You Can't Win
American Idol 2: Episode 11


Eeeeee! Over the week, apparently King Tut and Ryan "Botox Is Beautiful" Sleazebag have kissed and made up. This week, they are pretty much all over each other and to cement their newfound devotion to each other, King Tut even brings his mother the Dowager Ghoulia to the show where Sleazebag makes his affections known. Ah, isn't this sweet? I always love being a part of a grand love unfurling before my eyes.

A jubilant Sleazebag is wearing a light-gray shirt with purple squiggles all over it. Under his shirt is a gray T-shirt artfully imprinted with dark squiggles to replace the treasure trail King Tut insists he shaves off daily. His hair is a little less Brylcreemed, but that's probably because he has cropped his hair a little shorter. You know what they say, when you've found love, you get a new hairstyle. Or is it the other way around? It doesn't matter. What matters is: today is Movies' Night. The Eleven are going to sing songs from their favorite movies. You know what this means, don't you? Burger Queen has a legitimate excuse to sing yet again her limited The Wiz repertoire.

My husband announced even before the show started that if Burger Queen sings Somewhere Over The Rainbow for the fourth time, he's going to personally go down to Hollywood and kick Burger Queen right back to the beef patty grinder where she belongs.

Anyway, as per the usual tradition, Sleazebag calls out the Eleven, where they all walk down to the stage and then wave or stand there inanely before walking back out again. Sleazebag tells the crowd to save the cheering for later - when King Tut announces their engagement, perhaps? Sleazebag also announces that Kelly Cluckson is showing up tonight. Watch out, Kelly, Burger Queen's gonna eat you up.

Someone in the audience holds up a sign begging Kewpie to be her prom date. Why would anyone want to drag a kd lang lookalike to a prom? What is the world coming to?

Sleazebag tells the audience condescendingly how we all missed Livvy Oliverie but hey, this is a contest and life goes on. He proceeds to introduce King Tut by saying that when mothers cry over dead babies, King Tut laughs, and when ET died, King Tut cheers. Sleazebag also calls Charmaine Miss Paula all three Charlie's Angels combined. Is he referring to some euphemism for recreational drugs? Sleazebag also calls Randy Randy the Nutty Professor. Then Sleazebag decides to show images from Randy Randy's past. No, don't flee, people, there's no Randy Randy in revealing Speedos, just some really scary pictures of Randy Randy with what seems like a dead raccoon pounded into a square shape on his head with a wide-eyed "I Ate Eddie Murphy" nutcase look. Or Randy Randy looking like Rastafari gone ugly. Randy Randy in indecently tight jeans. Sleazebag announces as the crowd goes wild and Randy Randy starts moaning for his dog how the thought of Randy Randy stretching his leather jeans to maximum capacity makes him want to change the topic. That's right, Sleazie, right after I puke all over ya at the truly horrifying image his description inflict on my senses.

Today's celebrity judge is Gladys Knight. Phwoar, she looks good. Sleazebag calls her a "legend" and the crowd - half of whom probably have no idea who she is - cheer as she announces that it's good to be here, she started out on shows like these. Oh don't bluff, Gliddy. Sleazebag pimps her Vegas show - as stipulated in the contract Gliddy signed before agreeing to come onto this show - as the most successful ever and then asks her to talk about the new movie she's in, that movie that stars Harrison Ford, Has-Beens Be Bygones. Since Gliddy will be seating next to King Tut, Sleazebag cautions her to watch out for her purse, especially her mascara. I guess we know how those two men met. King Tut's hand found his way into Sleazebag's purse and grabbed his hairy mascara and from thereon, it's love at first hate, with a few or a million liberal hatred and spats along the way.

After a short montage of images from her days fronting the Pips (the crowd probably has no idea what the Pips are, but they cheer anyway, but that's what they're told to do: cheer, suckers, cheer!), we get down to the good stuff. But not before Sleazebag describes Gliddy and the three judges as "Gliddy and the Drips". Aw, come on, Sleazebag, who are you trying to fool? You love Tutty's drips!

First out is Corey Vanilli. That idiot is wearing a towel that he uses to wipe himself as he sings. His song? That vile Against All Odds, a song I swear gives me hives whenever I have the misfortune to encounter it in bad karaoke sessions I have to attend with my husband's Japanese friends, damn them all. Corey's version is an even more limpid version of erectile dysfunction - until he suddenly shrieks into a shrill, braincell-boiling falsetto that have hubby and me clinging to each other in terror. For a while we fear that it's the war sirens ringing and bombs are going to drop around us soon. The best way to describe his horrendous singing is that it's like aural hysterectomy on his audience. Paralysis is inevitable.

