Season 2: Kiss and Say Goodbye

I thought to start off with a rant about how they are pitching that useless waste of space Carmurp and Ruben at the expense of worthier contestants (think: Trenyce and Burger Queen, the latter fast becoming a favorite of mine). I want to foam at the mouth about why is it that Carmurp have to star in that badly shot Ford-advertisement thing with Ruben? Why not Burger Queen, Trenyce, two of the most underused female contestants of this show?

But I'm tired. I don't have the energy to muster the vitriol anymore. Besides, I'm so with glee imagining the thousands of virginal prepubescent Kewpinities and their silly Kewpinite mothers and grandmothers puking into their genteel toilet bowls while putting a hit out on that skanky Carmurp who dares corrupt their innocent Pure Little Messiah. I'm almost tempted to love that bleating goat girl just for getting those sad no-life autodialling zealots into a frenzy of misplaced jealousy.

Carmurp and Kewpie, everyone - the new King and Queen of the Ugly Prom of Grotesques. Although, seriously, the nerd and the babe? What a forking sad Hollywood cliché. This "romance" has the making of a new teen flick all over its ersatzness.

As we are getting down to the Eight, narrowing down to Seven, it's now really a fight between the cults of the Eight. It's no longer a fair fight or even a talent show. The Unholy Church of Kewpinites and the Two-Oh-Five Secret Society are way too strong, while the Cult of the Joshingorian Untellable Unaskables is as strong as ever and gaining strength as more blood is shed in the warfields of Iraq. These three contestants can go on stage and take a vocal dump right there and then and they will still be safe from the Seats of Shame. Meanwhile, it is a mad fight for the autodiallers as members of the Kimborlee Me Me Me Fanclub, Trenyce Worship Society, the Church of the Yodelling Carmurp, the Burger Queen House of Love, and Creepy Rickey's Little Shop of Horrors risk broken fingers and carpal tunnel syndrome just to keep their Divas alive a little longer. And let's not forget the ranks of the Frenchie's Glorious Brothel, House of the Oliverie, Corey's Faithful Groupies, the Tomato Salon, and the Homies Of The Bigboy throwing their ranks behind the Divas they perceive to be the second most worthy compared to their fallen idols.

This week is "Billboard's Best". Or "Billboard's Number One Hits". Or, more accurately, "Sing Whatever". One could argue that this theme is chosen to see how well the contestants cope with mainstream pop hits. As opposed to the tough, obscure hits they sang for the last few weeks by one-hit-wonders like Diana Ross, Madonna, and Al Green.

Anyway, here's the host of the ugly prom himself, Ryan Sleazebag. He wears a brown jacket over a green shirt emblazoned with a blurred brown squiggle on the chest. His hair is slicked down, so spiky projections today, but there's no escaping the Botox and the teeth and the fake tan. Sleazebag's middle name is plastic. He's probably the only man in LA who has saline bags in his manboobs. Wait, that's King Tut. His new boob job has given him a newfound confidence in his masculinity, which explains his good mood and the absolute nonsense shooting off from his mouth today. Charmaine Miss Paula looks happy too. Maybe she and King Tut have been spreading the luuurve pills around the house. Only Randy Randy looks unhappy, but maybe that's because the doctor warned him that getting a boob job to rival King Tut's will only damage his spine faster than we can say "Dolly Parton". So he had those saline bags fitted in his testicles instead. That's why he's so unhappy. His pants are pinching him, man, just killing him!

While the crowd cheer and cheer and cheer (I guess the "Cheer" sign is on for longer than normal) Sleazebag stands there and enjoys the adulation lavished bathed onto him. We look at the idiots in the crowd holding up banners like "Kewpie, Make My Ten-Year Old Girl Your Child Bride! Love, Mom from the Ozarks!" and "Josh's Huge Missile Makes Saddam Spread Wide Open In Terpidation!" and of course, "Carmurp the Amazing Goat Girl, Will You Suck My Lozenges?"

Excuse me, you want accuracy? You want to really know what those inane signs say? Just think silly hearts and sequins and "Clay" and "Ruben" and "Josh" being bandied about like bad words.

