I can't do what can't be done

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.