Randy Randy just has to ask about the towel. Corey Vanilli says he sweats. Randy Randy loves the song. Miss Paula, who pretty much all but bares her breasts and begs Corey to shag her on the spot, is as objective as usual, saying that Corey takes a great risk with his upper register and how he moves around the stage - good wonderful ohCoreyIwantyoufogmenow wonderful and ohCoreyyoumademyday. Corey tells her that she's more beautiful every day. I take out my burning hot poker and beat the gruesome twosome down in my imagination. Gliddy likes Corey too. They've all gone insane after Corey's blasting war whistle attack. King Tut, impervious to Corey's charms now that Sleazebag is back in his purse, is the only sane guy that thinks Corey sounds horrible towards the end. He gets booed and heckled by the other idiots at the table, but then again, King Tut's the best and the rest are all idiots, so no surprises there.

Sleazebag just has to take that towel and wipes his face with it. King Tut must be enjoying that sight. He offers the towel back to Corey who mutters "I don't want it anymore." Wise guy. Finally, Sleazebag hands the towel over to an insane girl who takes the towel and... I don't want to even speculate. Let's just move on to Ruben.

Sleazebag loves calling Ruben's name. He loves to howl "R-OOOOOOOOOO-Ben!" So people, that's not the alley cat in heat, that's just Sleazebag last week after the show when he and Ruben... oh, King Tut, come on, that's all in the past! Sleazebag's a devoted one-man guy now, right, Sleazebag? (Sleazie, behave! King Tut is watching you.) Anyway, Ruben, my man, he decides to perform A Whole New World.

Look, Ruben, that 205 schtick is really old. I know you're from Alabama. You tell me that every episode whenever you are on screen. Please, wear something else that doesn't have 205 on it. And what's with that constant sticking your hand at the audience as if you're grabbing a piece of pie from the fridge?

See? This is what happens when a singer chooses a very obvious - and boring - song to sing. Ruben's a polished Peabo Bryson and the song is nice on the ears, but A Whole New World is a duet. Where's the Regina Belle? Why can't we get Trenyce to sing the woman's part?

Of course the judges love it. Gliddy calls Ruben America's favorite velvet teddy bear, but I don't think we're talking about chubby S&M fetish here. I think she is saying that Ruben is just being so cute. King Tut says that Ruben has an amazing "dope" voice for recording. I melt when King Tut says "dope" so awkwardly in his delicious accent. It's so sexy. I'm so ashamed but damn it, I want to hear him say "dope" again!

Sleazebag and Ruben flirt with each other. Ruben's voice drops two notes lower, just like how a besotted man would address his lover, and the whole sexy murmur repartee culminates in Sleazebag's pinching both of Ruben's cheeks - let me make that clear - facial cheeks and asking America or rather, the portion of America that are tuning in, "How can you resist this face?"

We cut to the commercial break, just in time to miss Sleazebag vaulting off the table like a dumpy out-of-shape Zorro to take Sleazebag in his arms, tip the man over, and kiss the man, Rhett-Butler-whams-Sleazebag-O'-Hara style, and then Sleazebag pushes poor Ruben away as he tells King Tut, "Oh Tutty, how can I resist? Oh, kiss me again, baby!"

Next is Trenyce. Wooh, Trenyce, Trenyce, Treny... argh! What is she wearing?

Trenyce is wearing a red dress that is barely hanging from her breasts. It's an elegant and sexy dress, but it's meant for a woman who is more curvy than the twig-like Trenyce. The unfortunate result is the gal's breasts sagging in opposite directions, giving the impression that they are trying to flee from each other. She has done her hair up nicely and she is the epitome of the classy and sexy singer, if only she has put on a few more pounds where the curves should be first, that is.

She's the only one dressed for her performance, and she chooses Whitney Houston's I Have Nothing. While this lady has scaled down some of the higher notes to fit her range better, she does the song like a dream. The starting verse is a little on the breathy side and there's one obvious missed note there, but when she starts belting the chorus, I'm sold. It's not just the voice, Trenyce seems to command the stage just by standing there and giving it all to her performance. It shows on her face as well as her gestures that she's feeling - or least giving the impression that she is - the song. So what if she doesn't have Whitney's higher register or that her breasts hate each other and want to live as far apart as possible? Trenyce has proven that she can do ballads as good as midtempo, and again, she has my vote for the night. She even makes me like that song, and I hate that song. Personally, I'd be happier if she performs I'm Every Woman from the same movie, but hey, she likes I Have Nothing because she says it appeals to the diva in her. Good for her!

