Hi. How are you guys doing? Did you know that having your hockey team getting its ass kicked out of the series by stupid Philadelphia sucks? I’ve been mulling over this since Saturday night. I’m sure it will pass.
Do you remember last week’s episode of Idol? The one where Sunshine finally goes bye-bye, and I lose of my favourite scapegoats of the season?
Yes? I’m gonna try to “recap” it, in less words than usual. Let’s see if I’m up for the challenge!
American Idol 7 “recap” top 5 results show!!!
I’m late, I miss the start, and walk in mid group-cheese, and… ah damn, I didn’t take notes for this part… I remember thinking: “I’ll watch it online”. So I have nothing to write about yet, but I don’t feel like watching Idol at the moment, so I’ll just move on to the next part, for which I have notes, and edit this one later. It’ll be fun, you see.
“Recap” of the start of the show, which I finally got around to watch online.
OK, so as we start, five grinning Idols are standing in line, while Ryan does his creepy monologue about one of them having to go home tonight, and who will it be, huh? Huh? Who? We’ll find out in 57 minutes, this… is… Ammerican Idol!!!
As Ryan walks onto the stage, Krist-Hee, who is in the audience, gets up on her seat, blows kisses at him, then lifts up her top and shows him, as well as America, her boobs, which Ryan acknowledges with an embarrassed laugh.
“America, I’m still out of breath after last night’s ridiculously fast-paced show. I was so exhausted after all that speed-reading, that in spite of the fact that I snorted over a gram of speed, I was fast asleep by 10.15 pm. I didn’t even bother going home, I just slept here, on the safa, which is why I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
Last night was possibly the strangest show, and certainly the fastest one I’ve ever hosted, and we received a total of 45 votes.
Anonymous male voice with a British accent: 45 million votes, Ryan.
Ryan: Oh, yeah, sorry about that, 45 millions…
Seriously, is this millions of votes bullshit really necessary? Everyone knows about our free-falling ratings, so don’t you think we’re pushing this a litt…
Anonymous male voice with a British accent: Ryan, stick to the script please, and stop arguing.
Ryan: Whatever. So tonight, we have a great show, filled with fillers like Natasha Bedingfield and Neil Diamond, who are here, as well as our two judges and Paula.
Randy does all kinds of peace signs, with one hand, the other hand, both hands, reversed, crossed, while Paula blows kisses all over the place, and Simon silently laughs at Randy.
The time has come for the very mediocre group cheese, which sucks, if you ask me. They have to stop choreographing these numbers, because it really looks silly, and you can say that at least half of these kids hate it.
The Idols are all sitting on the safa, side by side, except Jason who didn’t hear the 30 seconds call, and is late. So he pretends it was all planned by walking out on the stage, singing rather badly, and takes a seat next to Brooke. Then they all sway from left to right, and it’s good in the way that these kids are getting a workout, because the “choreography” has them standing up and sitting down all the time, which is great for your thighs and calves muscles, and even possibly for your abs.
On either side of Wittle David, Syesha and Brooke are doing very complex, and very repetitive arm movements, while Jason and my David, who do not want to join this cheese fest, are desperately clinging to the safa. But one of the producers sees them, pokes them in the back, and gestures towards the stage. Jason joins the others, while my David walks across the stage, singing his line, then heads towards the exit, where, unfortunately for him, another producer has been positioned to prevent him from leaving. My David takes a quick look around, realizes that he’s surrounded by pissy-looking producers, and that no escape is possible, so he reluctantly joins the rest of the group who are still swaying.
As if this wasn’t bad enough yet, the song turns into a sermon, with my David playing the part of Ted “Hypocritical Fucking Asshole” Haggard, and goes all “Hallelujah, I am your bro-o-ther, your best friend fore-e-ever, show your brothers some love” and more of that religious propaganda, that I really wish they would ditch by now, because it’s starting to irritate the fuck outta me.
Then this shitty group cheese ends with all the Idols raising one arm up in the air, except for Syesha, who just can’t be arsed. Then they stay like this for an entire 15 seconds, because the dude who’s supposed to send us to commercials, and who is, like me, an atheo-agnostic, felt as nauseous as I did when the preaching started, and had to leave the room to go and throw up.
This shitty group cheese already got more attention from me than it deserved, so if, like the guy who rolls the commercials on Idol, you too feel like throwing up, but it’s not coming, and you don’t like the “finger down the throat” method, THIS should do the job. Enjoy. I sure didn’t, but hey, if you like tasteless cheese and religious propaganda, you might.
So anyway, where my notes start, my friend Ryan, to whom I haven’t said hi yet, “Hi Ryan!” “Hi Rebel!” is the audience, yapping with Constantine and Gina, who are also in the audience, but as ex-idol rejects, as well as undercover detectives hired by Idol Extra, to find our what the fuck was up with that sign in the audience last night, the one bitching about Simon being an ass and not bringing them flowers.
But who cares about Simon, when we have Constantine and Gina here, right? Are they dating, and came to Idol together so that they would make the TMZ headlines for a couple of days?
“No, no, we just work together”, says Constantine. “On Idol Extra. It’s essentially what you do, Ryan, but we get paid peanuts, whereas you get paid millions. But personally, I couldn’t care less; as long as I’m on TV, I’m happy.”
Ryan: Do you want to take my job? I’ve been thinking about quitting and moving to Montreal, lately. Plus, since Nigel went bipolar and started to make last minute decisions every other minute, working here has been hell. After all, I still have the radio show, which has been doing good since Rebel posted that link on her blog the other day. And I also have about twelve hosting gigs lined-up for the next couple of months, so maybe I can do without this.
Plus dude, the ratings have been dwindling something not funny, and I’d rather not be part of a sinking ship, personally. But since you’re an Idol reject, it seems to me you’d be the perfect candidate for this gig.
Constantine: Yeah, sure, totally, I’m interested. Can I start right now?
Ryan: Ah, you job-stealing scum, you wish, don’t you? But not so quick. I’ll finish this season, and see what they’re proposing to me for the next one; if there is indeed a next one; then if it’s not good enough for me, you can have my leftovers. How’s that working for you?
Constantine: OK, I guess. In that case, if I’m still stuck on Idol Extra, can I at least plug it?
Tomorrow, Idol Extra will be on.
Ryan: Are you sure you got what it takes to be a host? You looked dead while you said that.
And oh, before we let you sink back into oblivion, can you make your eye-fucking eyes, please? I miss that, it was hilarious when you did it!
Constantine: I’d rather not. David Cook is in here, and I think that he has perfected it way better than I ever did. At least, he doesn’t make you feel like calling the cops, when he looks at you. I did. Why do you think wasn’t on Idol Extra last year? I was doing time. Unjustly, too. I…
Ryan: Constantine, I’m sure a couple of female lunatics out there would love it if we spent more time with you, but apart from them, no one cares, really. So good night! Bye Gina!
Now America, if you buy stamps this week, Carrie Yawnderwood’s face could be on them, which means that your letter will get there that much faster, because traffic is never a problem when “Jesus takes the wheel”.
Seriously. Ryan totally said that.
Quick moment of nostalgia, from that ever so-far-away last night’s show.
Neil Diamond wants “these kids to stay with it”. Too bad most of them didn’t even get with it, let alone staying.
Flashes of last night: Simon, giving crap to I don’t know who, because I didn’t write it down, then Syesha getting good feedback from Randy, Brooke getting good feedback from Paula, and Jason getting bad feedback from everybody, including his competition, who were all laughing and talking smack about him while he was performing. Then Wittle David hears that he is, apparently, “clever”, and my David has the confirmation that he is, indeed, a rocker; one who, according to Randy, “rocked the house”. As for Paula, she’s so over the moon with my David that she just goes all the way and calls him the next Idol, which totally freaks him out, since he is, like all of us, aware that Paula’s ability to read the future is as shit as her ability to read what is front of her very eyes, like her notes, for example. And this thought gives him a panic attack, so he runs out of the studio screaming.