My interest in this show is hanging by a thread, thanks to the media circus and hype that have overwhelmed the competitive aspect of this show. What competition? Look at the pudgy stupid Marine guy, look at him! With glorious American heroes now stampeding Baghdad, tell me that anybody can stand next to Josh Don't Tell and stand a chance against the insane public fervor swinging in Josh Don't Tell's favor. Maybe Ruben can, still he has the heads of King Tut, Randy Randy, and Miss Paula firmly lodged up past his humongously wide sphincter, while Kewpie, where he lacks in the tongue-bath by King Tut, he makes it up with a battalion of zealous schoolgirls and their mothers. His tainting his "pure musical messiah" image by jamming lips against the Goat Girl's may cost him much needed votes though, as anyone who has encountered these insane zealots will know that they will be the first to ditch their God should the God turn out to be human with human lusts. (There are also though who found the relationship cute because Kewpie is Pure and Carmurp is a Blonde Mormon Barbie, but the less said about these people the better.)

Anyway, back to the show. Sleazebag calls Billboard the bible of the music industry because it has charts in it that tell you how important people like Ashanti and Nelly are to the fate of good music everywhere. We see the Eight climbing up the stairs - Ruben puffing alarmingly hard - to visit the Billboard office. Two really scary and doughy men who claim to be the charts people show some charts to the Eight, who try to look interested for the camera. Josh Don't Tell ask about records, because he's a broken record himself. Turns out Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men's One Sweet Day screeched for fourteen weeks at number one, and that's the record for the longest ever number one. I remember that one. It is truly the longest fourteen weeks of my life. That's why today I haven't turned on to popular radio stations for almost a year now. The Music God bless the glorious '70s and the '80s but the '90s to '00s music just sucks in my opinion. Anyway, the two scary Guardians of Useless Datas and Charts declare solemnly that he is sure Kewpie's version of a number one hit will be a number one hit. Or something. I can't catch what they say: I'm distracting by the moving jowls of the scary guy. The scary guys all say how pleased and excited they are that the Eight are going to be doing Billboard Number One Hits. I don't think they watch this show.

Sleazebag announces that Randy Randy has produced eight number one hits. Yay. Miss Paula is invited to rattle the titles of her six number ones, which she does after an unconvincing attempt at modesty: Straight Up, Cold-Hearted (she adds the word "Snake" after that one), Forever Your Girl, Opposites Attract, Rush Rush, umm... (King Tut interjects, "Mary Had A Little Lamb?") no, The Promise Of A New Day, and oh, I Love Simon So Much I Just Want To Vomit. King Tut, who is partly responsible for unleashing Westlife onto the world, gets no mentions of number ones because as far as Billboard is concerned, he's just a stupid pudgy man with enormous manboobs.

Our celebrity judge is no other than... Lionel Richie! So I guess Mariah Carey, Diane Warren, and Madonna must really be too busy to come here and judge the show. Sleazebag calls Richie here a "legend", carefully omitting "who beats his wife" for the kiddies in the audience, and I try to gauge at just how much Richie's chin has extended itself down his face since I last saw him. My guess is three inches. Richie says that he watches this show and he is "dying" to be here to "help out" (read: remind the public that I am still alive). He says that King Tut has been out of control lately and Richie is here to "bridge the gap". Upon which Sleazebag gasps and bitchslaps Richie and tells the man, "Oh no, you don't! KNobody bridges King Tut's gap but me, you shameless hussy!" Or maybe that didn't happen and I sort of imagined it. Whatever. Richie also plugs his Greatest Hits CD ("All night long! All night long!") and his upcoming "world tour" (huh, is that like Tina Turner's "world tour" that covers only a few European ex-Russia countries or something?). Yay. Then comes his tribute montage, lots of scary Tampax shoulder pads. But I must give Sleazebag credit in bringing up Richie's shameful role in cowriting that horrible We Are The World schmaltz-fest with the then-still-sane Michael Jackson. After all, they wore the same red jackets in the All Night Long and Thriller videos. The world forgets too easily. Thank you Sleazebag.