Randy Randy announces that she has given another "classic performance". (That is a bit of an exaggeration if you ask me, and I love Trenyce.) Miss Paula tells her that she knows how to work both the stage and the mic and that she's born with "it". Gliddy feels that Trenyce is very good at selling the song and she also loves Trenyce's red dress. Gliddy is in awe that Trenyce dares to work a Whitney song but with Trenyce's "over the top pipes", she "pulls it off very well" much to Gliddy's delight. King Tut turns to tell everybody that the Top 10 this year will be much better than last year's (he calls some of last year's clowns, well, "clowns") and says that Trenyce is "brilliant". But he's not sure about the dress, which reveals far more than someone as young as Trenyce is supposed to reveal. Oh shove it, Tutty. Nobody can be your Sleazebag and dresses up to look like a Teletubby.

Sleazebag is taken by Trenyce too and gets off his seat as she takes hers at the left side of the stage. He asks if he did the gentleman thing right and she smiles. Saying that she looks like she has won a million dollars, he then asks her - the show quickly cuts to a "funny clip" to protect impressionable kiddies that are watching - if she can lend him that dress for tonight.

The "funny clip" sees our Eleven visiting the Academy of Arts and Science or whatever that stupid organization is called. It's as stupid as it sounds, except when Sleazebag begs Ruben not to hurt him too hard when they are walking the red carpet. Tomato says that Kelly Cluckson is her role model. Creepy Rickey talks like a psycho freak and announces that he can fly. Um, Creepy, now is not a good time to pass yourself off as R Kelly. King Tut says that if the judges are hard, wait until the Eleven encounter the critics out there. And me. The Eleven murder Ain't No Mountain High Enough and the Academy makes them all honorary members. Another reason to boycott the Oscars - the organization is run by idiots.

Back to the show, Sleazebag walks to where the Dowager Ghoulia, his future mom-in-law, is seated among the audience. He asks her if her son is funny. She says that King Tut is pretty funny and she adds, "not bad-looking too". If Mommy says so.

Kewpie is next. The crowd goes wild. We Giggles roll our eyes upwards. Maybe we are just being petty - although hubby cannot stand Kewpie from day one - but the overzealous support for this guy and the judges all acting as if he has already won all made us more determined not to want this guy win. Come on, Kewpie is overrated anyway: he can't sing anything without turning it into a Broadway version of overenunciated English lessons.

He is also an awful performer. Lately he seems to have stopped trying as if he knows he can just blows wind on stage and they will all applause, so today, his wretched Somewhere Out There is the worst performance he has ever given on this show.

The words of the song seem to be forced out through his stomach, so there's always the dreaded overenunciation thing. But then he's shouting towards the end, when it's just not necessary, ending the song in a painfully bad (and missed) high note that breaks very noticeably even to tone-deaf elephants.

Then we have the slitty eye half-closed look, those colorless and almost translucent lips, and those flaring nostrils. Kewpie will need some serious lesson from John Mayer on how to be ugly yet sexy at the same time, because right now he is very awkward to watch.

Should I even bother with what the judges say? They love it, of course. King Tut even declares that Kewpie's the one. Gliddy says that he is "so pure". Wait until those insane Kewpinites get their hands on him, Gliddy. The camera pans to the audience where we see insane, shrieking Kewpinites all wanting to corrupt Kewpie's "purity", and gasp! That's JD! JD is clapping for Kewpie with this satisfied smirk on his face! Does Kimborlee know about this?

And as Sleazebag grips Kewpie's hand tight when Kewpie walks to him, does Sleazebag know about this?

Does King Tut know?

Suddenly, As The Idol Turns has gotten another superfluous, unnecessary subplot. Is this show good or what?

Now that we have seen Kewpie, Ruben, and Trenyce in action, do we even need to see the rest of the show?

Next is Kimborlee. She has gotten Cyndi Lauper's hairstylist to wreck her hair and shreds a polka-dotted skirt before putting on high black boots to complete the trailer park monster image. Her song is The Shoop Shoop Song (It's In His Kiss). And it's as bad as what you can imagine a song that desperately needs background vocals to go with will sound if it's sung by a husky, limited-ranged singer who seems to have eaten two packs of Camels before strutting on stage. No, Kimborlee, it's not in your four-note ranged voice. It's not in your admittedly polished showmanship. It's not about you, it's not in you, and I foresee either a Nikki streak for you or a swift elimination within the next few weeks.

