American Idol: Love Chikezie, Hate His Harmonica
Previously – Male stripper and all-around cheeseball David Hernandez got bounced. Paula Abdul was fairly lucid, but I did see a little bit of drool in the corner of her mouth. Ryan Seacrest is still the worst white person ever.
Seacrest lets us know that the contestants will be murdering the Beatles again this evening. Yoko Ono is over the moon about this shit. You know she hated the Beatles. They interfered with her succubus-ing of Lennon, and her art installations involving animal pelts and jelly and yodeling. The audience is insane. Like, I’m-burning-in-pits-of-hell-insane.
Seacrest strolls out. They’re not cheering for you, bitch. The audience numbers five hundred strong. That’s a lot of screaming tweens and family in from Georgia. Here’s the eleven poor bitches that remain: “Skunky Downhome Chick” Amanda Overmeyer, the completely useless Kristy Lee Cook, David Archuleta looking 7 and wow, does the world love his Zac Efron sidekick chicken ass, Michael Johns from Australia, Brooke White, David Cook and his greasy hair and even greasier personality, Irish pub waitress Carly Smithson, Jason Castro and his gnarly dreads, Syesha “Soon To Go Home” Mercado, the love of my life Chikezie, and Ramiele Malubay wearing her goodbye hat. And a corset, what the eff? You’re short, no one’s looking at the gut.
Randy Jackson and his frat boy ass are yawning as Seacrest introduces him. Don’t worry, dawg, he bores us, too. Paula is wearing sequins, which hopefully will sparkle enough to dazzle her and keep her from passing out. Simon Cowell gets a lot of shrieks. Tweens love the hairy moobs nowadays. Pete Wentz better grow some.
Keep reading for more Idol, after the jump!
I guess they’re actually going to admit that George Harrison was in the Beatles this week. I don’t care about Ringo, I’ve seen him on TV and he’s a straight-up putz. That old bitch is so full of himself. You were just a lucky session drummer, and now you run around with a lot of jewelry all puffed up like you started an empire! Shut up!
Randy says some bullshit and then name-drops Paula’s horrible song. He’s in the video. If you’re feeling blue, check it out on YouTube for a laugh. It won’t cause you to refrain from suicide or anything, but watching her stumble around in an outfit from 1988 will definitely brighten your day. Ryan’s all “speaking of Paula and her video” but then doesn’t mention the video. Good ad-lib. Paula’s top is bedazzling my life. I want her to just walk in front of me so I can disco in front of that shit.
Seriously, the audience loves snarly queen Simon. He gets signs. The top of his head is still flat like he got rained on. Simon picks his nose and demands that people sing well. He’s the only ho telling it like it is in this piece and I respect him. But I don’t respect his sweaters from Milton’s. My respect has limits.
Seacrest talks to the young girls in front about how big the Beatles were. He also wants to join them in talking about Zac Efron’s eyes, but he has a career to guard. I love how they’re talking about the Beatles. A huge revolutionary musical act, and now being disgraced by having the next plastic pre-packaged American Idol crap act using their asses.
Trailer park skunk Amanda Overmeyer is up to bat. I love you, baby. I’d offer you a Jack & Coke but you don’t like the Coke to dilute it and would probably punch me and call me a “pussy”. She’s wearing a do-rag and telling it like it is. She’s wailing “Back in the U.S.S.R.” and “teasing it up and putting black eye liner on it.” You add some Daisy Dukes and a pack of Kools and I’m with you, ladyfriend.
Amanda’s done gone ghetto Elvis. I think she just sneered at me. Work those packed jeans! Her jean tuxedo is giving me the chills! Can I hitch my trailer to yours? For life? She works the crowd like she worked the fry-o-later at the BBQ joint! Randy says her pitch was off at first. So does Paula. Paula’s stuttering. Her dealer told her not to mix Xanax and Percocet but she didn’t listen. Amanda basically tells the judges to suck it, and says she won’t be performing any ballads. Like the rest of us, she realizes the three of them are merely interesting window-dressing and America will vote how America votes. Well, interesting as far as Paula and Simon go. Randy has the personality of a rotting log.
Simon responds by telling Pepe Le Elvis that she ain’t giving concerts yet, except on a Lafayette barroom pool table with her gams spread. Hold up there, ‘Manda. Ryan sits with talent less Marcia Brady-esque Kristy Lee Cook. “The wonderful people of Coca-Cola”? Get your tongue out of their asses, Seacrest, you douche. You’re actually driving me from the product. Kristy looks through her photo book every nice to stay close to her dog, Autumn. F*ck the dog, who’s the boyfriend? What’s your name, son? We see Kristy and her horse. She gave her horse douche to keep flies away. Paula asks for some, but Kristy thinks she means inconsequential Randy. Kristy’s a dumb bitch.
