American Idol 2: Episode 7
Welcome to today's episode of The Ugly, The Talent-Free, and Just What The Forkie Is Samantha Cohen Wearing?!!. Hey, Hairless Kewpie, you reading this? I suggest you get a lawyer and sue this show. If you're in this episode, you would have won, hands down. This week's Eight are as lively as, to quote King Tut, "dead fish on a slab" and as a bonus, we are also treated with Kelly Cluckson and Justin Gurgling impersonating Dead Wood and Deader Wood in a video shot right out from Cheesy-Cam-Cam-Land. If you need more evidence that this show is evil, step right in. But not too close. When Ryan Sleazebag fails to even violate a contestant this week, and this from a man with discriminating palette as Sleazebag, this proves how lifeless this week's Eight is.
Sleazebag is wearing the familiar brown-red heavy shirt and tight blue jeans. You know what they say about lovers who have been together so long that they start resembling each other? One look at Sleazebag and I can tell that he has been the bubbaboy for Ricky Martin and a tub of hair gel for too long already. Sleazebag is looking especially shopworn this episode. I don't know why, but he can always start by asking Charmaine Miss Paula for her favorite Botox guy. His Botox guy isn't as good as hers. ("How dare you... oh, you mean Botox. Sorry, I heard wrong." - King Tut.)
We go to the credits, and after the last of the cheap pinball music of the credits fade away, Sleazebag is telling me that we should get together after the show because he has a good feeling. Um, no thanks. I don't do salmonella. We pan to the Evil Tirumvirate as Sleazebag cheerfully announces that King Tut is out of the box this week. But the closet doors, alas, remain firmly locked as always. King Tut is wearing a muscle tee. The trouble with muscle tees is that you need to have muscles to wear them and look good. King Tut seems to have forgotten his biology lessons and confuse mountainous, gelatinous man boobs for rock-hard sexy male pectorals. Maybe the other two judges will point out King Tut's fashion faux pas if Miss Paula isn't wearing a lifeless brown thing that made her look like a wood elf that has fallen off the ugly tree and smash her face on every branch on her way. As for Randy "Dog, yo, what's up dog, dog?" Randy, who cares what he is wearing? I'm more interested to know why he is calling everybody a dog. Does he feel jealous when Sleazebag calls King Tut dog?
As a revenge for exposing King Tut's red Speedoed past in the last episode, this week King Tut exposes - well, not expose, as we have already seen it. He replays in slow motion Sleazebag getting raped from front and back by fatties Ruben and his brother from last week's second episode and Sleazebag making orgasm faces as he enjoys every minute of his chubby manmeat sandwich. King Tut calls Sleazebag a pathetic woman. Well, thanks for announcing that. So Sleazebag's a bottom. Anybody surprised? (The Hairless Kewpie: "But... but... last week he... I... we... sob!")
Ryan "Sorry, Kewpie, we had fun, but my heart belongs to Ricky" Sleazebag is so enjoying this, that lovable cheap floozie.
Anyway, after some inane chatter with the judges, Sleazebag and his Pheromone Whiff aftershave heads off to the Red Room, and this is where it is evident that the idiot who did the costumes for this show hates the interior decorater and vice-versa. Rickey Smith, Equoia "E Coli" Coleman, and Kimberley "Kimpanzi" Kelsey are all in red, Sleazebag is in reddish brown, and the entire room is red. The colors actually clash, believe it or not, red against red, so much that my eyes hurt and it's like a premonition of the talent-free bloodbath that will soon ensue.
Which will ensue, this talent-free bloodbath, starting with Kimpanzi.
Kimpanzi decides to choose a song that will be difficult to sing in order to "step up the game" like King Tut asked them all to last week. Apparently, she takes this advice in a way that you will swallow arsenic and sleep with poisonous cobras just to toughen up for the Girl Guide jamboree. She performs It's All Coming Back To Me Now. I guess she is either too young or too dim to realize that not everybody can carry off a Jim Steinman song with its overblown operatic crescendos. Heck, Celine Dion can barely pass the test, only Meatloaf and Bonnie Tyler can do Steinman songs without embarrasing themselves. Kimpanzi's Monotonal Nasal Remix of the song is not nice at all. Even that adorable pug-nose flaring action during the high notes cannot hide the fact that girlfriend here has chosen the wrong song to showcase her vocals.