Richie sits between Miss Paula and Randy Randy. I guess King Tut doesn't want any accidental roaming hands touching his new artificial boobage.

The first performer is Kewpie. Yay. Ten minutes into the show and they are trying to drive me to sleep. Kewpie's At This Moment is carelessly delivered, lazily rendered, and so lifelessly sung that I wish I could have fallen asleep, but I can't. I am too busy staring at his twitching smaller left eye the way a rat stares at a cobra rearing to strike. He sings about how nobody loves him, and for a bitter, truly evil moment, I am willing to sell my soul to the Devil if indeed the voters stop loving him and kick him off my TV screen forever. But the Devil tells me that Carmurp has offered first and he is too busy making sure that she remains on TV forever to torture humankind for all eternity. Bastard. I hate complacency and lazy performance, and Kewpie's lacklustre performance easily ranks as one of the weakest this episode.

Randy Randy likes him but he thinks that song is not his cup of tea. He feels that Kewpie has been showcasing too much theatrics recently - oh, you mean the bad kd lang impersonation and the Twitching Mini-Me Eye of Terror? - instead of his voice. Richie says that he is in awe that that booming voice comes from kd lang anorexia here, doesn't like the song, but he thinks that Kewpie pulls it off with great conviction. Eeeuw. I don't want to hear "Kewpie" and "pulls off" in the same sentence ever again. Miss Paula agrees with Richie - she can't hear the urgency or the heartbreak in Kewpie's delivery. King Tut says that this show proves that Randy Randy has no clue about what he is talking about: King Tut feels that Kewpie is absolutely on the money. King Tut - look at me and repeat after me: "I unleashed Westlife onto pop civilization". You have no clue, and you are a walking showcase of how bad boob jobs and wearing trousers three sizes too small raised up to your armpits can damage your brain.

Since Kewpie has renounced his ways and is now faithfully devoted to Le Femme Goat Carmurp, Sleazebag respects that and doesn't lean over or massage his shoulders. Even when Kewpie does that irritating bashful eyelids down, smug smile up in his "I'm an innocent bashful maiden awaiting Sir Lancelot's mighty sword to pierce my mantle of purity" trademark look. I guessed King Tut's getting a boob job has finally convinced Sleazebag to stay devoted forever and ever.

Next is Burger Queen. She really has guts because she sings that Titanic song. Yes, that song. My Heart Will Go On. She looks really lovely in a black ensemble (with sleeves, yay!) and while there are some flatness in the verse, she really manages to deliver a very listenable rendition of a song that is overplayed, overperformed, and overhyped. Yet, I feel she can do better. She has done better before.

Randy Randy is not blown away. Richie says that he has watched her grow (eeeuw!) as a vocalist (oh, okay, thanks for clarifying that) and blah blah blah she's great. Miss Paula thinks that Burger Queen has outshined Celine Dion. Always a rational one, that Paula, she's so funny sometimes. King Tut says that Miss Paula talks in a strange way ("That's called English," she tells him back) and then dismisses Burger Queen by saying it's faultless and that's that. Bastard. Burger Queen has been steadily improving since her Motown Night fiasco, but this idiot is all about Ruben, Ruben, Ruben that he can't even acknowledge Burger Queen even a little. What a tool.

Sleazebag points out a "first" on this show: the audience booing Randy Randy while cheering King Tut. As if we didn't know that the audience reaction is synchronized by stupid signals like "clap", "cheer", and "give Nigel the Skanky Producer an obscene sexual favor". This show's attempt at injecting "drama" makes bad daytime soap opera look like Hitchcock masterpieces. They should fire the scriptwriters. And the host. And the judges. And burn down the studio.

Next is Creepy Rickey. He is wearing an ugly ski cap thing he must have borrowed from a The Amazing Race contestant. Since last week he did well pandering to Captain Hook by murdering his song, tonight he decides to pander to Richie by murdering Endless Love. That song is vapid and annoying when it is sung by Richie and Diana Ross, but it is even more irritating when sung in that bland, lifeless falsetto of Creepy Rickey's. He's actually competent, performing a very faithful note-by-note rendition of the song, but he doesn't actually make me want to sit up straight and listen.