Kristy notes that she’s always in the bottom two. There’s a reason, Horse Whisperer. She’s singing “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away” and picked it for the title. She’s never heard it. Oh lord. Who the hell has never heard that song? Disembark from your horsie and open the Great American Songbook, sister. This is one of my favorite Beatles tunes and I feel like she’s leaving it’s body in a dumpster! Hopefully CSI can stop her ass.
Randy likes that song, too. They want this hooker off so bad. Paula says she looks gorgeous. Wow, that’s really hot praise for a SINGING competition. Simon tells her she sucks at performing. Seriously, she needs to flash a tit or something to raise the bar. Or like come out and do a cartwheel. The Beatles thing is new to her. She’s all I’m trying to do “my own thing”. There is no thing. She offers to blow Simon out of his socks. That’s the only way she’s going to get ahead in this competition – oral.
The eight year old is up. David Archuleta notes that he missed the lyrics last week. It makes him say “dang it”. Seriously, shouldn’t he be hanging up his jacket in his cubby and playing with blocks? He’s singing “The Long And Winding Road”. This second grader can sing! This is some Josh Groban bullshit, right here! Sing about Jesus and forgiveness and wet the panties of forty-something ceramics instructors. The little one’s Dad is some trucker hotness. David doesn’t know about hotness in his game, Randy. He just wants to watch The Last Airbender and beg Dad to buy him a new Wii game.
Paula’s talking about character and purity and she has taken so many illegal pharmaceuticals that David looks like the elf that wanted to be a dentist. The tweens are hot for some elementary school troubadour tail.
Ryan teaches us how to use an iPhone. They have some plant in the audience to keep the product placement going. This is so pathetic. Steve Jobs should punch himself in the nuts. The judges have to lav their cups of Coke. You know big corporations run this country, right? And this is their show.
The Australian dude is up. He and Randy should have a bore-off. They would probably implode and suck as all into their black hole of tepid. He’s singing “A Day In The Life”. He’s not bad. He’s not Kristy level but he’s not up there with the toddler, either. He’s got that HowieDayAdamLevineGavinDeGrawboringbalsawoodWonderBread thing going on.
Randy doesn’t think he chose the wrong song, and he’s without a vehicle. He should buy a Scion. Paula thinks it was because he has a monitor ear bud in his ears and he’s focusing too much on that. Simon terms him “a mess”. By the way? Paula was wrong. He’s not wearing those ear things. She’s seeing spots on people’s heads, and thinks that maybe some Black Beauties can help her come down. Michael gets to dedicate his song to a dead friend, but that kind of loses it’s meaning when three assholes just tore it to shreds.
That Sarah Chalke ad where she’s trying to free her wedgie makes me want to vomit. I don’t need to know what’s up her ass. Scrubs is the worst, anyway. Brooke White’s up next, and isn’t she just sunshine in a dress? Seacrest is trying to make it look like he wants in on Brooke’s business but no one’s falling for it. Brooke thinks no one knows where Nova Scotia is. The camera guy is too slow to capture Brooke’s husband. You’re fired. Or demoted to Paula’s pill-fetcher.
Brooke is singing, “Here Comes The Sun”, and did you have any doubt? She starts out sitting on the steps, like she just got tossed from her house by her parents for being pregnant. Is she tired? Is she going to get up? You better rise and connect with the audience! Ok, she does this gay little twirl and I feel like I’m at Jesus camp. The audience feels that they must rise and clap. I can say that I hate this arrangement. I feel like she’s taken a break from shilling yellow spring dresses on QVC to perform for a bit. Randy is talking about the sun, because he’s a boring ass.
Brooke is agreeing with all the criticism. Paula couldn’t help but smile but that’s just the nitrous oxide she gulped backstage.
Brooke thinks she controls the audience because it’s like she’s trying to prevent them from hurling rocks at Simon when he tells her she blew. “It’s ok, guys,” she urges. You don’t have to kill him; your sun princess has spoken! Brooke is kind of reeling from her bad performance and is telling the judges that it’s ok that they thought she sucked. Uh, they know, honey. You ain’t runnin’ things just yet! Brooke, shut the f*ck up! Stop granting people permission! Brooke says she has a plan, and judging by her mental state – it might be a brake line cutting. Perhaps her own, she’s kinda weird.
Seacrest is down with his fag hags. Mosh pit? I wish. More Apple shilling. STOP. David Cook is up. What’s that red band he wants us to see? Oh, someone probably died. Something about him says that he’s the bartender that only pays attention to the women and can get really haughty with guys at his bar. Douche. He thinks last Tuesday was memorable. Yeah, see you next Tuesday. He’s singing Whitesnake’s version of “Daytripper”. Will Tawny Kitaen be flipping across the hoods of cars? He’s actually doing ok, but it feels very Idol if you know what I mean. Idol or cruise ship. Or tribute band. Ok, he just injected harmonica. I’m done.
When Randy calls someone “dawg”, I want to jump out a window. And I’m on the third floor. Paula doesn’t have much to say, mostly because her sequins are dazzling her face. She mentions Geico commercials? This bitch is very, very high. Simon thinks he’s smug and finds his guitar tricks to be stupid. God bless you, Englishman. Seacrest offers to grab David. I bet. Haven’t we dwelled on David enough? NEXT!
