Well gang, we did it. We got through a month of auditions episodes. Many of us died, even more of us are injured or dying, but we've struggled across the finish line and next week will taste glorious Hollywood.
Last night's episode wasn't about anything, so there's not much to say. Basically it was the haggis of auditions episodes. It was the tripe or hot dog of American Idol. It was just leftover bits sort of all mashed together into something that was vaguely good if you didn't think too hard about what was in it.
It was nice to see flashes of all my favorite celebrity judges again. There was Katy Perry getting rock tats in the rockin' corner man, because she is such a hard rocker. She parties ev-a-ree day. There was Victoria Beckham, perched up there on her toothpick sticks, speaking in her strange mournful bird language, flapping her weak little wings in a vain attempt to fly away. There was Avril Stinkbean, looking like an albino ferret, like Nagini the snake, like some other sort of beady-eyed pointy-toothed creature. Nibble nibble nibble she went on a scrap of food, nibble nibble nibble. Eyes darting forth and back, wormy little tail wriggling under the table. And there was Joe Jonas, wearing one of Ryan's dress shirts casually like a little dress, stretching in a square of sunlight, Ryan watching and feeling the whole known world dissolve away. There was Joe, there was only Joe.
So yes! What celebrity friends we've made this past month. It's nice to know that we can always count on them to snicker to our faces while we pursue our dreams. It's an important service that celebrities do, and we should never ever stop thanking them for it. THANK YOU, guest judges. Thank you forever. For being so much beautifuler and better than us lonely old shitpots down here in the guttery muck of obscurity.
People sang last night. Oh how they sang! From all different cities — places as diverse in their tedium as Orlando and Denvry — they showed up and just belted their sad little weirdo hearts out. Some literally saw their hearts shoot out of their mouths and land with a gushy smack right on Kara DiBoboli's face. They'd crumple in a dead heap as Kara said "Iiiiiick, security!" and two local bar bouncers would shuffle in to drag away the corpse. After they were done taking Kara to the bathroom, they'd deal with the dead body. Bada-zingo!
Who sang last night:
"Fee fie fo fum! I smell the blood of a frost-tipped homosexual!" This is the bellowing call that rang out in the halls of the Idol Palace last night. Ryan had long ago stolen a giant's golden housewares after giving Paula to an old crone in exchange for some magic beans. Well the angry giant came back and sure was angry. It also wanted to audition. Yeah, mostly it was there for the audition. I feel bad for the giant, who was doing its best Chaz Bono impression, but its delusion was also so great. Just because a gay Frankenstein monster came in second last year it doesn't mean that America is ready to embrace a giant. It just doesn't mean that at all.
A pretty blonde girl in one of those flowy maxi dresses showed up talking about her dead friend and, with trembling voice and watery eyes, sang a pleasant version of "Hey
DJude." She is pretty and Brooke White-ish, but with a better voice, and I think she might be going places in this fart-filled microcosm called Idol.
There was a girl who was paiiinnfuullllyyyy a musical theater actress. God, if I hadn't spent four wonderful years with those idiots in college, I would be inclined to say that musical theater people just might be the worst people in the world. There's just so much of them! They're just enormous people. It can wear on the nerves. That said, she was a good singer so onto the next round, you ha-cha-cha'ing horrorshow!
There was a big black fellow with a guitar who did a good little audition. A girl came back for the second time. Actually, two did! One annoying pixied-haired creature who made it to the top 50 and one nerdy girl who had been an audition favorite and then disappeared. Pixie-hair was still pixie-haired but the nerdy girl was all made over and looking like a fool with her pants on the ground. No, she wasn't wearing pants and her not-pants weren't on the ground. That song is just a bit infectious. I mean, it's about pants. Not many songs these days about pants. Used to be you'd hear a slacks sonata or see a trouser troubadour come by all the time. These days, no one's singing about pants. Except for General Chickenfork, or whatever his name is. Good for him.
There was also a sixteen-year-old young fellow name'a Aaron Kelly who had terrible Florida-style gelled hair and one of those confirmation chains that just... ugh. But whatever, he's 16 and from Florida, so it ain't his fault. Poor little fool sang Milly Stylus' bigtime international pop sensation hit "The Climb," which is about all the adversity that a 16-year-old millionaire from a wealthy family who gets her own TV show and movie has had to endure. It's such a climb. She's such an inspiration. The little Kelly boy sang it earnestly with a slight country twang and Kristen Chenoweth unhinged that jaw of hers and swallowed him whole. He's ruuuumored to be in the top 24, so. Keep your eye on him. And, if you know him, tell him to fix his hair. Lookin' like a fool with his hair on the ground. (It's not on the ground. But, again with that song.)
There is really nothing left to say. Goodbye, auditions! May we never meet again. Until season ten! Hey that rhymed. I'm a poet and I didn't know it. But my feet did. They're long fellows. Hah! My eighth grade Latin teacher taught me that. Longfellows. Good gracious. Jokes just never get old.
Pants on the ground, pants on the ground. Lookin' like a fo— Oh. That one just got old, didn't it?