You get what you get when you go for it

I’m so tired of “American Idol.” It’s true. I just don’t care any­more. I was never this way when it got to the final two, or three, or what­ever the last cou­ple of years. Why am I so angry at this show? I mean, it’s not like there haven’t been peo­ple I’ve actively hated in the final two for the last two sea­sons or any­thing
ugh uh-​huh eew girl ayup
but man, I just don’t care. Maybe this is the price I pay for swear­ing off vot­ing this year. Or maybe this is a beau­ti­ful gift I should trea­sure for­ever. Anyway.

Aww poor thing. She’s bet­ter off with­out this show and should go get a role on “Passions” or some­thing. Maybe she can be Endorra when she gets to be, like, six months old. It’s no less retarded than any­thing else they’re doing on that show. Oh wait, I’m sup­posed to be com­plain­ing about “AI.” OK. It’s not like she was par­tic­u­larly great or any­thing and her song choices were crappy but it’s just that smi­ley pres­ence of cute­ness, I can’t help but be won over by it for some retarded rea­son. Also she’s the only con­tes­tant I man­aged to like more as the show went on, so … eh. That and fifty cents will get you two quar­ters. Maybe it’s only me and every­one else of Filipino descent and every­one in Hawaii, but she’s lik­able. Not hate­able. I hate those hate­able peo­ple.

You know, peo­ple like this worth­less do-​nothing. Oh man, oh God. First of all, she should have been forcibly removed from the premises on the mer­its of her out­fit alone. Good Lord, peo­ple. American Idols do not wear flared poly­ester culottes. It’s in the rule book. First song, sucked. Second song, sucked. And then, as if the evils of Clive Davis needed to be revealed to me any more clearly (thank you, Hit Men), he gives her “Don’t Cry Out Loud” not just as an affront to all cit­i­zens of the world at large, but as a pointed ges­ture to offend me per­son­ally. You know it’s true. I wish I could say “But baby can’t be bro­ken, ’cause you see, she was hor­ri­ble and got booed off the stage and must pay mil­lions of dol­lars in dam­ages for human suf­fer­ing,” but instead every­one makes like this is the great­est devel­op­ment in musi­cal his­tory and now this creepo is going to “make it her own” à la Clay and “Solitaire.” This is why I need to go live on a desert island for a while. It was the most hor­rif­i­cally nasal bel­lowey piece of crap I had ever heard in my life. And I’m not even a fan of the Melissa Manchester ver­sion, nec­es­sar­ily, but Peter Allen’s ver­sion is one of the great­est things ever, with its alarm­ing pathos and lay­ers upon lay­ers of sub­text, if not out­right text. Make it her own, my butt. I hate this show.

Yay! Great! Whatever! I mean I guess I like her and every­thing, and sure I’d rather see her win over Eew Girl, Eew up there, but I’m not going to be bit­ing my nails in antic­i­pa­tion or hor­ri­bly thrilled that jus­tice has been served. I wouldn’t feel that way with any­one on this show this year, I guess. Oh man, the magic is gone. Yay! Great! Whatever!

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