Neil Diamond adds that there are one or two prodigies in this group, and I want to know, Neil, what will it be, one or two? Because there are only five of them left at this point, you know? One would think someone of your experience would be able to pick a prodigy out of five people. Especially since we already know that Wittle David is one of those “one or two prodigies”, since you said it yesterday, Neil.
These mentors really do suck.
Neil is also flabbergasted by the poise of these kids, and we’re done with this part, and I’m blazing through this shit, man!
Or maybe not. Here’s is the moment for the “explanation”, the one that Ryan requires my help for.
Ryan: Hey, Rebel! Knock knock!
Rebel Without A Clue: Who’s there?
Ryan: Ryan Seacrest!
Rebel Without A Clue: Well, duh! What do you want?
Ryan: What do I tell them? About Paula’s fuck-up from last night? Nigel told me to come up with something, since Paula couldn’t think of anything that made sense. And since I knew it was coming, I made a list last night this morning. Now I just need you to help me select the best excuse.
Rebel Without A Clue: I wouldn’t say anything at all if I were you. Just babble about ITunes, or Exxon, or “Idol Gave Back, Maybe For The Last Time”, or whatever else.
Ryan: Nigel is getting really on edge these days, I’d rather not play with his nerves too much. When he told me about fixing the Paulagate, he had a knife in his hand, and he was waving it about that far from my face, so I don’t care, I’ll say the show is rigged if I have to.
Nigel: Ryan!!! NOW!
Ryan: Oh, crap. Hi, America, you know, last night, when Paula lost her shit more than normal, and started to talk smack more than normal, and was talking about the future, unlike what she does normally? Well, erm… yeah…
Well, in fact, it never happened, and we all had a collective hallucination, because George Dubya has put LSD in the water, and because of the dry weather, everyone got dehydrated, drank a lot of water, and started tripping, and because it was exactly the same LSD everywhere, who all had the same hallucination, and I think this is by now self-explanatory, and oh, look at that, a UFO!
Jason, come, quick, a UFO! Come look! And while you’re here, let’s talk about last night…
Jason nonchalantly walks onto the stage, winking and smiling at the girls in the audience, all “Hey, Michelle, ma belle, como éstas? Hehe…!”.
On his way to Ryan, he grabs one of the Losers’ Stools, and sits down next to him.
“Actually Ryan, it’s great that you want to talk about last night, because I’m dying to talk about last night too.
Paula, man, what the fuck??? Like I didn’t stink enough yesterday, you had to get all that extra attention on me? You critiqued me for like 10 minutes, including for stuff that I hadn’t done yet! I mean, part of me was a little flattered that you mix me up with David Cook, but still, respect, man!
And then, the media calls ME a stoner? You’re the one who can smoke, drink, snort, dab, shoot up, or pop anyone I know under the table! You really suck, and I’m pretty mad at you. For that reason, and that reason alone, I think I should stay, and that Wittle David should go instead, because last night he stank, but all of you judges were still kissing his ass. And also because he never wants to play grown-up games with us.
Ryan: I’m sure that can be arranged shortly, Jason, but I’m sorry, part of my high salary is due to the fact that I have to behave like a real cruel heartless arsehole once in a while. So you’ll understand that it’s not that I wouldn’t like to let you go, but I have to grill you for a few more minutes, as well as serve America some half-assed explanation as to what the fuck last night. Any ideas? I don’t think they bought the LSD and the UFO, honestly.
Jason: Dude, I didn’t buy it, and I buy everything. I’m the most gullible person you’ll ever meet. I even believed I was good and motivated enough to be on that show, and now that I realize that I’m not, the idiots at home keep me here by voting for me, no matter how badly I purposely sing all these songs that I purposely picked because they were bad.
At the same time, the snacks selection here, is remarkable, and I love the weather. Plus it’s really funny to see all the producers here giving me the dirty eye because they sooo want me out, but they know that neither me nor them can do anything about it. That totally cracks me up, dude, and it is the main reason why I want to stick around longer. There is nothing funnier than a pissed off looking British producer when you’re stoned.
Ryan: Thanks for sharing that with us, but let’s talk about Paula-the-airhead for a second. What do you think happened last night, Jason?
Jason: I think that the show is scripted and that Paula was handed what she had to say ab…
Ryan: No, no, no, it can’t be that. Well, it is, but you can’t say it out loud.
Jason: Why can’t Paula answer that herself?
Ryan: Dude, are you insane? Have you seen what happens when we let Paula speak? You’re up on the stage, and you want Paula to talk about you? Your short-term memory is that bad already?
Paula: I’d like to state that maybe I can’t read, and I can barely talk intelligibly, but I can understand English, and I’m aware that you too are trashing me right now.
What happened was, I got confused, I mixed up rehearsal and live show, saw two sheets of paper instead of one, and heard two songs instead of one. It happens. To me, mostly.
Ryan: Well, how’s that, America, for a swallowable explanation, huh? That makes total sense to me! Basically Paula, by asking for your feedback mid-show, like it wasn’t planned at all, I threw you that same curve ball that Nigel had thrown me a minute earlier, right?
Paula: Absolutely, and nothing disorients me more than balls, especially curvy ones, even moreso when they’re blue, and…
Ryan: OK, that’s enough. Paula, I just want to say that we love you, that you are a part of this family. More precisely, the part of the senile grandmother who doesn’t recognize people.
And, talking about not recognizing people, Jason, what do you think Simon meant last night, when he said that he didn’t recognize you?
Jason: I would love to know, man, because this one went right over my head. I mean, I might look a little tired and drawn-out, because I have aged 6 months in the last 3, but it’s not like I’ve cut my hair or anything. So maybe Simon should wear prescription glasses?
I’m just kidding. I still don’t know what he meant, but I’ve briefly analyzed the situation while I was taking a crap this morning, and I noticed something, like a sort of pattern: everytime I’ve received good feedback, it was either because I picked a song I already knew, or because I took a song that I turned into a song I knew, which is why I always sound like I’m singing the same thing. It’s my trademark. Resizing arena music for the modest coffee-shop.
Nonetheless, I didn’t do that this week. I just took two of Neil’s boring songs, and basically just learned them, then sang them. I don’t care much about Neil Diamond, to be honest.
For some reason, my notes here are all screwed up. Jason notes, interspersed with Wittle David notes.
Nonetheless, our beloved stoner is safe. Well, he might not beloved by you, but he is by me. I actually do like Jason a lot, he totally cracks me up, and I love that he’s not pretending to be who he isn’t. He’s found his niche, and he sticks to it, and just doing that on Idol is the equivalent of giving the producers the finger, which I find awesome.
So Jason makes his way to the safa, all devil horns, stupid faces, and thumbs up to Ryan and the judges. Simon has a look of complete disgust on his face.
Then Ryan decides he’s gonna hassle Wittle David. “You, the only person left that I can pick on because you’re the only one who’s shorter than me. Paula said you were boring last night, what do you think of that?”
Paula: I didn’t say he was boring, Ryan, I said that he needed to have fun.
Ryan: And what’s the antonym of fun? Rebel, are you here? Can you look it up? We’ll wait for you. We have plenty of time tonight.
Rebel Without A Clue: Hold on a sec… “Fun”… antonym… search… Yes, boring is there. Second position, sandwiched between “bad” and “sad”. You also have “unfun”, which I have personally never used.
Ryan: “Unfun”? Well, Archuleta, Paula called you “unfun” last night. What did that make want to do to her?
Wittle David: Just work harder, as always.
Paula: But that isn’t fun! You don’t get it! I want you to hit “that zone” over there, can you see it? And just show that you are having fun. Basically, it’s just about pretending. You don’t have to have fun, but you have to make us believe that you do.
Wittle David: But isn’t that called “acting”?
Ryan: OK, you are a little too sharp tonight, so just conclude, and then go sit and sit down, because you are safe.