Randy Randy says that Kimborlee has "mad bod, mad personality" and he still believes that she can be a star one day. Miss Paula calls her a natural performer. Gliddy says she will see Kimborlee in the movies - not a compliment at all if you ask me. King Tut just sits back and says that Kimborlee still hasn't shown the potential he is sure she is capable of. Her performance is one that he can see in any theme park in the country. Kimborlee needs to find the X factor, he says, before apologizing to her. I blink. Why the heck is King Tut apologizing to her?

They must know that they must handle poor Kimborlee with care. She's delicate. Her evil stage mommy brainwashed her into thinking that she has to be a star or die, and if she knows that JD and Kewpie are stepping out at the same time she learns that she is not as good as she thinks she is, things may turn really ugly on this show.

Sleazebag asks her if she has anything to say in response to King Tut's insulting comments. She says that she'd rather keep her comments to herself. Someone in the audience holds up a sign asking Kimborlee to kiss him because it's his birthday. Naturally, she obliges. "How was it?" Sleazebag demands to know. Of course he wants to know, won't he? Oh, sweet Kimborlee, she is so aware of the camera but at the same time, she is so unaware that she is coming off as totally insincere. Maybe one day she will find her own pace and rhythm, hopefully when she's older and wiser. Life's not just all about the camera hogging or performing in transient limelight, surely? But looking at her glowing face and how she just shines and even looks beautiful as she basks for the limelight, I find myself thinking that at how hard she works to shine in the camera, it will be a tragic waste if she doesn't end up there in the near future. She's the Geri Halliwell of this show: she doesn't have enough talent to compare to some of the others here, but she probably works ten times as hard as the others just to keep up. Maybe Gliddy is right - Kimborlee, I'll see you in the movies one day.

It's time for another "funny clip". This time, we see Kristin Dolt. Remember her? The Teeth That Ate Belgium For Dinner And Latvia For Dessert? Well, she's back, and apparently this time she is going to be living with the contestants in that Big House they rent for the kids. She shows us the house. It's huge, it's like three big houses joined together to surround a compound that overlooks LA below. The interior is luxurious. It's a drug kingpin's house. I'm jealous. Those kids are not worthy. I hate them. I swear, sitting on that crapper would actually bestow restorative properties, because there's no way us mere mortals will even sit on that crapper unless we marry a millionaire or we sell drugs to the rest of the world. Dolt helpfully shows me the kitchen and tells me that we're looking at the kitchen. Which is good, because otherwise we may mistake the sink for the toilet and take a dump there. Finally, she announces that she has to go back to the office, but she decides that she needs to do more 'research', so she stiffly and awkwardly sits on her bum by the poolside and looks up in what she hopes to be a sexy artistic pose. Not really, Dolt, it's like watching a mannequin trying to put on a bad performance of Pinocchio.

The next contestant is our very own Josh Don't Tell. The first thing he says? "I'm a Marine." He tells me how he misses his wife and kid and it's so hard, so so hard even though they are just a phone call away. But he must be strong! He must keep living in that luxurious house to win this show, because He. Must. Be. Strong. I'm impressed. Tell that to your comrades in Iraq, you stupid twit. If you want to cruise on patriotism to win a stupid show, don't expect me to cheer for you. Shut up, Josh Don't Tell.

His song? I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing. Yes, we're talking that vile Aerosmith song from that horrible meteor movie. He's doing that thing again - butts up, left hand pressed over his heart, and his face making pained expressions as he enunciates each word like the Gay Marine from Nashville. There's an expected high-pitched sound towards the end, the obligatory Let's Impress The Indiscriminating thing, and all in all, total blah from a guy who doesn't seem to have any charisma or screen presence at all.

The insane judges all applaud, of course. By this point, I'm really fed up with Randy Randy and Miss Paula who seem unable to do anything but to cheer insanely and disproportionately to the level of talent before them. What is wrong with those two? Amphetamines? King Tut asks Josh Don't Tell to stick to one sound - he sounds different today as opposed to last week. I agree. Last week he is blah and this week he is bleh. Josh Don't Tell - a different kind of blah! Josh Don't Tell says he will just who he is. Read: a blah and average singer who cruising on his Marine status to get this far. Next week is Disco Night. Josh Don't Tell, prepare to die.

"You know what this means, don't you?" hubby tells me.

"No, I don't. What?"

"Corey will be singing Bee Gees next week."

Imagine the both of us staring, petrified with horror, into space for a few seconds as we both imagine Corey Vanilli trying to do Bee Gees.

After Josh Don't Tell is shoved off the stage, Sleazebag announces that he and Gliddy share the same hair - awright, girlfriend! - before poking fun at her plugging her upcoming movie. Heh, I think I like Sleazebag. "What are you wearing?" King Tut asks Sleazebag, probably he couldn't help himself because Sleazebag is standing just beside him then and King Tut is helpless with Sleazebag lust at that moment. Sleazebag suggests that King Tut puts on more make-up. King Tut surreptitiously steals Gliddy's lipstick from her purse - the crimson henna red will go very well with the dress Sleazebag borrowed from Trenyce.