Miss Paula says that she is surprised by Kimpanzi's pop vocals. As opposed to R&B sounds, I think. Anyway, she is noticeably more perky today than last week's Miss Paula's Reality Show: Detox Center stunt. "Refreshing," she says. Kiddies, another positive sunshine word from Miss Paula to add to your vocabulary. Randy Randy likes it too. King Tut sighs. What the other two are hesitating to tell her, he informs Kimpanzi, is that she is definitely capable of performing better. She is good, but not that good.
The judges are such suckers for a pretty face.
After last week's Kimberweave Locke's sassing King Tut proved to be popular topic among fans (opinions are divided as to whether Kimberweave is arrogant or just giving him back as good as he gives - count me in on the latter, although that girl is a bit too stiff and cold in her performances on and off the stage for my liking), Sleazebag tries to get the rise out of every contestant after his or her performance. In Kimpanzi's case, he asks her if she would have blamed her mother for suggesting this song. Mommy, oh Mommy, how could you? Kimpanzi flutters and says something about respecting her Momma's decision, but Momma thankfully cuts the crap by announcing from where she is standing like a beggar in a palace that Kimpanzi is eighteen (read: old enough to be responsible for her actions). That settles it then. On to the next idiot.
Jordan "The Twink That Lei-ed King Tut" Segundo is next. He is the first in today's Shame of the Males. Boyband looks, boyband blandness, trying to cruise on the now old "I sing two notes lower than normal to sound good, because only baritones are good singers" trick, he sleepwalks through For Your Love. It can still be saved if this blandie doesn't try to hit the high notes and end up sounding like the warble that killed Whitney Houston's career. No stage presence, just bland vocals, he's just a pretty boy. Nothing wrong with pretty boys, but this isn't MTV's Twinks Undressed Special, so move along now, Jordy.
Randy "Yo dawg, am I hip or what?" Randy asks him if he's nervous. The high notes are off. Miss Paula nods. King Tut sniggers - if even Miss Paula can sense it, Jordy Sirgaydo here is really in the pits. King Tut says that Jordy looks dead in the eyes when King Tut looks at him in the monitor, and compares the poor lad to a dead fish on a slab. "Flat," Miss Paula echoes weakly.
Beep, Jordy. It's a flat line. Bye.
Then comes a pink bubble lady. Her name is Vanessa Olivarez. She has red highlights on her auburn hair, she slathers the entire white foundation to keep all the kabukis in Japan happy onto her face, and then proceeds to slather her lips with red lipstick and her eyes with red eyeliners, all liberally applied with a brick trowel.
"Oh my god, it's Liza Minelli's mutant fatty sister! Hide your adipose tissues, people - she's gonna eat 'em all!" a gay friend called to scream at me.
Sometimes people can be so mean, I tell you.
She sings Out Here On My Own, and it's not bad at all. Even good, actually. While her vocals will not stand out compared to, say, Kimberweave's or dearly missed Frenchie's, she has enough sass and screen confidence to pull it off. I suspect that she will still get the crowd cheering if she is three sheets to the wind and sings the irritating Ketchup Song thing.
But I'm getting bored by all these youngsters picking slow, dead songs to show off their vocals. Surely some livelier anthems won't hurt? Heck, Sinatra, the Beatles, these guys have a bunch of great songs if you want poppish or jazzy types, while there is a rich source of material to plumb from Motown if you want to go R&B. I'm fond of the livelier tunes from the Temptations, the Supremes, and the Aisley Brothers myself. All those closeted queens (Jordan, Jacob John, JD - ahem) should have just screeched It's Raining Men (Sleazebag: "Hal-LE-LU-jah!") and be done with. Just stop with all these slow, wretched ballads, people, please! If I hear Somewhere Over The Rainbow or those deader than dead numbskull Brian McKnight/James Ingram/Aaron Neville anthems, I will scream.
Anyway, Randy Randy says that Livvy here has nice hair, nice outfit, nice voice, nice voice. Miss Paula compliments Livvy's personality and compares her to a "fun, positive" Bette Midler. The real Better Midler stomps onto the stage then, yells, "So I'm not fun and negative, you bitch?", before lifting and snapping the twig-like Miss Paula into two. No, that didn't happen, but it should. Anyway, King Tut lazily uncurls himself from his slouching position and compliments her on her voice but tells her to lose a few pounds. Yup, Mr My Two Funbags On My Chest And My Donny Osmand Turned Evil Hair And I Run A Tire Warehouse In My Waist here asks Livvy Oliverie here to lose weight.
Livvy gives him a cheeky grin. She knows she has a big butt, she proudly declares, but it works fine for J Lo! The audience cheers. She high fives Miss Paula and Randy Randy and wiggle her butt at the camera as well as to King Tut.