Wittle David: This week, I just wanted to have fun, and obviously, I’m just not that kind of guy. Or boy, rather. The previous weeks, I sang sad, heavy, mature sounding, weepy songs, stuffed with messages and substance, and I just wanted to pick something lighter, but it didn’t… Anyway, didn’t you say I was safe?
Ryan: Yes, you are.
Wittle David: In that case, I will try to do better next week. And thank you for voting, America! Bye!
(In reality, I just re-watched this bit, because I had put a question mark next to Wittle David’s notes, and at the announcement that he is through, Wittle David’s bottom lip starts to tremble, and he shakes his head in disbelief all the way to the safa, an expression of complete stupefaction on his face. Then he sits down, three feet from Jason who’s acting all smug and: “Look who’s here! Me! Again! Haha! This is too funny, dude! Wittle David, after the show, I’m going to sit on your face and fart! Haha!”
Before we head to commercial, Ryan has good news for us: next week, an unshitty theme: songs from the rock’n’roll Hall of Fame. Finally. First time in over a month that I will actually look forward to a show! Jason sticks his tongue out, does the devil horns, and discreetly points a middle finger at the camera, before it stops rolling.
Ryan: Do you worry about life after Idol? If you do, then you really need to get off your pathetic asses and get a life, because that is pretty sad. But in case you are indeed that much of a loser, who intends to spend their summer watching television, then have no fear. The second this show is over, we’re springing on you “So You Think You Can Dance”, the show with the longest title in the history of TV. And since we have plenty of time for fillers tonight, let’s watch some clips, shall we? Roll the tape!
So for a couple of seconds, we’re treated to a gallery of crazy, double-jointed, scantily dressed people, pirouetting, spinning, jumping, landing, and doing all kinds of inhuman moves. But of course, since this is a Nigel Lythgoe production, they have to also spring on us the traditional non-dancing weirdoes, who are just here because… Actually, why the hell are they here again? Then they show us a couple of pissed off people, swearing, giving the finger, and mooning the camera.
I actually really like So You Think You Can Dance. Unlike Dancing With The Stars, SYTYCD features talent straight across the board. I’ve never watched Dancing With The Stars from the beginning of the season, because I have no interest in seeing people like Wayne Newton or that tall magician dude screwing up tangos and jives, so I usually wait until all the bad dancers are weeded out to watch the show. Which basically means that I usually see the last two episodes.
Whereas on SYTYCD, you have dancers from very different styles, but for the most part, they’re astoundingly talented. I always have had a soft spot for the B-boys and B-girls. These guys kick my ass. That Asian dude who tried twice and got through last year… Man, he is amazing! I could watch him dance for hours. But really, overall, SYTYCD is a really good show. My only problem with it, is that it airs in the summer, and in the summer, I’m outside. Same goes for Canadian Idol. So usually, in the summer, my TV watching stops when the Jazz festival starts, at the beginning of July.
But let’s get back to Idol, where Ryan is all frisky after looking at all these almost naked people for an entire two minutes.
“Wow, that was hot! Are they always dressed, or should I say, undressed like this on this show? Because if they are, I would really love to switch gigs with Cat Deeley! Wow! Can we re-roll the clip?”
Nigel: No, we can’t, because the clip is essentially the fist four weeks of the show in fast-forward, and if we play it too much, America will catch on, get bored, and will watch “America’s got talent” instead.
Ryan: Oh, yeah, America, meet Nigel Lythgoe, the very mean judge on SYTYCD, and even meaner producer here, on American Idol! In fact, I’d go as far as saying that he is a complete asshole who clearly hates my guts!
But let’s move on to more important things. Do you remember, at the beginning of the season, I mentioned something about a Coke Cup designing competition? I brought it up like twice, and then it never came up again?
That’s because we had the good idea of dropping this ungood idea. However, it turns out a couple of you out there were actually listening, and took it seriously, which means that you have a problem. So since we actually received hundreds of submissions for this stupidity, we went on with the concept, and we even went as far as picking a winner, some loser from Get-a-Fucking-Life-City, who basically took our old Coke cup, and stuck some white star-shaped stickers on it.
Dawg, since you used to be a model for that King-Kong doll concept, the one that never quite took off, would you be so kind as to model that so-called “designer” Coke cup for us? Yeah, that’s it Dawg, you got it, look at me, pout, love the cup, be the cup, Vanna White us with the cup, The price is Right Girls us with the cup, and Oh my God, I’m getting horny…
Dawg: Me too Dawg…
Ryan: That’s enough, Randy, put the cup down… Oh my, that was disturbingly arousing… So let’s move on to something that is NOT arousing in the least, David Cook.
Rebel Without A Clue, along with 9 688 794 other girls: That is SO not true, Ryan, you are an ass, look at him, he’s gorgeous! And OMG, he’s sooo sexy…! And look at his eyes! And look at his lips! And look between his legs, I can see a…
Ryan: That’s enough, girls, this is a family show. And American Idol is a sexless contest, so you must ignore the fact that he does indeed sport a noticeable bulge down there. However, I am not in the running, so I’d be happy to show you my…
Rebel Without A Clue and the same 9 688 794 girls: NO! Not you! We want to see David’s…
Ryan: NO. I told you, this is a family show. No penises, no testicles.
Lissycat, my friend from IMDb: But could David at least take off his shirt? I mean, a shirtless guy is not inappropriate, even on a family show.
Rebel Without A Clue, along with the other 9 688 793 girls: YEAH! She’s right! Not inappropriate! Take your shirt off, David!!!
Ryan: David, 12% of the female population worldwide would like you to take off your shirt. Can you do that, so that I can get a little bit of peace and quiet over here, and get on with the show?
My David: I’d love to, but seriously girls, although I’ve been staying in California for the past few months, I’m inexplicably still as white as a freakin’ fridge, and seriously, it’s not pretty.
But I’ll tell you what, I’ll take it off next week, because Idol is taking us to SeaWorld this week-end, so I’ll get at least a bit of a suntan, although I never take of my shirt in the sun because I’ve been sued several times for blinding people on the beach.
But I’ll go a tanning salon first, or something.
So, next week, I will do it. Either during a performance where I’m not already wearing a guitar, because that would look trashy and clumsy, or I’ll do it for the results show, where I’ll be going commando, so that if I lose, I’m taking it all off and letting it all hang out!
Rebel Without A Clue and the same 9 688 794 girls: YEAY!!! Stop voting for David!!!
Ryan: Ok, shut up, you bunch of horny maniacs. David, Paula kinda put you on the spot, to say the least, when she said she thought she was looking at the next American Idol, which, coming from her, is probably true. It is indeed possible that she thought you were Jordin Sparks, since both of you are 6 feet tall. But how does it feel like to be insulted like that on national TV?
My David: I fucking hate her even more now. When she blurted this out, I immediately thought of what Simon told Carly last week: that she was sock-blowing. Look where that got her: back to Ireland. Nothing against the Irish, but the weather over there really sucks. So basically, Simon’s usually good feedback to Carly ended up being her kiss of death, and just the very expression “kiss of death” creeps the fuck out of me. Coming from Paula, it’s leading me close to a panic attack. You don’t mind if I crack my neck, do you?
Ryan: No, not at all go ahe… Arghh, please stop! I can’t take it. Go do that on the safa, you’re moving on.
While my David struts his lovely stuff across the stage to the safa, where he sits on Jason’s lap, and then they both giggle like elementary school boys who just caught a glimpse of their hot teacher’s underwear, Ryan calls Brooke and Syesha on stage.
They don’t show up. they’re shown backstage, having a very lively discussion in a very low voice.
Syesha: I knew it. I fucking knew it. It’s always me. This show is so fucking blatantly racist, it’s not even funny.
Brooke: It’s okay. It’s…
Syesha: It’s NOT fucking okay, okay? No matter what I do, and how well I do it, these arseholes are just determined to have me sitting on a Stool every fucking Wednesday night. If I survive, next week, I’m not even going centre-stage to talk to Ryan. I’m just gonna come out, head straight to the Losers’ corner, and take a Stool. Ryan can interview me there if he wants to.