It's Carmurp turn to murder my eardrums. Carmurp may be a good Mormon and she may have the entire creepy population of Utah voting for her, but she takes her make-up techniques from the red light district ladies. She looks as if she has eaten three gallons of blush tonight - and that also explains how she manages to sound like a bleating goat every time she sings. Olivia Newton-John and the entire pink triangle groupie brigade will line up to smack this girl with their handbag when she cheerlessly murders Hopelessly Devoted To You.

She sounds better than previously. In "better", I mean that she manages to maintain a perfect monotone without accidentally bleating here and there in viBAAAAAto gone ugly. Dull, lifeless, charisma-free, watching her sing is like watching a bleating lamp begging to be made into mutton.

Randy Randy isn't impressed - she sounds shaky. Miss Paula asks Carmurp to wear less make-up - meow! (But it has to be said.) Gliddy says that Carmurp is on the brink. Brink of what? Driving her listeners to jump? But King Tut, who has to save face and will have to say that Carmurp is good even if she gives birth to a fat sheep live on TV, says that Carmurp is a good country singer and she should replace that Dixie Chicks member who isn't a fan of Dubby too much. Look, Tutty, whatever you think of Dubby, Dixie Chicks sound like angels compared to your yodelling bovine portege, so let's not swallow your foot any deeper down your throat, okay?

Sleazebag does something extraordinary - he holds her hand. Sleazebag holds a woman's hand! Okay, it is for two seconds, and maybe he just wants to pull her closer so that he can scrutinize her make-up and offer her some practical tips, but Sleazebag touches a female! Wow.

Now we move on to another "funny clip". I'm starting to look forward to them the way I look forward to having Carmurp singing on my one-hundredth birthday party. This time it's yet another warning from the From Justin To Kelly people that we must never ever watch that movie. We see Kelly Cluckson in some bikini walking around scowling at Teen Beat guys with too much teeth and too oily muscles as she sings a forgettable song. Then we see Justin Gurgling and his boyfriends walking around giggling at girls and pretending that they are macho guys. The crowd cheer. They have no idea, of course, that From Justin To Kelly is actually a touching true story about a sexually confused young man and his best girlfriend coming to age in a rumored semi-autobiographical movie. They cheer when Kelly and Justin suck face, but they have no idea that the scene is actually Big Sister Kelly preparing Lil' Justina - as our hero likes to call himself - for his big date with the handsome, golden Rocky DuPress, played by teen heartthrob Hayden Christensen in what critics describe as "the perfect casting coup". If those silly teenage twitty girls love the Kelly-Justina kiss, wait until they see Justina French kissing Rocky in a hot scorching scene that will surely rock their world!

Seriously, what else can this movie be when we actually have this clip where a hot muscled hunk dances next to Gurgling on the beach? Kudos to the folks behind the movie for attempting to teach silly teenyboppers to have an open mind regarding alternative sexual lifestyles!

Kelly walks out onto the stage. She looks... well, she looks as if the year hasn't been kind to her. To be blunt, she looks exhausted and even haggard, although I like that she's finally gotten back some of the weight she has lost quite drastically in the last year after her winning the last season's title. Sleazebag calls her a movie star, because, as he explains, a "movie star" is someone who stars in a movie. So Kelly's a movie star. He also begs her to say just how well Gurgling can kiss. I give her props for not answering the obvious: Sleazebag should know better than she ever would.

Bigboy is next. He dresses in an oversized ski woolen cap and enough denim to humiliate a country. His song is You Can't Win from Burger Queen's favorite movie, The Wiz. "What's up dawg!" he calls, "c'mon, y'all get up!" And everybody gets up and flees for the exit as he begins to sing. His voice is weak and doesn't have the strength, and soon he is out of breath as he struggles to keep up with the music. The song requires him to switch from high to lower register, but he fumbles really badly, coming off as off-key at several points during the song. He walks around, points at the audience, wags his hips, but I think only Miss Paula's house is getting rocked by Bigboy.

Randy Randy says he likes Bigboy but the song just doesn't work. Bigboy says that that's okay, he had fun - he asks the audience if they had fun, and of course they say yes. Miss Paula announces that the best has yet to come. Huh? What is she talking about? Maybe she has slipped a note to Bigboy ("My dressing room. After this. Hell, NOW.) and is thinking of that "yet to come" thing, eeuw. Gliddy calls him a crowd pleaser. King Tut agrees with Randy Randy - he too isn't impressed.