Randy Randy says that the song is a tough one to sing, but Creepy Rickey did his thing. I don't think that's a compliment much. Richie says that it took him around three weeks to get his part in the song right blah blah trying to think of nice things to say blah blah the song is his favorite so he is biased and yeah, Rickey did okay because the song is impossible not to be okay. (Translation: I hate you, you ruined my song, die, pig!) Miss Paula, deep in her cups by now despite the early hours of the show, claims that Rickey makes her forget Diana Ross was even in the song in the first place. King Tut says that he doesn't like Richie's performance, no offense. Richie stands up and look around as the crowd boo King Tut. Maybe Vince MacMahon may consider Richie as a new addition one of these days on his WWE shows. King Tut says that Creepy Rickey sounds fantastic though.

Sleazebag says that Richie looks like he wants to "you-know-what" King Tut's "you-know-what" and Richie looks like he can do just that. No, I don't know, Sleazebag, what do you know that I don't? There are so many you-know-what that you and King Tut you-know-what you-know-what, how am I supposed to keep track of which you-know-what you are talking about?

Let's just move. Dissecting Sleazebag's personal kama sutra is not my idea of fun.

Kimborlee, oh Kimborlee. You look stunning today. I am the only person to love your rendition of Travis Tritt's Anymore and today I think I am the only person who thinks that your (Everything I Do) I Do It For You is really nice. Very good, even. My husband says that she is shouting her way through the song, but I like it. See, King Tut? I don't even need a boob job to feel contrary.

Because I like her today, they all hate her. Randy Randy compliments her on that fabulous dress and hairdo, but says that the song doesn't suit her. Richie says that he has watched her develop. Altogether now: Eeeeeeuw! Now this guy is getting too creepy. Richie says that he is amazed at how she doesn't grab her mike because he can't perform with grabbing mikes. Now he's really scaring me. He really doesn't have anything good to say about Kimborlee, so he just meanders on about grabbing mike stands. Good grief. Miss Paula likes that Kimborlee has tried something new. Kimborlee says that she has taken Miss Paula's advice from last week. "I did it for you!" Miss Paula says that she believes Kimborlee as much as she believes that King Tut is dying to kiss her. Oh, Kimborlee, when that vapid bonebag hinted that you should take risks, she really meant that that she wanted you to do Rush Rush ("Hurree, hurreee, blubber, come to meeeee!"). You didn't listen, so now reap the wrath of Miss Paula! King Tut agrees with Randy Randy. "Totally wrong song". Miss Paula throws her face into the crook of her left arm. Don't ask. Must be time for her meds.

Kimborlee tells Sleazebag that she takes a chance on a song she won't normally do, and well, it obviously didn't work out, so she hopes America will give her a chance to redeem herself next week. Then she calls offstage, "I love you too!" I don't want to know.

Josh Don't Tell is next. I don't know why he thinks country is his thing. It isn't. His thing is Edwin McCain. Lonestar's Amazed is his song. His first line is perfect. Then he puts on that horrid affected country twang in his voice. Then he stands up. Then he bends over and points at the audience. Then he starts shouting as he puts on that constipated bowels look on his face. Why are you doing this to me, Josh Don't Tell? What did I do to deserve this? I am not hiding terrorist cells in my house. I support freedom and an end to nuclear weapons and I love world peace, so please, for the love of the Gay Marine God, Make. It. Stop.

Randy Randy says that he heard pitch problems in Josh Don't Tell's song but it's "a perfect rendition". I think he has just contradicted himself, but that's just me, I guess. Richie says, "Look out Garth Brooks, the Marines have landed!" Wait, Garth Brooks is an Osama sympathizer now? Oh my heck! Miss Paula, "Josh is back!" Yeah, it's a big fat "back" that Marine has, alright. King Tut says that it is a perfect song choice for Josh Don't Tell - good job. You Americans better check and see if your tax money isn't being used to bribe these judges into rah-rahing the military agenda.

