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After care­ful con­sid­er­a­tion and soul-​searching dis­cus­sion with my fam­ily, cler­gyper­sons, imag­i­nary friends etc., I have come to the real­iza­tion that there is sim­ply no way I can get involved in this year’s Idol. The rea­sons are many, and here are but a few:

1) Forget it, Jake, it’s Chinatown
This show is beyond help and hope, brain-​dead and chew­ing off its own limbs in a vain bid to keep itself alive. I frankly can­not watch some­thing that gross unless it’s fic­tional and has super­cute boys in it.

2) It ain’t what you do, it’s the way you Abdul it
What is the point of liv­ing week to week with­out the bless­ing of what­ever the hell kind of tin­foil flapper/​Gunsmoke pros­ti­tute out­fit Paula sees fit to squeeze her crazy cans into? THERE IS NO POINT, that’s what. Not to men­tion she’s impos­si­ble to top when it comes to freestyling on live TV (unless your name is Tracy Morgan).

3) The Ellenphant in the room, aka “cun­ning stunt (cast­ing)“
I under­stand she has been known to “dance” to “the pop music” on her “TV show” and all, but some­one please explain to me how the frig that qual­i­fies her to sit in judg­ment of all the future Ham Panders and Dead Wife Mans of the world. Say what you will of the other pan­elists, Paula included, but at least they’re all some­how asso­ci­ated with hit sin­gles. Ellen is just so, ugh, SQUARE. I don’t get it, and I don’t want to try.

4) December 21, 2012
Shit, bro, we all got bet­ter things to do before Earth’s grav­i­ta­tional pull is dis­rupted, send­ing us all fly­ing into space scream­ing and explod­ing like one big wicked fucken fire­works display

5) Special Guest Judge Katy Perry
Need I say more? Need I say more.

I’ll miss my weekly doses of Simon’s sexy winks and Ryan being Ryan, but trust me, it’s bet­ter this way. For all of us.

I couldn’t pos­si­bly be less excited about the advent of AI right now, but my last day of class is tomor­row (or today, rather) and I don’t have a job which means, um, I have noth­ing else to do. It’s time to be afraid, be very afraid. Mind, I’m far more afraid than you are!

Speaking of the kind of fear that can suck the mar­row from your bones and make you STERILE, well, here you go.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Wait, I guess I didn’t warn you about THAT. But that other thing? Don’t say I didn’t warn you. See you in two shakes!

Or: We cast 624 mil­lion votes and all we got was this lousy two-​hour finale.

It was a show! And it happened!