Sleazebag tells King Tut live on TV that he thinks his mother is really hot. King Tut looks bewildered but Sleazebag insists happily that he means what he said: Dowager Ghoulia is really hot. Oh Sleazebag, you shouldn't try too hard. King Tut has already paid for the ring with his Visa.

Creepy Rickey is next. His song is It Might Be You. I can't bear to watch him talk or act like the hyperkinetic freak he comes off as, and unlike last week, this time his falsetto style of singing gives me the chills for all the wrong reason. A high pitch "Oooowww!" marks the day Lionel Ritchie dies of shame.

The judges love it, expect King Tut who says that he doesn't find anything original of note in Creepy Rickey's performance. Still, he says, Creepy Rickey is good enough to stay one more week. Miss Paula, whose transparent style is to gush that the contestant is "beautiful" when she can't think of anything to say, loves Creepy Rickey's yellow shirt. It's custard, Sleazebag corrects her: the color is custard, not yellow. And he tells Miss Paula, trust him - he should know. Gliddy is seen whispering to Miss Paula at this point, probably something like, "Who's that flaming queen on the stage, and by the way, have you seen my lipstick?"

Another "funny clip". A creepy dog-faced guy who tries very hard to come off as gay coordinate the Eleven's fashion during a shopping spree. Among some "amusing" hijinks, we learn that the boys spend longer time in the changing room ("Ohmigod, Bigboy, it's huge!") and that they can't find anything to fit Ruben except for those rubber sheets they use to cover helicopters in the army exhibition at the museum nearby. The contestants that look fabulous after the makeover are Kewpie (understated and elegant mix-and-match of flannel, denim, and T-shirt), Burger Queen (simple and elegant) and Trenyce (clean white outfit). Bigboy's sleeveless denim jacket is atrocious. Corey Vanilli's Suckmeister G outfit is tragic. How fun. Can we please go on with the show now?

Next is Tomato. She's sporting the deer caught in headlights look and I think her Countdown to Mariah's Breakdown is going to be soon. I can't wait. She chooses Flashdance (What A Feeling) and comes in black midriff-baring top worn under loose white baby tee and a pair of dark hip-clinging pants to end in gold-trimmed heels. She looks pretty funky, but the singing is chunky. I love that song. I hate it when it's sung by a karaoke warbler with a voice as weak as Tomato's. Her verse is decent, but the moment she kicks into the chorus, she is sharp as knives that plunge right into my brain. Ugh, ugh, take her away, please. She sounds shakier than a shanty house during a bomb raid.

Randy Randy notes that Tomato is "pitchy" (the kind word for "earbleed") but alright. Miss Paula says that Tomato looks amazing, as if being commended on one's looks will soothe the pain of honest criticism. Shut up and eat your own high heel, Miss Paula, you're a waste of space and air when it comes to "judging" this show. Gliddy rightly points out that Tomato doesn't seem to believe in "it", and if she doesn't believe in "it," Gliddy can't believe "it" either. I think I'm missing something here. King Tut says that Tomato sounds like disco on ice and the last part of the song is terribly sung.

Sleazebag sneers at King Tut's disco on ice remark. He says that King Tut's a big fan of figure skating. So that's what they call "it" nowadays!

The grand finale is Burger Queen. She wears a big light blue, almost jade colored dress and a necklace. She looks good, especially with her hair down - simple and stylish. Of course she's singing a song from The Wiz, although they probably have to threaten to expel her if she sings Somewhere Over The Rainbow. Instead, she sings Home - the faster part of the song previously popularized by Diana Ross. I must say, she sounds good. The breathing is off at the start, but by the last strong high note of the song, she pulls it off fabulously. Easily the best performance of tonight, although I still have my reservations about her. Next week is Disco Night, and I'll see if she can pull off faster tempo songs or if she, like Kewpie, is just another performer who comes off as awkward when the tempo shifts into anything faster than the middle.

Randy Randy remarks that this is a vast improvement from last week. Miss Paula says that they should charge tickets for admission. Yes, that's what she said: "charge tickets for admission". Gliddy is impressed. So's King Tut, although he's less impressed with the dress. But he concedes that tonight, Burger Queen has redeemed herself.

Sleazebag asks the audience if they like Burger Queen's dress. Of course they say yes.

So tonight Sleazebag will wear Trenyce's red slinky number, and guess who will wear Burger Queen's.

