Syesha coming out of her shell and doing something different.
Ryan: They were great, right? The girls, I mean. And if I may add, this is the happiest bottom 2 ever.
And it’s true that Carly and Syesha are both grinning like Cheshire Cats, for no obvious reason, besides the fact that they are clearly still stoned.
In the real world, none of this happened, and we don’t yet know who is going home. I just wanted to clear this out, in case some of you live under a rock, and for some reason found my blog, but have never heard of Idol before. If you read my “recap”, and then go look for the show, you won’t find that show, because it doesn’t play on TV, only in my head.
The actual real show is pretty boring, lacks substance, and has no sex at all never. I really suggest that you stick with my recaps, although I have to say that reliability-wise, Idol beats me by a long shot.
So let’s get back to the real actual sexless boring show, to see if Ryan is going to joke around with Carly, and have her believe that she may be back next week, and then shout: “BURN!!!”, a bit like he did with Michael Australia.
Ryan: Let’s put these lovely ladies out of their misery, America.
But wait, first, let’s go to the judges. Randy? What do you reckon? Idiotic bottom 2, or stupid bottom 2?
Randy: I’d say it’s a shocking bottom 2, because I am like, shocked. This really proves that this show is just one big fat popularity contest, no matter how much we try to kid ourselves that it is a talent show. These two girls sang well, and don’t deserve to be here, yo. However, I could point out a couple of hippies who totally do.
Paula: I have never seen a more joyous bottom 2. You guys still are completely baked, aren’t you?
Carly and Syesha both giggle, and push one another, and go “Yeah. Hihihi! And we’re roommates, too. Or were, rather! Hihihi!”
Ryan: Well Carly, the tribe has spoken, and the tribe don’t like no Irish powerhouse coming to steal our singing jobs. You are the weakest link, good-bye.
Carly bursts out laughing.
We watch the recap of her time on idol, with something reminiscent of the “Blackbird speech” in voice-over:
“I think this is my year. And it’s about time, because God knows how much I’ve been beaten down by this industry, and God also knows how much money I’ve cost them, so really, I can’t blame them. But still it’d be nice to have CD sales of four digits or more, eventually.”
Flashes of Carly bullying Syesha, of Paula gushing: “That voice of yours!!!!”, appear, then disappear, replaced by one of Carly’s baby photos, and she probably is the goofiest-looking kid I’ve ever saw, but in a cute way.
Then we are showed that classic moment of lesbian sex between her and Brooke, that I clearly remember “recapping” a few weeks back, and which I’m sure was totally riveting, besides the fact that the actual sex part took place during the commercial break.
Simon is seen, telling her that she’s “The top best vocalist”, and Carly and Sunshine are in turn seen goofing around at a piano; I wrote something about my David looking serious next to something else, but it’s unreadable, and I don’t feel like going online to watch that bit right now, because this “recap” is almost finished, and I’d really like to see it go up tonight, so that I at least post ‘something’ this week, since I ‘ve so been slacking off.
The whole time, Carly is remarkably smily and seems to take the bad news really really well, which only mean one thing: Carly will take her revenge after the show, by slashing the tires of Simon’s not-quite-so-brand-new-now car; or get her husband to do it.
But yeah dude, why is Carly grinning so, like a Cheshire cat? (It’s tonight’s recurrent theme, inspired by Sir ALW)
Carly: Oh Rebel? I can hear what you say now, I’m already officially out of the show. I love your “recaps”. The stuff you write about Brooke is hilarious! I don’t like her all that much myself.So in a way, I’m almost glad that she’s sticking around, because I’m looking forward to read the stuff you’ll write about her in the weeks to come, since she’ll be here for a while longer.
Rebel Without A Clue: How much longer? Hi Carly by the way, sorry about tonight, but how much longer?
Carly: Until the end, man. Simon told me that they want David Cook out by top 3, because he’s so good that he could mess with Wittle David’s pre-planned victory. So they’re replacing him for the finale, by someone who is reliably bad, and a possible trainwreck, Brooke.
Rebel Without A Clue: How about Jason?
Carly: He’s dangerous. His good looks, blue eyes, and laid-back demeanour represent a menace for Wittle David. Girls like Jason. A lot.
Rebel Without A Clue: I see. That sucks. Oh, and by the way, you were one of my favourites. You’re great when you sing Heart!
Carly: Thanks. Ok, I have to go, the judges want to kiss my ass one more time before they send it home. Nice talking to you!!!
Rebel Without A Clue: Bye-bye Carly! Hope you sell more twice more records the second time around! Say hi to Tattoooman, and nice work on Ryan’s nipple ring!
Simon Cowell would like to apologize to Carly. Not for having sometimes unnecessarily shat on her in the past, but for paying her a compliment last night, since it turned out to have been the “kiss of death” for her. In case you missed it, last week or something, Carly gave Simon shit for giving her too much shit all the time, hence the apology.
Carly still doesn’t give a fuck about getting the boot; she smiles and hugs, and interviews that it’s not a bad thing and that she hates curfews anyway, and that she can’t wait to go out and get wasted with Amanda.
And also that she is very proud to have gotten this far, and very happy that she lived this experience, and we all know that she doesn’t mean a single word of it, and that it’s just something “they” make all the contestants say.
And then, later on tonight, while she and her husband will be shopping around for a cheap motel to spend the night, Carly will have a massive nervous breakdown.
Then tomorrow morning, she’ll be on Live with Regis and Kelly.
And that’s pretty much it. The show ends, Ryan blows me a kiss, points at me, then at him, and mouths “Next week”, and then I turn off the TV.
Tune in next week (or tomorrow night, rather,) for more American Idol drama. Or not. It will be Neil Diamond. How dramatic can that get?
Until then, ta ta!