Next? Carmurp the Loathsome Goat Herd ("lay-ee yodel lay-ee yodel lay-ee-oh!"). If Deborah Harry hasn't smashed her head into the TV screen, she's a stronger woman than me, because the walking melody grater that Carmurp is, she manages to wring out any semblance of tune to Call Me. Just like how she wrung out all tune from all the songs she has the opportunity to murder. If you haven't heard a one-note, almost staccato rendition of an otherwise enjoyable song, you haven't heard the Amazing Goat Girl here. If anyone's calling her, it better be someone demanding that she fly home to Utah right then and now and get lost from my TV screen forever. Oh, and take Josh Don't Tell with you. Or get married to Kewpie, has seventeen kids, do whatever you nice young sweet girls do, just don't sing damn it because I can't take it any more, aaaaargh!

Because the Devil is at the moment answering Kewpie's summon (Kewpie wants to see Carmurp naked), Carmurp doesn't get to mesmerize the judges with her amazing salient goat power, so the gloves are really off. Randy Randy doesn't "get" her tonight. You know, I did hear malicious rumors about Carmurp and the casting couch but I always refused to give credence to them. So is Randy Randy saying...? Never mind. Randy Randy says that he doesn't "feel it". You should try a bigger strap-on, Carmurp. Randy Randy says that Carmurp is out of tune. Richie commends her for performing for so many weeks in a row and... uh... yeah, wrong song selection. Miss Paula echoes the other two - wrong song selection. Call Me is a bad girl's song, but Carmurp, eh. King Tut says that Carmurp is "absolutely dreadful" and she can't sing songs like that. Take out "like that" and King Tut will be 100% dead-on. Randy Randy says that King Tut finally tells the truth. Snigger.

Sleazebag tells America to keep Carmurp on the show tonight.



Ah, Trenyce is next. She does Jennifer Rush's The Power Of Love. She's back! My Trenyce is back! There are some obvious parts of the song where there are pitch problems, but I really enjoy listening to her. Just like how she interpreted Come See About Me to fit her own range, she gives the song her own Trenyce treatment, and I love it. Did you see how she commands the stage? How she manages to sound playful and not at all breathless during the verse? Or that smile? Or the way she winks at the camera? Fabulous. This is not as good as Let's Stay Together or Come See About Me, but it's Trenyce and she's back after her lacklustre two weeks of so-so singing.

Let me gush a little here: I like Trenyce because mainly she's the only contestant who is never complacent. That young lady changes her style and vocals like a chameleon, and unlike Ruben and Kewpie, she is never predictable. Of course, that may be her biggest problem as well: my Trenyce has lots of star power and she has vocal pipes to go with it, but she is also very unpolished and she tends to mimic the artists of the songs she is performing. If she can get a hang of her own rhythm and thing, she'll be amazing. Right now, she's probably just testing how far she can go doing her thing, but one day, I hope she finds a voice that she can make uniquely hers.

Randy Randy and Miss Paula hail the return of the Grand Trenyce, while Richie says that she sang with attitude. King Tut says that she deserves to be in the bottom two this week, just like last week, because Trenyce is "cabaret". "Are you crazy?" Randy Randy calls out.

One, King Tut has no idea what cabaret is. Two, he is a moron. His head is lodged so high up Ruben's ass, he probably will not acknowledge anyone as good because he wants Ruben to win. Three, last week he said that he disagreed with the Final Three and this week he backpedals. Idiot, no? And I bet he knows that among the contestants here, Trenyce is the closest to threatening the increasingly lazy and complacent Ruben. Poor Burger Queen is good, but while Trenyce's fanbase may be small, at least she has a fanbase, which is more than what Burger Queen can say about herself.

My Trenyce is back! Come on, displaced fans of ex-contestants, spare some votes for Trenyce. She needs them at this critical point of the competition.

Sleazebag tells Trenyce hat she looks good and sounds just as good. How sweet of him. I notice that he treats a few contestants with preferential niceness: Ruben (of course), Livvy Oliverie, Kewpie, and Trenyce are the ones he always seem to sound genuinely warm and nice to. I'll be very interested to know some behind-the-scene tidbits about the contestants' interactions with Sleazebag and with each other.