Brooke: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that…
Ryan: Can you two shut the hell up and come out here, please?
Brooke: I think this show is misogynist, as well as racist, and possibly also homophobic, but as a Mormon, I’m not sure if it’s okay for me to accept homosexuality or not, so I’d rather not speak up ab…
Ryan: SYESHA AND BROOKE?!!! Your asses HERE, NOW. Damn!
Brooke and Syesha finally turn up, arm in arm, looking like two supermodels: one petrified, and the other one furious. But no kidding, they’re both wearing pretty dresses, and they look nice tonight.
Ryan: “Here we go again!”
Syesha: Tell me about it. This is getting really old for me, you know?
Ryan: I can imagine. However, this isn’t my problem. If you had any brains, you would have pulled a Haley Scarnato a long time ago, and showed up in nothing but hotpants, stilettos and a bra. Those magical boobs of yours would have kept you out of the Losers’ corner, but nooo, you’re sooo much above that, because you’re an “artist”, right? Well, tough!
Anyway, last night Randy disliked you, then liked you, Paula said things that no one understood, so we’re not clear on what she thought, but neither was she. As for Simon, he thought your sucky song choices would get you into trouble, you naughty girl, you…!
Syesha? Are you listening?
Syesha: Yes, sort of…
Ryan: Well, you can stop. Let’s talk about Sunshine, here, for a second. You, last night, the ever-so-unpredictable Randy thought that your first performance was karaoke, but that your second one was a’ight. Paula muttered some nonsense about connecting with the vibes and the waves and the colours, and horses and birds and mutts. As for Simon, he thought your first performance was…
Brooke: I know it! I know it! He said a “nightmare”. Which, between you and I, is not okay. It was mean-spirited and hurtful.
Simon does this gesture, where he shows her the palm of his hand, like to tell her wordlessly: “Oh, do cut the crap, puhlease, you fucking drama queen!”
Ryan: However, he thought you jumped back on the horse with your second performance. What the heck is it with me and horses tonight? Maybe my subconscious is suggesting that I attempt to convince Rebel to straddle me after the show, or even possibly during the show, since we have two performances which I’m sure will last at least 3 minutes, and that is more time than I need.
Rebel Without A Clue: No, Ryan, not tonight. I have three “recaps” to catch up with, plus my “ode to Brooke” to write, so I really don’t have time for sex. Especially with you. I intend to have all this crap published by next Tuesday, which is totally unrealistic and will never happen, but one must still hope.
Ryan: How about if I get you drunk?
Rebel Without A Clue: If I was drunk, maybe I’d do you. Especially if you bought me drinks all night. And let me beat your ass at pool. But you’d have to change your hair first. When I went on your website to find out what kind of lame excuse Paula would come up with to explain her hearing songs in double, I saw a picture of you with your old spiky hair, and you looked much better like that. And you’d also have to wear faded jeans, a “David Cock Rooks!” T-Shirt, and construction boots.
Ryan: Construction boots? Why?
Rebel Without A Clue: Because they’re sexy. Construction boots totally turn me on, and are magical in that they can make almost any man who puts them on manlier. And you sure could use some of that. So if you wanna potentially excite me, wear the uniform, and mess up that boring hair of yours. And then we can talk again.
Ryan: Do they make designer construction boots? I don’t wear anything that isn’t couture.
Rebel Without A Clue: Yes they do. They’re called “Caterpillars”, and they’re pretty expensive, which is designer-ish in itself. Buy a pair and wear them during next week’s show.
Ryan: Do they come in purple?
Rebel Without A Clue: Purple? Oh my God, Ryan, you’re so gay. Purple…! Anyway, what the fuck is up with the show tonight? 8.25, and you’re already tormenting these girls? What is this about? Is it gonna be a shocking elimination where both of them end up being eliminated for only getting 17 votes each? Or are we finally getting treated to a 30 minutes show? I’ve been looking forward to those, but they don’t seem to be coming back…
Ryan: And they won’t. Hahaha, 30 minutes shows…! Rebel, you’re so naive. This is Idol, do you think they’d miss an opportunity to try to flog you guys something? No way! But to answer your question, Nigel has decided to keep all the shitty fillers for the second part of the show: the call-in, ITunes, Natasha Bedingfield, Neil Diamond… Now that we know we have you guys hooked and that you won’t going anywhere, we’ll bore you to death until 9.57. You don’t mind if I interrupt this conversation to go back and host the show? Brooke is yawning, and Syesha has fallen asleep.
Rebel Without A Clue: Sure, go ahead, don’t mind me…
Ryan: Thanks. OK, Syesha, you… Syesha, wake up, dammit!
Rebel Without A Clue: Huh?
Ryan: Syesha, throughout the whole year, song choices: are they though for you?
Syesha: You guys already asked me that question last week. Who the hell writes for this show? Or was it you just not listening?
But yes, song choices are hard, especially since I’m rather indecisive as a person. Hillary or Obama? Ice cream or pretzels? Chocolate or vanilla? David Cook or David Archuleta? Celine or Whitney? On the very day of rehearsal, I’m usually still freaking out.
As for the numerous times when we can only pick from a list of six songs, and by the time I get asked which one I want, four of them are already taken, because for some reason, I always get to pick last, if I don’t happen to know neither of the two songs left, I just put both names in a hat, and get Wittle David to pick one out, because kids love picking things from a hat.
Ryan: As for you, Sunshine, since you’ve never lied to us about the fact that you are a complete mental and emotional wreck, how come you handled that “nightmare” comment so well? I mean, I’m a puny guy who punches like a girl, but had that been said to me, I would landed one in Simon’s teeth, or, if he was standing up, in his nuts, because it’s easier and more effective.
Brooke: I had a great time. I love pissing people off and torturing them. I have to be honest, I have been miserable for most of my time on this show, and for some reason, last night, for the first time, I went to this happy place, and I had a blast.
Ryan: First time last night only? Boy, that is gonna suck for you…
Brooke: I’m sorry, what did you say?
Ryan: Me? Oh. nothing. Just that I know why you were happy last night. The sweetener you put in your herbal tea? Speed. You weren’t happy, you were high. Pretty close though.
Brooke: Me, high? Hahaha, funniest thing I’ve heard tonight! I have not even ever seen an R-rated movie, Ryan! The most R-rated stuff I’ve ever watched was this show in fact, especially when Haley and Antonella were on it. So, me, drugs? Nevah! I’m so pure that they wouldn’t even work on me, I’m sure!
Ryan: You may have a point. Anyway, Syesha, Brooke?
Syesha and Brooke: Yes?
Ryan: We’re giving some folks hope that this is going to be a 30 minutes results show. Personally, I wish it was, because it would give me extra time to pester Rebel for sex, but unfortunately, reality isn’t so. So I’m gonna have to ask you two to pretend you’re not shitting yourself for a while longer, and to go take a seat with the guys. We have some show-filling business to take care of.
Brooke shrugs, tosses her hair, starts walking to the safa, and then says: “We’ll stay as long as we can!”
Bwah!!! Fucking lol! Good one, Sunshine!!! That was funny!
But now, Brooke, don’t start this with me. I’m this far from tolerating you this week, and I have been pretty consistent in my disliking you and tearing you apart during this whole season. Please let me end it on a high note of stability. Don’t make me like you, especially now. It’s too late.
Ryan: When we come back, Natasha Bedingfield, Neil Diamond, and some more crap. Don’t go away.
When we come back, Ryan is at the judges’ desk, and some dimwit is holding up a sign that says: “SIMON for governor of Cowell-fornia”. Moronic ass-kisser!
Ryan: You are the moron Rebel. You are watching the wrong episode, you idiot!
Rebel Without A Clue: Oh fuck, yes I am. I was watching the performances, wasn’t I? Thanks Ry.