"It's a compliment," King Tut insists.
Anyway, Livvy says that she is thinking of losing weight herself, but she'll do it on her own term - her own advice - so Mr Saggy Manboobs here can shut up, thanks very much. Only she says it more gracefully than me here.
Sleazebag wonders in the Red Room just what kind of compliment King Tut thought he was giving. Livvy Oliverie laughs it off and to round off before we head off for a commercial break, she does a hysterical impersonation of the Virgin Keith. Remember him? I caught a video of the Virgin Keith on the internet (I missed the episode) and oh my God, Livvie's impersonation, while hilarious, has nothing on the real "nipple twisting, drug-intoxicated twittie" thing.
We see Sleazebag cowering from her. Or maybe he's just jealous because he knows he will never look that good in red.
Next we have Rickey. He's creepy. He speaks in this squeaky, highly excitable voice and he slouches when he stands. He's the weirdo that no doubt spent his childhood abusing a pencil on Barbie dolls. He predictably sings a Brian McKnight tune, only to sound like a more limited ranged Brian McKnight. Let's just say his voice will only be good for low-key overproduced Brian McKnight songs - do we need that for American Idol?
And then there's his watersprout style of singing, deliberately warbling his voice to fit in eighty notes when three will suffice. Enough, dude. You talk creepy, you look creepy, and you sing creepy. Cut, cut.
Unsurprisingly, the judges love it. King Tut says it is good. He is not excited though. Creepy Rickey demands to know from King Tut why he feels that Rickey is bad. Even when King Tut has told him he was good. See, I told you, this Creepy Rickey guy is a strange one. He probably hang dead chickens from his bedroom ceiling. King Tut reiterates that while he's not jumping out of his seat like Creepy Rickey obviously expected, that freak, he has said that Creepy is good. That's better than King Tut saying Creepy is bad, right?
Creepy slouches back into the Red Room. How apt. Psycho is home.
In the Red Room, Sleazebag comforts Creepy - with a noticeable gap between them on the couch (Sleazebag has been very good today, he didn't even make the move on Jordy. The closest he comes on to today is to Livvie, but that's because he wants the make-up tips.) - by saying that if King Tut says Creepy is good, then Creepy must be good. Look, Sleazebag, I know you worship the ground King Tut humps on when your Ricky Martin is away meditating in Tibet, but King Tut is not the authority in music or even on American Idol 2 (well, if you don't believe me, just say "JD and Kimborlee" three times and believe it, dude). Stop kissing his ass. At least on national TV. Thank you.
Next is Samantha Cohen. She has borrowed Elvira Mistress of the Dark's slut witch costume. It's ghastly. It's so ghastly, I'm speechless. She announces that she will sing the blues. How appropriate. The voice is kind of uninteresting and the way she keeps clicking and swaying her head is very distracting. Giving Him Something He Can Feel, she warbles, and I guess this something must be rigor mortis. Thank you, Samantha, for turning a sexy song into an act as sexy as unclogging a broken toilet.
King Tut thinks her song is technically flawless but he is left cold. Randy Randy agrees. Miss Paula adds in that still, Samantha has a good voice. But she too isn't too excited either.
Back in the Red Room, Sleazebag is distracted by lipstick or something on Samantha's cheek. Finally, he reaches out to wipe it. Nice try, Sleazebag, but you're not fooling me. You're still as gay as Liza Minelli's husband. I know you just want to examine the color of the lipstick so that you can have one on tonight when King Tut knocks on your door.
Oh look, another ugly. This time it's Louis Gayzarra - Gazzara? - and his long giraffe klingon neck. His grin is scary. His eyes are lifeless and scary. I haven't checked the official site, but a friend tells me that this guy however looks like he is packing a really big piece in his jeans, if you know what I mean. Go check him out, if you like to see this sort of thing. I'm saving my mojo for next week's Chip Days. Now that's what I call a real hot man, woof!
Anyway, just like Jordy Sirgaydo and Gay D Adam and Johnny Jacob, he's yet another boyband blandie with bland voice who belows that if he shrieks high enough, he is an accomplished singer. Michael Bolton's How Am I Supposed To Live Without You is a horrible song, but this guy makes it sound like someone pouring Chlorox into my ear canals.
King Tut: "So what?" Yeah, so what, eh? Miss Paula sighs and complains that King Tut is so negative about everything. Randy Randy agrees with King Tut - Louis is just alright, nothing amazing enough to catapault him above the rest of this mediocre bunch. Miss Paula thinks Louis did overall very well. Randy Randy sneers and asks her whether she is even going to remember this guy once the show is over. Miss Paula, predictably, babbles about positivity and sunshine and the joys of valium and botox. "He's just alright," Randy Randy says with a sigh and gives up. Let Miss Paula live in her world of eternal butterflies and sunshine. He's not arguing with her anymore.