Then comes a big guy. Who is he? I tick off my mental checklist of performers and gape at the TV. It's Ruben, but without the 205! Ohmigod, the Confederation has really been defeated at last! Or maybe they need his 205 shirts because the local scouts need some extra tents for the annual jamboree, who knows? He performs Kiss And Say Goodbye. It's good, it's soulful, but unfortunately, while I enjoy listening to it, I recognize that it is also a safe and lazy performance of a standard ballad that he has done for pretty much all the time now. Still, his complacency is still more listenable than Kewpie's complacency. He is grabbing imaginary burgers from the space in front of him.

Randy Randy blah blah unbelievable blah blah Ruben should teach classes. Richie says that Ruben did a fantastic job. Miss Paula says in her special brand of addle that "Ruben knows the secret nobody knows: the audience wants to embrace you, not judge you." King Tut sniggers at Miss Paula's grandiose and nonsensical pronouncement and says that Ruben has given the performance of the season and if he releases this single next week, it'll go straight to number one. This is the same guy who says that Kelly Cluckson will rock the world. Crickets are chirping, and that's King Tut trying not to make too much noise as he swallows his own foot.

Sleazebag asks what happened to the 205. Ruben says that they need protective covering for those US jeeps and tanks in Iraq. Kidding, but really, he should have said that. Josh Don't Tell will then lose his patriotic edge and go away like he should.

Now we are in the Red Room. Sleazebag asks Burger Queen what she feels about Richie being the guest judge. She says that when she was a kid, she used to watch his tiny penis all the time. Wait a minute, I think she means some music video of his. Creepy Rickey says thank you to Richie for the privilege of singing Richie's song. What an insincere bootlicker.

The show's over. My summary? Best: Ruben, Trenyce, Kimborlee (shut up). Bottom three should be Carmurp, Kewpie, and Josh Don't Tell. But of course it won't happen, because like I've said, two of my bottom threes are unstoppable titanics that command the devotion of too many fans. If Burger Queen and Trenyce can be the icebergs that sink these titanics, that will be a coup, but at the rate the show is going, I won't be holding my breath.

Results show! Woo-hoo. That means I can finish this piece and go to sleep soon. Anyway, Sleazbag is in a smart sleek dark shirt, with a dark stringy necklace and "faded" brand new dark blue jeans to match. He so borrowed that outfit from Dancer #3 in Erasure's new music video. He announces that twenty-one million votes came in last night, and I wonder how many are from grateful Iraqis now liberated from Saddam's evil tyranny. Wait, they can't vote, although I wouldn't put it above those cunning military folks to pull just a stunt and grant the Iraqis temporary American citizenship just to vote for Josh Don't Tell.

Without much ado, group sing: All Night Long. Kinda blah, with weak male harmonies and the ladies performing back-up vocals to the castrated males. I'm struck by how much more natural the ladies are on stage compared to the four awkward men. Carmurp and Kewpie do an inpromptu twirl. Wait, it gets worse. The contestants jump down the stage to mingle, but Kewpie and Carmurp stick together and sing to the camera, cheek-to-cheek. Ruben gets a solo line. Carmurp places her palms on Kewpie's chest and looks up at him. His lips come down and the sound you hear is millions of Kewpinites on a mad, bad rampage to burn down Utah right now as we speak. We pan to the judges. While Miss Paula is gazing vacantly ahead, Randy Randy and King Tut are seen leaning towards each to whisper about how they would airbrush out Kewpie's head and replace it with Colin Farrell's in the upcoming From Carmurp To Kewpie project. Or maybe it'll be easier to remove Kewpie altogether and replace him with Alden Wynn. Kewpie will be kept in Carmurp's closet while Alden Wynn takes Kewpie's place, and Kewpie will be brought up only to sing in the albums. Hey, if Milli Vanilli can do it, why not?

