Indulge Me…

Okay, everyone who hates American Idol, just stop reading now. Unless you’d like to read about why I hate Taylor Hicks with a red hot fiery passion, which may amuse.

Now that I know I have the AI fans with me, can we dish about what happened last night? Bloody bollocks—I can’t believe Chris got the heave-ho. But more than that, I can’t believe Taylor-effing-Hicks got another chance to convulse to Elvis, leaving no time for Chris to say a few words or perform one last time. I hate stinking Taylor Hicks. First of all, he’s ugly. And I don’t mean empirically ugly—I mean that when he sings, his face contorts into the most heinous expressions I’ve ever seen. His whole body seems to…grimace.

Exhibit 1


And don’t even get me started on his “Woo! Woo! Soul Patrol!” twitch fests, which always have him curving in some nasty direction like a rubber band with a case of the spasms.

Exhibit 2


Ack. He makes me want to barf. Every time I listen to him, all I can think of is Paul Rudd’s breakdown in The 40-Year-Old Virgin about having to listen to Michael McDonald all day every day.

I gotta tell you something. I'm really excited about it. Uh, for the first time, today, I woke up, I came to the store, and I - I feel confident to say to you that if you don't take this Michael McDonald DVD - that you've been playing for two years straight - off, I'm going to kill everyone in the store and put a bullet in my brain! …If I hear "Yah Mo B There" one more time, I'm going to Yah Mo Burn This Place To The Ground.

Also, he’s a total douche. He sings songs he thinks have “family values” and got his panties all in a twist when Simon asked him if he was drunk. And when he tried to kick over the microphone stand one week, he totally missed. He’s about a cool as a middle-aged divorcee who’s just discovered Old Navy and karaoke night at the local bar.

Exhibit 3


Seriously, if he wins this thing—which he probably will—I will be forced to never watch again.

Until next year.