Wait, don't turn off the TV, people, we have Kelly Cluckson next. She appears once more after Sleazebag pokes fun at Eee-Gay's flipping burgers at Burger Queen's new Flaming Beef Patty House of Yum. Her singing however is off, shockingly off to the point that I doubt she will even move past the prelims if she sings like this then. Listening to her, I wonder how I ever thought her good enough to win... wait, I didn't. I was all about Tamyra then. Oh well. The song sounds like a cheap rip-off of Mariah Carey's Everytime You Need A Friend song.

The camera pans to King Tut rubbing his nipples with his palms. It's probably a remote control thing plugged to his nipples that he is twitching. After all, Kelly's a Tool of Evil now. She has no willpower, no soul, no voice. She only sings when King Tut programs her too. When King Tut pinches his right nipple, Kelly Cluckson is prompted to increase her pitch by another desibel. Ah, the joys of being Kelly.

After she's done, Sleazebag wraps his left arm around her shoulder and says that she reminds him of those times they hanged out together. Remember? When Sleazebag is so confused and Kelly, the Guidance Counselor for the Sexually Confused, slowly teaches him to discover the real he and learn to embrace it? They really seem cool together, just like the flaming queen and his best girlfriend. Maybe that's because Kelly's the one who encourages Sleazebag to invite King Tut to their vacation for two in Barbados in between last season and this season. You probably have seen those photos of the vacation in the tabloids. Both of them are so cute together. Sleazebag likes Kelly because she brings he and King Tut together. She'll unquestionably be the maid of honour at their big fat gay wedding.

Oh, alright, here are two pictures from Tutty and Sleazie's Barbados vacation:

Cute!
What a sweet couple.

Awww!
Are they holding hands?!

King Tut shamelessly plugs that Kelly's new single will be out in five weeks' time, and he promises that America has never heard anything like it. I can't wait.

Show's over. Now's for the results.



Sleazebag has dressed up for the results night. He has let Kelly do his hair - nice - and he is wearing one of Kewpie's geek shirt while sporting Josh Don't Tell's necklace of Gay Marine Love. Since King Tut doesn't look too displeased, maybe everybody had an orgy together after the show last night.

Randy Randy takes revenge on Sleazebag by displaying a choreographed slideshow of Sleazebag's Star magazine poster boy days. It's like a "Guess What Sleazebag Did With His Face" game - quick, compare those old pics and his face: how many cosmetic surgical improvements can you detect? On hubby and my last count, liposuction around the cheeks, a nose job or two, orthodontia, tucks, too many facelifts to count, and of course, botox, all nicely topped off by his living in a tanning machine when he's not hosting the TV show. Maybe he hosts his radio shows from the inside of tanning machine - can anyone out there confirm this?

Suddenly, he turns to King Tut and announces, "Enough about me, let's move on."

King Tut looks genuinely baffled by Sleazebag's detour into non-sequitur. He's not the only one confused.

To fill the time, Sleazebag conducts an Q&A with the Eleven. Dull, dull, dull. Highlights? Josh Don't Tell singing a few lines from I Will Survive, and it's as bad as you'd imagine. I'm petrified already.

Group sing. Footloose. Bad, simply bad. The boys sound completely like pansies, and with Josh Don't Tell leading the first verse, the song's pansy wuss status is complete. Someone has a great idea of making Carmurp lead the second verse. From pansy to unsalvageable. Then the Eleven walk into the audience, and Kimborlee does a twirl with JD the two-timing cheapo. I must admit, they make a nice pair: two ambitious stage hogs who want so badly to be stars. Watching Kewpie hunch forward and snap his fingers in a truly horrific attempt to be hip is the last straw. This show is truly, really evil.

And isn't it disgusting how Corey Vanilli seems to be undressing every female with his reptilian eyes? Stick to hustling, loser, because you obviously cannot sing.

In the fiasco, I note that only three performers seem to be coming off as natural performers: Trenyce, Kimborlee - and as much as I hate to say this - Carmurp. These three seem to be the only one having fun without being self-conscious and awkward about it.

Fun clip. Dolt and the Eleven explore the house. Yay, barbecue! Yay, single beds for the ladies! Guys get single beds - although Ruben may need three - upstairs with better view! They all lean to look over down until Ruben leans a little too much forward and oops, everybody plummets down as the fencing gives away. Kidding. They have a personal chef. In an obviously staged manner, everybody says goodnight to the Virgin Keith who is sleeping under Kewpie's bed. The Virgin Keith cackles Like A Virgin as he then proceeds to deflower the screaming pansy guys sharing the room with him.