Next is a truly ghastly clip from From Justin To Kelly, lots of unsexy dancing and cheap sets and uglier camerawork. This movie is going to be so bad it will crash so hard that people will think they are filming Armageddon II at the box-office. When you see Kelly Cluckson at the local Nashville Hooters one of these days sporting an I Won American Idol, Starred In A Crappy Movie, Sang Some Horrible Songs, And I Have To Buy My Own &^%$ing T-Shirt T-shirt, you should know better than to ask her to autograph your copy of the movie you bought from the bargain bin at the local Blockbuster clearance sale. Justin Gurgling, available for hire at $50 an hour, will be happy to sign your copy though.

The Results. Trenyce is safe. Yay, good job, TWS! Save our paybee for a few more weeks, don't get lazy now, these are critical times for our darling paybee. Burger Queen - oops. I predicted this last week: she has virtually no fanbase among the viewers that vote, and without fans, she is as good as gone. With the Carmurp and Trenyce fans hard at work rallying after last week's seeing their divas on the Seasts of Shame, those people who usually vote for Burger Queen as an afterthought didn't do send her any precious votes last night. She could have sang an opera piece or performed a striptease but it will not matter. No votes, no show. This show sucks that way. Creepy Rickey also gets the Seat of Shame. See Burger Queen. Small fanbase, no chance to advance. Kimborlee rounds up the Bottom Three.

Carmurp is safe. She looks shocked that she is, until Kewpie drags his skinny butt to fill the space Rickey has vacated, hug her, and kiss her on the left cheek. I love this. I hope Carmurp's goat power will cause Kewpie's stock to crash and burn, heh heh heh. Josh Don't Tell and Ruben are also safe, predictably. I can easily see a Final Four of Josh Don't Tell, Kewpie, Carmurp, and Ruben because let's face it, the show is rigged so much so that they practically crown these four as winners already and how sad that the voters are happy to go along with the producers. Burger Queen will go next, and then it will be either Kimborlee or Trenyce, but either way, all three are next on the chopping block. There's no stopping the suck on this show, that I am certain. I actually don't mind Kewpie and Ruben winning - though I will pity them if they do - but it offends me how the show is rigging things up and the voters are going along. This isn't fair at all to the contestants not given the world class treatment by the producers.

"Funny clip" of Ruben in a recording studio watching Carmurp gyrating like Britney gone Mormon. If this clip isn't a blatant foreshadowing of the Final Two, I don't know what is. And of course, why Carmurp? We have seen her get prominent spots on group sings and now she is starring in a clip? A clip where her voice is so obviously tampered by studio equipment? Seriously, am I supposed to root for this tune-free, tone-deaf Goat Girl to be the next American Idol so that I will buy her CDs and Magic Mormon Underpants? Why should I? Is it because she is blonde? Is it because she is conventionally pretty? Screw you, American Idol. I'd buy CDs from Burger Queen and Trenyce, but I'd rather swallow razorblades than to kowtow to you idiots and root for that bleating piece of musically-homicidal twit just because you think she has a great ass and smile and fits some white, young, blonde agenda of yours.

Now, where was I? Burger Queen is safe. Kimborlee is safe. Creepy Rickey goes home. Awww. Trenyce hugs him so close and weeps copiously - after checking to make sure that the camera is focused on her first. Rickey doesn't even get to sing. He gets his eulogy video, where he says that he is retiring the Hercules thing, he's glad to be here and thanks America for the experience, he is excited that they actually love him, and this is just the first step to his success. I hope he offers discounts when I need a clown to entertain the kiddies.

And that's it. This show is done. All hail Kewpie and Carmurp, the new King and Queen of the Ugly Prom, and for all you heartbroken Kewpinites who now realize that you have saved you precious virginity all for nothing, I hear there's plenty of room in the Trenyce Worship Society and the Burger Queen House Of Love. Hey, Rickey fans, come aboard too. We need to band together and show the show producers that we are not idiots and we will not sit back and crown the gruesome twosome of Goat Girl and Unworthy Jingo Marine Man. Josh Don't Tell and Carmurp really have to go. Who's with me? Down with the hype and rigged contests - bring back the real talent in this show!