Next is E Coli. She looks taut. Is she angry? She says she is a fighter. She first auditioned in crutches, then she gets a bad cold. But she will fight her way to the top ten, she says. Well, I must say her voice sounds bigger and fuller than everyone else's on this show, but The Way We Were is one of the most boring songs Streisand has ever sung. How about Hello Dolly? When the Evil Piano Man cuts short her song, she lets in a loud screech, sorry, dramatic high note ending that comes out of nowhere.
Not bad. I'll vote for her, if I weren't so cheap I'd rather not abuse my phone frivolously.
Randy Randy notes that E Coli has some shakier moments at the star, but she has passion. That's good. Miss Paula nods, adding sagely, "Passion is everything." That woman, she is always equipped with an illuminating piece of advice for all occasions. King Tut however feels that E Coli's performance is too much like a cabaret. What's wrong with cabaret? Half the ponces on this show look like drag cabaret queens, so why shouldn't they choose songs that reflect the way they look? King Tut is an idiot who is fast running out of insults and he is getting as bloated as his pendulous breasts.
E Coli, for reasons that defy my comprehension, announces that this Eight is the best of the bunch and of the finest talent. Don't kill me by being so funny, darling. She stops them from saying anything and tells them that she loves everybody, muah muah muah. I think failure has turned E Coli into a crackpot. She has snapped. Someone call Security!
Sleazebag announces a commercial break, but before that we are treated to a bizarre display of the Eight doing physical activities (backflips, splits, et cetera) most energetically. Then everybody drink Coke in front of the camera and Rickey obligingly burps. Am I supposed to be amused? I just feel sorry for these people. They are being exploited to be Coke's unpaid publicity ants in return for being humiliated on national TV. No wonder they say kids today can be so stupid.
The last contestant. By now, I am really bored. My husband is away on a fishing trip with friends at Tioman (I could have gone too, but that would mean missing Survivor Amazon - yes, I'm sad) and it's no fun snarking alone to the TV. How nice that they bring on a truly awkward-looking guy named George Tries on to end this round. Did I say that he too looks gay? Not only gay, he looks like he's a cheerleader, ballet dancer, make-up artist, and designer in training all at once. If I look a little closer, I may even discover that he's actually a gay alien cheerleader, ballet dancer, make-up artist, and designer in training from a Star Trek episode. He sings Unchained Melody, clutching his stomach as if he's trying to finish the song before rushing to the toilet, and his notes warble all over the place. It's like the Incontinent Octogenarian remix - damn, when the notes go, they just go. The comedy of the hour, right up there with Bettis and Jennifer Wanna Dance With Somebody as the episode's comedy gold.
Only Miss Paula loves his performance. Then again, she loves everybody. Randy Randy likes it and is amazed at the "age" in George's voice. However, he doesn't know what to do with George's voice. King Tut is reminded of drunk Italian waiters singing that song in restaurants. Miss Paula insists that King Tut is just whining - she says she saw him get goosebumps.
King Tut sums up today's Eight perfectly: they have no sparks, most of them made the wrong choices in songs to perform, and the next week's Eight will blow this Eight away. He also adds that the Wild Cards may just be the most interesting group of contestants.
We leave this episode now. Next will be the results time. But before we go, the show thoughtfully introduces the Evil Piano Player who is responsible for slamming down the notes and killing most of the background tracks of this show. His name is Assface. He reclines on the piano like Cleopatra. Like the rest of the show, he's as much a freak as everyone else.
Time out. Next stop: the final three, two who will proceed to the finals as a reward for sucking the least compared to the other six.
Ah, Ryan "Do You Like My Crotchless Panties?" Sleazebag's back. Purple unbuttoned jacket-shirt over pale pink T-shirt with garish motives today, completed by blue pants. Looks like GQ is having a Gay Bumper Edition today. King Tut is in black turtleneck. Definitely bumper to bumper issue in GQ today. Miss Paula, after falling from the ugly tree in the previous episode, thoughtfully climbs back up and then takes another fall, this time wearing pink and crashing on twice the number of branches on her face as she goes down. A huge pink - flower? ribbon? - whatever is tied to the back of hair. Miss Paula, some outfits look good on a fourteen-year old girl because she is fourteen. You, madam, is not longer fourteen, so for goodness sake, next time please dress elegantly and as befit your stature as a (hopefully) sophisticated and elegant adult woman. Randy "Dawg, dude, dawg!" Randy is almost as bad in his street denim punk jacket.