We find out that Simon gives Paula music history tips during the break. Like that drugged bitch is ever going to remember those. “Blackbird? H’okay, Simon, you so crazy! Cheerio! Whoo! You got some tweek to smoke?” Seacrest namedrops Mariah Carey. He probably joined her in one of her high heels/mini-dress workouts. He wishes he had those luscious curves. Irish Carly is up. She’s happy that she’s getting Kelly Clarkson comparisons. Kelly doesn’t wear drawers, don’t follow that path. We got enough yeast; the bread’s all set.
Carly’s sorta giving me some chills. It might be the song, though, cause the Beatles were rad and so is this song. She messes up the lyrics. Ouch, that’s gonna hurt. She hit a few potholes with her songmobile. When Randy calls someone “man” and coins a new term like “cooliosis”, I want to shove my face in the disposal. And I don’t have one. I’ll have to go to a neighbor’s house or drive to Ri-Ri Harvey’s. Simon feels she was “indulgent”. Carly explains her song choice. Paula says she’s a gift. She’s actually talking to her glass pipe. Simon feels guilty as she weaves a story that everyone backstage is a broken bird or some bullshit. Carly actually tattooed the “7” from her voting phone number on her hand. Bitch is dedicated. Tattoos don’t look good at 90. I’m just saying. When the meat is going to fall off your bones, your tattoos get really long.
That Moment of Truth game is some sick shit. Yeah, go on TV and take a pickaxe to your marriage. That’s lovely. America the Beautiful. The dude with the dreads is up. He really loves that he sang the last note incorrectly at an earlier juncture. He’s singing “Michelle”; it’s the Beatles French song. This bitch is so sharing Paula’s weed stash. He probably deals to her. People get so moist when a singer on this mess walks out from in back of the mike stand. Walking is hot!
Randy keeps making hissing intakes of breath. Paula notes Jason’s distinct charm. She gives him a negative review and tells him his ass was singing a polka. That’s hot. Simon feels the show is weird and strange tonight. He thinks Jason’s face sold his song, and that he’s charming. He gets the ultimate compliment from Simon that he’s “not obnoxious”. If I were on the show, I would be floored with that. The theme of this exercise is “obnoxious”. We just watched adults forced to sell Coca-Cola earlier if they want to keep their jobs.
Syesha is singing. She’s adorable but useless. Like a stuffed animal. Her parents are here. Syesha’s tatters are rockin’, though. She notes that she was in the bottom three last week. She’s singing “Yesterday”. That’s going to hit the wall. At 90 mph. Prove me wrong. She kinda is, I like it. I feel her sadness at being cute and useless through the song. Then she starts Christina Aguilera-ing it. Bring it down, Sy. And please don’t do that weird hand thing that supposedly guides the notes. I hate that shit.
Randy liked her. I bet he liked those titters, too. Paula tries to pick up the guitarist. He ain’t into the junkies. Simon liked her performance, but thinks Sunshine Brooke should have sung that song. See, people just bypass Syesha. She needs to be more bitchy or something to stand out.
Seacrest hangs out with some old dude. He must have some money or something. Ryan will spread for money. Chikezie! Oh he’s so beautiful, and adorable, and full of life. I bet he has some beefy chocolate cakes under those jeans. I’ll stop. I don’t think he knows John Lennon’s dead. Someone tell Chikezie. Then he shoves some harmonica in the middle of his song. It’s like when you rear-end another car. One minute you’re enjoying “Gimme More” by Britney on the radio and car dancing, and then next your nose is bleeding and some old bitch in a wiglet is telling you that you should have been paying more attention. Ugh. No more harmonicas, Chikezie.
If Paula tells us one more time that someone’s showing who they are. The boyfriend tells me that the arrangement was the same as in Across the Universe. Chikezie better give Julie Taymor some props. Paula’s making hand motions to reflect “depth”. She’s signaling for more drugs. Simon thought it was “gimmicky”. I agree. That sad little girl in the corset is next.
Has Apple purchased this show? Can Steve Jobs please unhand my face and stop caressing me and whispering in my ear? David Cook is trying to get in her pants before she’s tossed off. It’s a race against time. She’s singing “I Should Have Known Better”. I seriously think I saw this chick perform down at the Cathay Pacific on Divorcee Night with a band called Joyride. She has that lounge thing going on. I’m not a divorcee but it’s an interesting diversion to round off a night of drinking – Crab Rangoon and rabid cougars. Randy damns her with the faint praise of “alright”. Simon compares Ramiele to Chikezie’s bad harmonica. He should join me down at the Cathay; he’d have a lot of judgments to make. Seacrest wishes her “good luck”, and she says “ok” in a faint voice like she knows she’s out on her ass.
Next – I’m guessing Paula will have had some drinks, and Seacrest will still be a douchebag. Just a guess.