Audience Q&A with the judges. Are you having fun with all this pointless fillers, people? Scary nervous probably gay guy from New Jersey asks why King Tut and Miss Paula aren't "getting it on". Miss Paula wonders, yeah, why not, after all, they both use the same make-up and they both like clothes. King Tut asks Miss Paula to admit that she wants him. I like how he says "Admit you want me." I don't mind hearing him say that more often. Miss Paula says that there are some things they shouldn't say before his mother. This is so exciting, isn't it? Lindsey from California asks King Tut and Josh Don't Tell to do push-ups together. No, not that kind of push-ups! Believe it or not, King Tut goes down deeper and he easily wins Josh Don't Tell, proving once and for all that American singing wussy Marines are no match for English carmudgeons that wear trousers high up to their waist. Sleazebag asks King Tut why he wears those pants so high. We didn't see he pulling those pants lower for King Tut, but we can imagine, eh?

Dowager Ghoulia asks what happened to the previous American Idol contestants. Sleazebag explains that Tamyra is a goddess, as anyone with a brain can see. Christina Christian is now hosting a special reality TV show about sorority lesbians who imagine that they are reincarnations of Marilyn Monroe. Ryan Starr has sixteen restraining orders slapped on her by Pink and Siouxsie. Justin Gurgling has eighteen gay porn titles in his belt and his new one, Attack Of The Holy Afroed Pubes, is coming out soon at quality adult stores near you. Yes, I don't give a damn what those losers are doing! Can we get on with the show now?

Another group sing. (I've Had) The Time Of My Life. Another horrible massacre, although Miss Paula and King Tut are obviously cuddling up for the cameras. The girls' voice do not harmonize at all, and the same can be said of the boys'. (Try harmonizing Corey's war siren from hell with anything, I dare you.) And the sight of Corey Vanilli shamelessly dirty dancing with the truly pathetic Miss Paula makes me want to rip out my eyeballs and dip them in a vat of boiling hot Dettol to feel clean again. If Corey gets eliminated - and please let he be soon - guess who will be more than happy to be his first client in his future hustling career.

Scenes of Josh Don't Tell throwing Corey, Carmurp and Bigboy into the pool. Rivetting.

Thankfully, they finally get down to revealing the Bottom Three just when I am starting to feel the urge to throw my TV screen out the window. "Once again, this week!" the heartless Sleazebag chuckles as he invites Tomato to the Seats of Shame. She looks so happy to go, mind you. And Corey! And Bigboy!

But wait the minute: how on earth did Carmurp escape being in the Seats of Shame for two weeks in a row now? What is wrong with you people?

Miss Paula blubbers and wails that she is shocked - shocked! - to see Bigboy and especially her darling Corey are on the Seats of Shame. King Tut snorts. He tells her that if she watched the show like he did on video and turned up the volume, Corey is absolutely horrific to hear. King Tut is the man, I tell you. Miss Paula is so in lust in Corey that watching her is embarrassing.

Tomato is safe. There are many mean people out there who want her to stay when she wants so badly to go. Do you want to see her have a nervous breakdown live on TV? You know what, yes, people, please spare a few votes for her as you vote for your favorites as well. We want to see Tomato wheel an ice cream cart on stage and do a striptease ala Mariah!

Bigboy is chosen to go. I'm shocked. Why can't that vile, repulsive Corey go instead? Give me the harmless Bigboy to the repugnant sleaze anytime. To add to my disgust, Corey's family begins chanting "Corey! Corey! Corey!" like hooligans without any thought for poor Bigboy who is already bursting in tears there and then. I have to hand it to Corey: he gracefully calls out Bigboy's name and drowns out his idiot family members' calls instead.

It's like forcing a man on death row to dance the tango when they make an openly crying Bigboy sing. I blink in surprise when Kimborlee immediately seizes the limelight that should be Bigboy's, but Kewpie pulls her back before she is pelted by the audience. Kimborlee can be quite pathetic too in how oblivious she is to how much she is being an obnoxious camera hog. Earlier on, when the camera is trying to focus on Ruben as Sleazebag announces whether he is safe or not this week (oh please, what do you think?), she keeps trying to push her face into the camera so much it is not even funny.

Everyone is crying. I'd like to imagine that the tears are genuine and not just for show. It is quite heartwrenching to see Bigboy get the cut, but in the end, he's just not good enough. Or rather, he's just not interesting enough. Even his eulogy video fails to do anything but to drive home how dull he is and how contrived they have to be to show him in an interesting light ("singing to the supermarket boss", anyone?). Bye Bigboy. Don't let irrate customers whack you with their handbag the next time you sing while tending the check-out line.

And as for now, thank heavens that this long, overpadded, horribly dull ordeal is over. I only hope next week is an improvement. Almost anything will be an improvement, come to think of it.


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