Ok, so like Ryan said, when we come back, Ryan isn’t at the judges’ desk, but sitting on the safa in between Brooke and Wittle David, to diffuse the evident crazy sexual tension between them, and to prevent them from jumping all over one another.
Natasha is wearing those God-awful high-wasted pants which made Ramiele and Asia’h famous, and it does get a bit shouty, (my personal pet equivalent of Dawg’s “pitchy”), at times, but really, she’s good; good enough that I will give you a link to her performance: HERE.
After she’s done performing, Ryan comes to pays her a visit. “Hey you, hello! Tell me, you’ve already had a lot of hits, and you’re very young. Whose dicks did you suck to get to where you are? And secondly, what do you have to say to these idiots over there, who waited in line for days, with thousands of even worse idiots, and are now going through hell 18 hours a day, all that to get their 15 minutes, maybe even 30 for the lucky ones, when all they had to do was to suck some dick? Do you remember your first audition and how nerve-wracking that was?
Natasha Bedingfield: Yes, I remember it very well: so nerve-wracking, that I didn’t even go. Back then, Pop Idol was around, and just the thought of going to audition for something like that, was nerve-wrecking. Not too mention that this type of exhibition is way below my standards, and anyway, why go the long way, when with a quick blowjob, you can be through the door faster then you can say: “David is hot!”?
On the safa, the Idol are all listening attentively, and on top of everyone’s head but Brooke’s, you can a see a lit light bulb.
Ryan: Hey, Simon, since you like critiquing so much, how about giving your little British compatriot friend over here some feedback?
Simon: Oh no. First, because the Brits are perfect anyway, and her performance simply was the best thing that I’ve ever heard in my entire life. So I have absolutely nothing to say.
Ryan: Alrighty then, Natasha, thanks you for coming, and say hi to England for me. Night!
Natasha starts exiting, then does a 180, and grabs Ryan by the arm.
Ryan: Didn’t I just say “Night!” to you? What do you want from me?
Natasha Bedingfield: From you, nothing, but I want to french David. Can I?
Ryan: Yeah, sure! If he lets you, it will make for good television. And if he doesn’t, it will make for even better television!
So this moment is really funny, because as you know, this show is roaming with Davids, and sooner or later, it was bound to happen.
Always a gentleman, or at least when he’s on TV and he thinks a pretty girl wants to make out with him, my David gets up, and waits for Natasha Bedingfield to come to him, eyes closed, lips out, until Syesha gets up, elbows him in the ribs, and whispers in his ear: “Not you, idiot! Wittle David! Although I’d have thought she would have gone for you. I would, fo’ sho’!”
And yes, it does appear that Natasha Bedingfield prefers younger, blander… (I want to say “men”, but with Wittle David, I just can’t, sorry.) Boys. Natasha Bedingfield likes boys. She sits on Wittle David’s lap, grabs his nuts, kisses him on the lips for like two minutes, grabs his nuts again, and then shakes everyone’s hand, makes out with Wittle David for another two minutes, then gets up. Ryan stops her:
“Hey, I don’t mean to embarrass anyone, but Wittle David has a boner, look! Haha! And also, Natasha, Wittle David would like to ask you to the prom, and then he would like you to take his virginity afterwards, as a souvenir.”
Natasha Bedingfield: I’d love to. Plus I already have a dress. It’s more like a black lace Victoria’s Secret nightie, in fact. It will be totally inappropriate, but the little guy will have memories of this prom for decades to come. So if he asks me, I’ll go with him.
Wittle David: I would, but my dad won’t let me, so just forget about it.
Ryan: It wouldn’t have been a good idea anyway, because she has a boyfriend. He’s a sumo wrestler, I hear.
By the way, that bit of the wrong David getting up and making a bit of a twit of himself, is at the end of the Natasha Bedingfield performance video that is posted above, if you don’t believe what I wrote.
Once Ryan has successfully managed to get rid of Natasha Bedingfield, guess what? The call-in is back!!!
Rebel Without A Clue: Weren’t you guys supposed to be done with this stupid thing?
Ryan: We have a whole hour to fill, and very little at this point to fill it with. So yeah, they brought the stupid thing back. I suggested I could do strip-tease for you and your friends, but they just all burst out laughing and brushed it off, like I’d just told a joke.
Rebel Without A Clue: I can see why they would laugh. You can do a strip-tease next week, when you show up dressed as a construction worker, with hardhat and all.
Ryan: We’ll see.
Anyway, we have Michael on line 1, and really, the place where Michael really should be right now is in bed, because he’s only ten years old. Hi Michael! What do you want to know about whom?
Michael: Hi Ryan!
Ryan: How are ya?
Michael: Who fucking cares how I am? I want to know why it is that it’s only Paula who gives the contestants a break.
Paula: Somebody has to. Plus I’m a spineless twat, so that contributes greatly. Do you want to be a singer?
Paula: That’s not a good idea, you know. It’s really hard, and there’s not much work. I’d become a plumber if I were you. You can charge 50, 60 bucks per hour, and you won’t be paraded around like a circus freak. Look at the contestants. Do they look happy to you? Check out Brooke and Syesha: they’re miserable. These guys are just a bunch of masochistic famewhores.
Ryan: Thanks you Michael! Up next, we have Myranda from Louisiana. Hi Myranda, do you have a good fried chicken recipe for us?
Myranda: No, but my mum does. I’ll ask her for one and get her to call in next week. In the meantime, I’d like to know if Paula plans to do anymore music videos with Randy anytime soon.
Ryan: This loser? I don’t think so…! Haha, you’re a funny one, you, aren’t you?!
YEAY! IT’S BACK! And we all missed it, Paula’ animal 101 special! Today: animated animals.
Paula: I will if Randy accepts to become an animated cat.
Randy: No, I don’t wanna be no silly cat! I hate cats! I’m the Dawg!
Simon: You could be a bear. You got the right size and colour. Ditch the glasses, and you could fool me!
Randy: And you Simon, could be a squirrel! Simon could be the squirrel! That’s be funny, Simon as a squirrel!
Paula: Let’s just dance! All together! Here! Now!
(Recapping these call-ins is downright painful, you guys…!)
Ryan: OK, that’s enough of this. Next… let’s grab Tara, on line 4. Hi, you… Oh fuck, you’re old! you’re 44, and you’re watching this show? You are pathetic! Get a life, loser! Next!
Tara: No, wait! I’d like to settle something with a certain someone here, if you don’t mind, you diminutive twerp. I’d like to ask Simon a question.
Simon is squinting to take a look at the onstage screen, where the questions appear. It says: “I kissed you in the garden when you were 9 years old. Was it better than kissing Paula?”
Simon, who, like the average Brit, does not like to talk about anything related to sex, gets up and starts to head backstage. Tara calls him back.
“Hey, it’s all right, I’m British too, you know? If I can say the word “kiss” on the telly, then you can too. So sit down and hear me out.”
You say that a lot of the performances are forgettable. Which one of the following two was the least forgettable: your kiss with Paula, or your first kiss with me at the bottom of your garden when you were 9 years old?”
America: OHHHH!!! Shocking! you’re such a slut, Simon! 9 years old???? Wow! Precocious much?
Simon takes a sip from his designer Coke cup, chokes, and spits it out at Paula.
Randy: This is the best question of the series!
Simon: This is Tara Miller, right?
Tara: This is Tara Miller, yeah!
Randy: Whoa! Dude! You remembered! You remembered!
Ryan: What is it Dawg? You don’t remember your first kiss?
Randy: Hasn’t happened yet, but I’m hoping to convince my wife one of these days.
Simon: Oh my God, we’re going back like, 17 years!
Randy: Yeah, right, 17 years my ass, more like 71!
Simon: Is this really you, Tara?
Tara: I swear, it’s me. It’s so cool, isn’t it?
Ryan: If you don’t mind me asking, is Simon a good kisser? I’ve always wanted to find out, but he never let me.
