Sunday, March 15, 2009

Idol Hands Are the Devil's TiVo

OK, I'll admit it — I watch American Idol. But I don't buy the winners' (or losers') CDs to listen to forever and forever. The quagmire of the competition, quirky cuteness of the contestants, or the absolute rudeness of the judges play to the corrosion of our very souls. Where else can you find a washed-up black bass player (spouting "Hey, dawg!"), a ditzy un-blond dancer space cadet and a rude, smug, pompous (1990s t-shirt wearing) British-accented fop? (Hey, what's the deal with this fourth judge — she does NOT bring anything to the mix.) Simon can't even remember her name part of the time — oh, shoot, what IS her name?

Of course, the auditions are better than the show most of the time. Some of the women are more likely to be on "Girls Gone Wild" instead of American Idol, because they actually believed some guy who told her she could sing (ulterior motives, no doubt). The wackos, nutballs, gender-benders and psychos prance their pomp and pageantry soundtrack for all of us to humiliate them from the convenience of our favorite comfortable chair. What a deal! This is a better deal than a Hot'n'Ready pizza to a 20-year-old with a $10 bill. One of my favorites is when they say, "If I don't go there to Hollywood, I'll just die!" If you had just listened to yourself, then you'd have brought your own casket.

When they get to Hollywood and get put into mini-subsets to perform together is when we realize that SOME people don't work well with others. Group gargling their little song snippets turns into being snippy to each other. Plus, it's just kinda stupid, like singing the outstanding qualities of Jell-O — who cares?

The fledglings of this folly that marched on have a new challenge. The asinine statement from the judges — "I didn't think you selected the right song." Well, whoop-de-frickin-doo! Like Tuesday night, they were supposed to sing a song of Michael Jackson's. Yeah, that creepy, child-molesting, silver-gloved, dance-prancer, falsetto-singing, Tito's-brother Jackson. So you have 13 crooners to calculate an M.J. song to sing to make them look good. What a joke, that Randy saying, "Dawg, that's not the right song for you, dude!" I would have told him to eat a habanero pepper and sing "Ben" your own tappy-head self. Maybe if they could sing and eat at the same time, they could be the next Food Network star and American Idol rolled into one.

Another thing — after watching A.I. for a long time, I realize that basketball players aren't the only ones with tattoos. I hope for their sake that they don't get American Idol tattooed on their body until they win. Probably at least one of them had their 1-800 number tattooed on their body. Too bad those vote calls will be a disconnected number.

Even if you're not a fan, maybe I'll see you at American Idol on Ice...

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