Sleazebag talks aboout that stupid Joe Millionaire finale. Did you watch it? Evan "Caveman from hell who looks as if they use his face and brain for target practice" Mariott gets blowjobs from Sarah Fetish and MoHo and chooses the personality-free Zora to be his one and only. As a reward for deception and boring behavior, each get half a million dollars. Is this a joke, Fox? Where is the bitchy, sleazy, catfighty finale you promised us? I thought I would see the women rip apart Evan Marry-An-Idiot, Roman gladiator ring style, when they realize that they have been had before looting and burning down the mansion. I want to see Zora kick him in the balls, dump him, and then take the million dollars. I want to see sleaze, degrading behavior, and stupidity, not this badly botched attempt at a fairy tale ending that should never be attempted in the first place.
King Tut likes MoHo, although he can't get her name right. "Ho" will fit nicely. Randy Randy likes Sarah Fetish - surprise - and King Tut says that he has those videos in his collection.
How nice. They boot Frenchie from the show for posing in dubious and risque photos, but here are the very people who claim that this show is "family friendly" openly talking about the show and enjoying Sarah Fetish's bondage videos. They say kids that watch will be corrupted by Frenchie, and here they are, talking about how fun MoHo and Sarah Fetish are.
Deep breath, exhale, deep breath
F&^K YOU AMERICAN IDOL, YOU HYPOCRITES!
exhale, deep breath, calm and peace, ommm.
Now, where were we?
Livvie Oliverie cheerfully tells King Tut and Sleazebag that today, she has spiked her rooster crown hair up even higher and wore a vertical striped dress to make herself look thinner. The bosom part of the dress is horizontally striped though, and I think you can guess why.
Hey, look! A TV screen floats down, and eeuw, I am treated to the sight of Kelly Cluckson and Justin Gurgling on the screen. Eeuw. It's When Teenyboppers Turn Evil. Sleazebag goes on about the movies those two are making, and I must say how nice that we rob the time of these Eight to promote a movie by two has-beens that, by all appearances, will be even worse than Crossroads gone Spiceworld. And do I even need to see that horrifying Gurgling hair?
Pan to a video clip that is supposed to be a scene from the movie. It's a song moment, a love duet between those two kids. If this clip is supposed to make me want to drool in anticipation of the movie, they are doing it all wrong. The clip looks as if it is shot from a hand-held camcorder on a cheap beach trip. Gurgling is standing at the helm of a boat, trying to look like a manly captain, while Cluckson is sitting in front. They are playing the roles of Dead and Deader. The song is Marc Antony-ish and Kelly sings her heart out, but she is a horrible actress. Gurgling is even worse - he keeps staring downwards when he is singing, as if he's caught in a train wreck that he cannot get out of.
This movie looks like a horrific train wreck in the making. How anybody not watch it and fear for the end is beyond me. How does it feel, Cluckson and Gurgling, to win the contest only to watch your career go up in flames even before it has begun? Somewhere out there, Frenchie is laughing, and right now, Kimberweave and Ruben must be on their knees praying that they don't win this contest. Tamyra is lucky she escapes with the publicity as well as the flexibility of losing the contest and winning more control of her budding career. I told you, this show is evil. It is the modern Pied Piper, only this time the kids will discover that the magic kingdom in the mountain is populated by lecherous, opportunist perverts who will use and then discard these young people.
Cluckson and Gurgling also display the sexual chemistry of a rhubarb and a turnip in a basket.
Anyway, let's ignore the inane tattle (although Miss Paula clinging to King Tut's arm and declares that he is reinforcing eating disorders on kids today is painfully ironic, as is Sleazebag teasing them about their behavior only to miss the poisonous look Miss Paula shot King Tut thereafter) and get on with the good stuff. I'm tired of rambling so long already. Final three: Livvy, Creepy Rickey, E Coli. Final two? Livvy and Creepy Rickey. America, may I ask: Creepy Rickey? What the heck is wrong with you all?
As Creepy Rickey sings, Sleazebag asks the others to go and hug Creepy. E Coli, trying to pull a Kimborlee, shouts, "Alright!" for no particular reason as she pushes her surly mug to the camera. "Woo!"
Thankfully, the credits roll, leaving behind only a scene of a lively red-headed big-butted woman shaking her booty at the camera. Take that, E Coli!
And that's a wrap to this sorry episode.
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