Tara: Oh, I knew that question was coming, because you are such a predictable interviewer, Ryan, so I prepared an answer for that.
Ryan: Please, do tell.
Tara: Hummm… Well…
Randy: Whoa! Whoa!
Simon: You have to bear in mind, Tara, that at 9 years old, I didn’t yet have the massive amounts of experience that I have now.
Paula: Tara, are you over the rabies now, it’s all I wanna say!
Tara: It’s Ok, I got a lot of therapy, I’m doing very well now, finally.
Ryan: Ok, thanks for your call, Tara, and now, mov…
Simon: Wait, I haven’t finished yet… Tara, tell me, do you still look cute?
Tara: Well, I must say that you’ve aged very well, and I think I have too, so yeah, probably.
Simon: Cool! Wanna hook up sometime? Guys, this literally was my first kiss, and my first crush!
America, along with Randy (who hasn’t shut up once, with his “Whoas!” and “Ahs!” and “Yeahs!”): Awww!!…
Ryan: Ok, Tara, I have to remind you that this show isn’t all about you, but I’ll be happy to give you his phone number, I have it.
And to all the kids watching, 9 years old is too young to kiss.
Randy: Yes! yes! (Jeez, what the hell is up his butt tonight?)
Ryan: We’ll be right back with Neil Diamond.
Time for the Ford commercial. Today, Jason is taking us for a ride through the slums, where he drops off the other contestants for their community service duty: cleaning up the area. But Jason, being admittedly a slob who doesn’t like to pick up after himself, let alone other people, was smart enough to get his hands on the position of “driver” first, and now, he’s off to score some weed, which we all know, is always easy to find in those sketchy neighbourhoods, although there’s always a chance that you’ll get ripped off; but it’s a chance that Jason is willing to take.
But because our top 5 is made of magical people, and because the 4 who are on cleaning duty have special powers à la “Bewitched”, everything they pass, look at, or touch, like trashed houses, broken bicycles, dead trees, murdered hookers, ODed junkies, regains its colour (besides the junkies who never had any in the first place) and comes back to life. It’s a right fucking miracle, which you can witness right here.
Then when the cleaning is done, Jason comes back to pick them up, and they head to the hotel to smoke a blunt.
After that, Ryan, back on the safa, attempting to mess up the steaming sexual tension between Syesha and my David, announces that we will now be listening to allegedly one of the most prolific artists like, ever, Neil Diamond. Who just happens, what a coincidence, to have an album to plug, and who is going to sing a song from it, “Pretty amazing grace”.
So far, this is pretty slow and boring, but what’s kinda of funny, is that in the background, you have the brass section doing a little choreography with the same energy as if Neil was swinging the hell out of a wicked rock song.
OK, it’s kinda picking up, but it still is pretty boring.
Now, I’m at the bit where Neil keep repeating over and over “Pretty amazing”, which it isn’t, and in spite of his efforts and the back-up singers’, who are playing it all sassy, this isn’t doing much for me. I’d have taken a second helping of Natasha Bedingfield, personally.
Ah, it’s finished…!
Oh, no, it isn’t. Damn.
Ah, now it is. That was pretty meh if you ask me. Not awful, just meh.
Aww, isn’t this cute, Neil’s venerable mommy is the audience tonight, and since Neil is no spring chicken, I find the sweet old lady who is shown clapping enthusiastically, to be looking pretty damn good for someone who is bound to be very ancient. Hi Mrs. Diamond! Are you having a good time? Like the new Coke cups? Who was better, your son, or Natasha Bedingfield? Ah, you don’t want to answer, I get it…. You preferred Natasha Bedingfield, didn’t you? Yeah, I thought so…
Ryan now has to do his bit of mandatory ass-kissing and pimpage. “So, Neil, apparently, you are dropping yet another album? Which comes out on May 6th, like, last week, Rebel? Neil, I’m only asking because I have to, but that new album of yours, how is it?
Neil: It’s good! My best so far, I’m sure!
Ryan: Haha, good one, dude! You’re still sharp, you know?!
Neil: Yeah, I know, I am. But back to my album, it’s about my sex life, so it’s personal, intimate, a tad disturbing, but not too much; I’ve tried hard to make it Mormon-friendly. Personally I love it, and I hope that people out there do too; at least, the ones who buy it.
Ryan: But let me ask you this, don’t you feel like you’ve been kinda hogging the spotlight for the past 5 decades? Don’t you think maybe the time has come for you retire, and stop flooding the market with a new album every six months? Give these neurotic kids over there a chance to get their place in the sun, even if only for a limited time, like a couple of months?
Neil: It’s kind of ironic that YOU, out of all people, should ask me this question, don’t you find? If there is one whore of a workaholic in this town, it is you. Man, you’re just everywhere, aren’t you? Radio, every other TV channel, red carpets… Do you ever like, refuse a gig? Do you ever spend a night at home?
Ryan: Home? I live in a luxury Winnebago, which allows me to commute from one job to the other much quicker than if I lived in a brick house. And anyway, I’m not afraid or over-exposure, because I’m not that noticeable, really. I know that I’m pretty bland, which is the key to my own success. Wherever you put me, I tend to blend into the background. I’m just your average, pretty see-through, competent host, who knows his place and doesn’t try to steal the spotlight. I’ve found the delicate balance between slightly irritating, somewhat witty, reasonably energetic, fairly cheesy, without overdoing it, and boring, but not too boring that I put people to sleep. And as a result, I am a very rich men with no social life. Which is the reason behind my hitting on random bloggers for sex.
But anyway, back to you and this question of mine that you poorly attempted to elude, how about retiring?
Neil: No fucking way, my friend. No. Fucking. Way. Unlike these wankers over there, I’ve actually had to work hard to get to where I’m at, there were no talent shows when I started off. Heck, there were no televisions when I started off. I’m not even sure if electricity had been invented when I s… Oh, wait, yes it was. But that’s it. In my time, if you wanted to become a musician, you had to play, play, and play, so that’s what I did. I’ve paid my dues, and I am not going anywhere. I’ve even built a recording studio in the yard outside my future nursing home, so that I can keep releasing albums until my very last breath, or even beyond, who knows.
But it’s not only out of greed that I don’t want to retire; I actually do kind of like my job. I get to dress up, make people clap, and I get big bucks for it. Plus it gets me out of the house. So it’s a pretty cool gig, really.
Ryan: You’ve been around for like, half a century. For these envious kids over there, what is the key to longevity?
Neil: Being born before 1950, and before shows like this one, that keep mass-producing insipid future has-beens, had been invented. And you also need to be one lucky motherfucker.
So basically, my answer to you is that these days, longevity is virtually impossible to achieve. But one can always dream.
Unless, of course, one decides to follow Ryan’s path, and become a bland host, like he did. You’re a smart man, Seacrest, you’ll get work until you’re in your 90s. Look at Larry King!
Ryan: Yeah, Larry… Isn’t he kind of overstaying his welcome? Like maybe he should be replaced by a younger, better looking man? A guy like me, for example?
Neil: I see where you’re trying to lead me with this, Seacrest; I do, after all, have access to the internets, and I’m aware that you are getting a hard-on at the idea of taking over Larry’s gig. Save it for Ellen, or Live with Kelly on Regis’s day off. We’re here to talk about me, I’d like to remind you. Ask me more questions about my neverendingly prolific career.
Ryan: Nah, if you won’t plug me, I won’t plug you, fair is fair. Let’s talk about the judges for a sec’. What do you think of those guys and their so-called “feedback”?
Neil: They’re awful. The Brit is nothing but a bully, unnecessarily harsh and bitchy, and often besides the point. The black dude is a complete moron, and as for dopey girl, she’s cute, but boy is she dumb! What is she doing here, judging a singing competition anyway? Didn’t she used to be a dancer or something?
Ryan: Yeah, she was, but no one else would take the gig when they learned that they’d have to work with Simon and Randy. So we just found this one in a club, spiked her drink, got her to sign the contract, and just left her passed out under the table. Then six month later, we called her back to remind her about it, since she had no recollection. Then we just threatened to sue her ass if she didn’t show up for work. Worked like a charm.
How about our “best top 5 ever”? Did you like them? Hate them? Who’s your favourite, and most of all, who sucks?
Neil: THAT is your best top 5 ever??? Wow, low standards much?
Ryan: Neil, if you don’t mind, they’re standing right here, so try being nice? Otherwise Brooke is gonna cry, and we’ll run into problems with the folks from Hell’s Kitchen. And we don’t want that to happen. These guys have knives, unlike the more harmless folks from Dancing With The Stars, who only had stilettos to attack us with.
Neil: Oh, shoot, I hadn’t noticed the kids were sitting here… Ooops! Erm… they are all very good, besides the Rasta guy who is just a complete disaster, but I think he already knows that.
Jason: I might be a disaster, but at least, I’ll still be here next week, unlike one of these two broads…
Neil Diamond: Your time will come, hippie, I’d bet on that. Anyway, apart from that arrogant prick, the others have potential. In the end, it won’t amount to anything, because the Idol stigma will prevent them from ever being taken seriously, but at least, their sucking up to me was satisfying. So in the end, I’m glad I came on your crappy show, it wasn’t completely mortal, plus I got to plug my album, and got a free trip to California out of it! So it was worth my time.
Ryan: Do you have any pretendy-advice that you could fake giving them, so that they don’t completely lose their spirit and all just quit the competition after tonight’s show?
Neil: Let’s see… What could I come up with… ? I have nothing, really… Hum… Jason, fuck off and die, and the others… hum… don’t listen to Simon, he’s a dick, and just become a multi-purpose host, like Seacrest here.
Paula: Yeah! Fuck Simon! He’s a dick! He even has one! Hihi!
Randy: Amen! Amen! Amen! Don’t listen to Simon! (Randy is in charge of the religious portion of tonight’s show.) Listen to me! I have credibility! I worked with Mariah!
Ryan: You also worked with Paula… What did that do for your “credibility”?
Randy: That wasn’t nice, Ry.
Ryan: I’m only nice to people who get paid less than I do, which basically leaves the contestants. OK, Neil, anything else? A quick pep-talk, perhaps?
Neil: Pep-talk… Erm, if you love it, stay with it, don’t lose it, love it, believe, dream big, get a real job just in case, and take a multi-vitamin every morning.
Ryan: Sorry if I seem like I’m trying to start some shit up, which is totally what I’m doing, but I’ve just caught Simon giving you the finger… is there something going on between you two?
Simon: Yes, we share a tragic and bloody history, full of betrayal, corruption and jealousy, but I don’t want to talk about it.
Ryan: Oh, come on!
Simon: OK, Ryan, we’ll go for a beer after the show and I’ll tell you what happened, but you’ll have to keep your trap shut.
Randy: Can I come too?
Ryan and Simon: NO!!!
Neil: Haha, Simon, what a joker, that was nothing… You were inside for how long, one year, two max, until I bailed you out? Give me break! I love this guy! Ok, I have to go now! Bye Ryan, keep well, bye everyone, bye losers! Good luck with your future “careers”, ‘cos’ you’ll need it!
Ryan: What the… ? What was that about?
Simon: Let’s go to commercials, I’d like to make a quick phone call to the guy who sharpens the knives over at Hell’s Kitchen. I’d like him to pay Neil’s car a quick visit, if you know what I mean…
Ryan: Fine, we’ll be right back, with your results!
And we are now back. And do you want to know what annoys me, besides my inability to write “recaps” of a reasonable length? David Caruso. Dude, that guy is just so one-dimensional and monotone, he makes Ryan seem like, super-deep and multi-dimensional. I hate CSI. paint-by-numbers wannabe suspenseful crappy show. Which is playing right now. Again. I had to mute the TV, because although I have my back to it, Caruso’s ever-conspiratorial tone annoys the fuck out of me. Just wanted to share this, sorry for the interruption.
But let’s head back to that other crappy show, American Idol. The one where Ryan is presently all: “Haha! Boys rule, and girls suck! Proof is, we have an all female bottom, AGAIN!! Haha! Ladies? Would you join uncle Ryan in the middle of the stage please?
Brooke is trying to put on a brave face, but you can see she is biting her bottom lip like crazy, because there is a bit of blood trickling down from the left corner of her mouth.
Ryan: Come on, hurry up! I never thought it would happen tonight, but we’ve running short again! It’s that slutty Tara woman, that 9-years-old-future-“judge”-kissing-teacher, the one from the call-in; blame her. We spent like five minutes on her. That’s five minutes we won’t spending on you two. Well, one of you two.
Syesha and Brooke painfully make their way, hand in hand, to Ryan, who is giggling madly. Syesha is wearing her best “oh well even if I have to go home it was a great experience anyway” smile, but Brooke totally can’t hack the fact that she can hear and feel every creak of the trapdoor below her opening, and is fighting back tears but not very successfully. I hope you brought your lifebuoy if you went to the taping. (And here’s a tip, since Idol doesn’t even allow you to bring a purse in the studio, if you do bring a lifebuoy, put it around your neck, and pretend it’s a necklace for David Cook. Lots of girls send him necklaces, I heard, so he won’t be surprised. Well, maybe a little, but so what. At least, your “necklace” will stand out.
While Ryan is doing his token sadistic monologue in the audio equivalent of ‘slow-mo’, Brooke is getting nearer and nearer to the complete waterworks. It’s almost hard to watch. I think whether she stays or goes (I know she goes, it happened like ten day ago, duh, but I was just sayin’) she’ll cry her eyes out. Brooke is an annoying as fuck emotional wreck, but even I’m not sure if I can find it in me to be mean to her right now, because she looks so pathetic right now, that I’d probably give her a hug if she asked me to. I might even offer, who knows…
Ryan, after several glasses of water, manages to stop laughing long enough to announce that yeah, Brooke’s out.
THIS “RECAP” MUST BE INTERRUPTED FOR A CNN BREAKING NEWS REPORT: THE KODAK THEATRE IN HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA SUDDENLY FLOODED. NO FURTHER INFORMATION, BUT WE’LL KEEP YOU POSTED. PLEASE, AVOID THE AREA UNLESS YOU HAVE A LIFEBUOY.
THANKS, ANDERSON C
At said Kodak theatre, Brooke has swam to Ryan, and solidly wrapped her arms around his neck. Ryan, who’s not that good a swimmer to start with, gurgles: “Cough* Rebel! Can you *cough* open the doors of the theatre, or teleport Brooke *cough* out to the Sahara for a short while?
Rebel Without A Clue: But I thought you guys wanted ratings? What’s better than an Idol flood?
Ryan: *cough* Nothing! Fuck the ratings! Please stop this! *cough*
Rebel Without A Clue: Jeez…! I was just about to write an awesome action/disaster scene for you guys, for 0 dollar, and you say no? What the fuck is wrong with you?
Ryan: Nigel is hydrophobic, and so am I. We both have Gremlins in our family, and if you’ve seen the movie, you’ll know…
Rebel Without A Clue: Ryan, you’re even more of a wimp than I thought you were. Fine, I’ll change it. No flood. Just Brooke having a melt-down. As she does every other week. Pfft, no wonder the ratings are going down…! This show is boring!
ATTENTION READERS, PLEASE PRETEND THAT THE ABOVE WAS EDITED OUT BECAUSE RYAN SEACREST IS A SISSY.
Rebel Without A Clue: Thanks for the extra work you’re giving me, Seacrest.
So upon hearing that she is eliminated, Brooke starts weeping like a willow, and attaches her tentacles arms around Ryan’s neck and won’t let go. In the audience, you can see Brooke’s hubby getting a little agitated and red in the face.
Ryan: Brooke? Hum, Brooke? Hey, you’ll be okay…! Just think of all the losers who got sent home before you, most of whom were much, much better than you, like the two foreigners, for instance… And you beat both! Come on, now, stop crying, or at least, stop crying all over me. My shirt’s all wet and I’m getting cold. Brooke? Brooke?
Ryan glances at the hubby, and makes a gesture of despair. “How do I untie her?”
Brooke’s hubby: Tickle her at the waist!!
Ryan follows his advice, and immediately, Brooke lets go of him with a high-pitched little yelp, then does a 180 and wraps herself all over Syesha, who had the good idea of wearing a waterproof dress in anticipation of tonight’s show.
Ryan asks for a towel and a dry jacket, which Wittle David brings him, because he likes to help. Ryan quickly dries and changes, while Brooke is bawling her eyes out all over Syesha. “I’m sorry about that Syesha, but who could have said this girl had so much salt water inside of her? I’m soaked!”
In the audience, Krist-Hee is shown laughing hysterically while pointing at Brooke. The judges are shown, giving the most insincere-looking standing ovation that I’ve seen, complete with limp clapping and long faces.
Time to watch the clip of Brooke, prior to her turning into a fountain.
Brooke, the woman with magical hair, which can be flat one second, and in an afro the next. We see Brooke and her stripy shirt being dared by Simon to “come to the dark side” which would have been fun, but hey, there’s always next year…! Then she is shown, pushing a couple of babies in a stroller, then playing the piano, wearing yet another stripy shirt, then all kinds of other shots of her, singing, posing, playing, with Sir Dolly Webber, with Andrew Lloyd Parton, and in between each, there is a shot of her crying in a stripy shirt.
Brooke admits that she has struggled over the competition, which is demonstrated by the multiples shots of her having a nervous breakdown, and oh, the fluffy yellow dress! That was so funny! Brooke has given me some good laughs, I must admit, but that was by far the best one. “Whoo!” She said that she was having confidence issues, but that thanks to Idol and the steroids they have been feeding her, she realized that she was stronger than she thought, and that it’s a good thing to get out of the experience.
And I, realize that although I’d like to, I can’t really hate Brooke right now. In fact, I can’t even bring myself to dislike her. The chick sure has been entertaining, much more than say, Wittle David, or even my David, as a matter of fact. Brooke and the Yellow Overkill, Brooke restarting songs, Brooke freaking out, Brooke playing the piano barefoot, Brooke who’s never seen an R-rated film… Let’s face, Brooke has been good to me this season, and I think a little part of me will miss her, which makes no sense, since I tore this girl apart everytime I wrote her name down, but when did I ever make sense anyway.
When we come back to the Idol set, Ryan and Brooke are standing in the middle of two-feet pile of used tissues, and Ryan is busy opening a second box for her, while she is blowing her nose.
Brooke: Ryan, do I really have to sing? I just don’t think I’ll be able to.
Ryan: Hey, as far as I’m concerned, you could choose to never sing again, and I’d be fine with it; but unfortunately, we still have two minutes left, and my cue card says explicitly: “9.57 to 9.59: Torture Brooke White”. Look.
Brooke: Oh my God, it’s true!!? You really are a puppet then?
Ryan: Yes, I am. Just like you. Only difference is that I get paid, and you don’t. But the rest, the humiliation, the getting bossed around and controlled by cold-hearted, greedy British producers, yeah, a lot of it is the same.
So please, can you pull yourself together and at least hum our theme song or something?
Brooke: Can I say thank you? And give a speech? I have nothing to lose now anyway, and the longer I talk, the less I’ll have to sing, if at all… Please?
Ryan: Sure, speech away…! Wait, look at me for a sec’, you have snot on your forehead… There…
Brooke: Thanks you. I just want to say thank you. It’s gonna be terrible for me right now, because what you may be about to hear will actually make my rendition of “Here comes the sun” sound pretty darn good. So I just want to apologize in advance for putting you all through this, and I want to thank you, because…
Ryan: Brooke, I have Nigel in my ear monitor, and he says that if you don’t start singing stat, you’re not going on the tour, and he’s sending Amanda instead of you.
Brooke: Okay. I’m sorry. This is gonna be so bad. I’m so sorry.
As the music starts, you see Brooke making a huge effort to regain control over herself, and bravely, but lamely attempting to smile, and I genuinely feel for her right now, even though I’m not sure I should.
I’ve always thought, personally, that it should be up to the eliminated contestant(s), whether or not they want to sing a last song. If they do, fine, let them. But some of them, like the one we’re looking at right now, are emotional wrecks, and probably don’t want to sing anymore than they want to strip. So I reckon, if they’re not feeling up to singing, they could just have a final sit-down with Ryan, talk about their experience, maybe get some more advice from the judges, and leave it at that. I always found it cruel to make them sing right after they’ve been kicked in the groin. But then again, under my tough exterior, I’m a softie.
So poor Brooke is stuck singing her song, she starts, stops, starts again, stops again, and honestly, it was to be expected, so because I feel her pain, or I am at least trying to, I’m just not gonna make fun of her for this.
Which means this “recap” is much over then.
Oh, no wait, the other Idols have come to surround her, and give her both moral support and a way to distract the audience from her multiple fuck-ups. So I’ll make fun of them instead, and give Brooke a break for the rest of the night.
Why the heck is Jason grinning like a Cheshire cat? And why the heck is Wittle David grinning like a Cheshire kitten? Both have huge smiles on their face… Weird. And in spite of the fact that this is a ballad, Paula is jumping up and down, and slamming into either Simon or Randy, who, annoyed by it, lift her up and drop her into the peppit.
Aww, poor Brooke, this is awful, and she knows it. Syesha is behind her, bawling her eyes out, but I can’t tell if it’s out her sadness at losing her 11th roommate of the season, or if it’s out of sheer physical pain.
Jason is still in his phase of hilarity, so he creeps behind Brooke, still smiling his head off, and does the bunny ears behind her head. My David turns towards him, shrugs, shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and mouths to him: “Castro, you’re an idiot. Can’t you see she’s crying? Fuck you, man!”
To prevent Jason from poking anymore fun at Brooke, my David sneaks in between them, and tries to rub Brooke’s back to signify that he’s here, supporting her. But Brooke was so focused on trying keep her shit together, that my David’s hand on her back just spooks the living shit out of her. She lets out a terrified shriek, and jumps to her left, landing on Jason’s foot, which gets him to finally stop smiling. As for my David, horribly embarrassed, he retreats to the back of the stage, behind Syesha.
Poor David, he is complete klutz tonight, he just commits blunder after blunder! First, he gets snubbed by Natasha Bedingfield, who picked Wittle David over him, and now, this. It was sweet though of him though…
Upon seeing that, Jason’s hilarity crisis comes back with a revenge, and tears of laughter roll down his cheeks as he’s clowning around behind Brooke and singing along with her; meanwhile, she is screeching through the rest of her song whilst looking at her wristwatch every 15 seconds.
Paula, who found her way back from the peppit, is body-surfing in the audience, with her skirt hiked all the way up to her waist.
Brooke concludes, says “Thank you” again, turns around and starts walking offstage. Ryan runs after her and grabs her by shoulder, but Brooke turns around and kicks him in the balls. “After all, you did it to ME!” she says. My David tackles her, and while Syesha helps Ryan up, Wittle David runs to get him an icepack, and Jason lights up a victory doobie.
That’s it! Brooke is gone! And I’m feeling a little sad and empty inside. As well as a little stressed out, because it’s Monday afternoon, and I still have two odes, and two “recaps” to write before tomorrow night, as well as a pair of legs to wax, since the time has come to show them off; and let’s not forget the first segment of this show, which I haven’t dealt with yet. Damn.
OK, to cheer you up, here’s the video of Brooke’s elimination. Happy depression, and I’ll see you in half an hour when I start to work on my next blog entry. So long, fuckers!