Shocked and appalled

February 12, 2009

Now listen here kids, I’m just flat out pissed off at our judges who made some decisions that verge and border on the asinine. Now, I’ll be honest, the night started off with some promising moments. Ok, except for that hideous mansion this bloated and irrelevant show is calling the “judges mansion.” Now, I have no idea what Your Mama over at the Real Estalker would say about this hideous monstrosity but I have a feeling she’d find herself feeling exactly like I do, revolted and nonplussed. Now listen, I don’t know sh*t-from-shinola when it comes to architectural or interior design (thank the gods and goddesses for good gay designers), but Your Mama has provided enough knowledge for me to know that there was something serious, serious wrong with this place. And I’ll tell you another thing, not one of those damn judges lives in that huge and uhg-lee pile!

But seriously ya’ll, I have no time to talk about that disaster because it was some of the decisions and actions of these mind-numbing imbeciles they are calling judges that flipped my lid. First, let me say that Drunk Paula was sober…shocking! But, the decisions left me feeling that these four had sat down with a big bottle of their favorite adult beverage and said “wee, that one’ll work!” Bullsh*t!! And another damn thing…those sing-offs were just the height of pure stupidity. They did nothing but showcase the very simple fact that this show is bloated, boring and totally irrelevant even to the musical machine that exists here in Hollywood.

Now listen real quick ya’ll, I’m so angry at this farce that was pulled on us, that I’ve made arrangements for a big black car to pick me up from my little casa high in the hills above Hollywood and take me over to meet with that Metrosexual of Metrosexuals so as to register my absolute disgust with the decisions made last evening. Not that that impotent little fop can do anything, but damn, I will feel a little bit better after I’ve unloaded off my heaving chest. The nerve! I mean, they let my boy Jamar Rogers go and kept…Norman Gentle? WTF!!!!! And if that wasn’t bad enough, they kept that stupid little gurl named Tatiana. HUH??? As one person so gently put it via Facebook last night, “I wanna tie down Tatiana and b*tch slap her unconsious!” Now, I don’t believe in advocating violence, not even remotely! but Lawd kids, that child makes me all sorts of angry and upset and the very idea that my teevee will be poluted by that annoying little thing is almost enough to make me…

I’m taking a deep breath before I get myself so worked up that I can’t think straight! Now I’m off kids…I don’t know that my voicing of my shock and anger will do much good…but I’m gonna give it a whirl!

Plumb tuckered out!

February 11, 2009

Now listen here kids, I live in damn Hollywood! And let me tell you, we’ve been having a lot of drama around here since I last threw up a little bit of Idol porn for your entertainment pleasure. If I’m being honest, and we know I always am, I’m plumb tuckered out!

Now, as often happens with ex’s and such, I relented and let the good Farmacist Dr. P. Haze bring a big ole pizza over and watch this fraudulent and indulgent show we affectionately call Idol. Since the good Farmacist was in peaceful frame of mind it was actually, and quite shockingly, a most enjoyable evening of watching the musically inclined (and challenged) take the stage over at the Kodak (where apparently the good Farmacist has spent some quality time inspecting the carpet – yes, my mind is still trying to wrap itself around that tid-bit of useless information).

Now, since last week’s fiasco played out on my big ass teevee – the kind that hangs on the wall and puts forth a crystal clear image – we’ve had some real mew-zi-tians show us what real performing is all about. Now listen, it’s rare for me to venture from my little casa high in the hills above Hollywood, however, when the beacons beckon, red carpet calls and the sparkling invitation says that my ignoble presence is requested, it didn’t take a real genius to ring up all manner of nice gay designers and stylists to do me up and over for a night on tinsel town.

Of course, while the evening was suppose to be all about the music, instead we ended up dealing with little cute sexiness and his manhandling ways. As the iPhone’s and Crackberry’s cackled and cajoled all manner of illicit information on the goings on of two of Hollywood’s young and sassy, we missed some rather amazing performances. Performances that our frauds over at the Kodak should, yes kids, absolutely should, have been paying attention to. And Lawd, little Miss Katy Perry cooing about kissing a gurl and liking it, well, it just warmed the cockles of my dark, cold heart!

But I have digressed! I will admit that drama is what my little berg on this quite amazing planet revolves around. We blast slow speed police chases by young guys in Bentley’s all over our teevees and let Paula’s atrocious silver vomit like neck thing lead off our evening news. And Lawd, Miss Paula was sure in rare form last night!!! It’s been a long time since I pulled out the home version of the Drunk Paula game, but kids, last night was a good night for it. Those damn little seal claps and standing touch-downs were a sight to behold. I found myself laughing quite hysterically at the thought of Paula giving the blind guy a standing O…dumbass!!!

Of course, drama apparently wouldn’t be complete, at least during Hollywood week, with out the seemliness that emanated from one particular fraud. This little one-woman freakshow has me nearly on the verge of sending one of my security goons down from my little place high in the hills above Hollywood to dispatch little miss “can’t be wrong” to a place far, far away. I refuse to mention the little drama-bitches name, but, you know who I’m talking about. The simple fact that she made it through last night made me want to hurt people!!

Now listen, as we revved up the drama, little Simon decided he needed to head off back across the pond to his humble little abode in London town. Where, apparently and according to news reports on the venerable site TMZ, we learn that he played a spectacular version of the home game Drunk Paula. Lawd children, TMZ is everywhere and celebrities must be careful because they will catch you at your most inopportune moment and then flash your foolishness across the interwebs until the whole damn world has seen your little bit of drunken silliness. Lawd, someone of Mr. Cowell’s exemplary distinction and character surely would know better than to be seen drunken and dazed carrying a cancer stick around. But again, I’ve digressed.

Now listen here kids, this is taking too damn long. We didn’t get rid of nearly enough of those damn frauds who are attempting to fake star-power in an effort to get a crappy little tiara to wear on their crappy little heads. And, can I just get one thing off of my heaving chest…that damn child who sang Disturbia, you know the one, Lawd, I could drop kick that child to the moon. He just annoys the hell out of me!

I was thrilled, thrilled, thrilled to see my boy Jamar and his man friend survive. I was not even shocked! YAY and hurray!

Now I’ve got lots more to say, but with all the drama, I’m runnin on fumes. Celebrities beating the sh*t out of each other; Young and presumably wealthy Bentley owners commiting hari-kari while the whole of Los Angeles looks on; stylists, make-up artists and the like working themselves to the bone so that the royalty that rules this town can throw another damn party to congratulate ourselves on all our good work the past year. Yes, it’s plumb exhausting. So, quit asking for more…I ain’t got it in me.

Who are you people?

February 5, 2009

Now listen here kids, I’ve had it up to here with bad-tempered little children who think the world owes them some sort of favor. Ok, well, maybe not the world, but certainly they think that because they have a little bit of talent, they should just be patted on their little behinds and sent sailing right on through to the next rounds. As if!

All that caterwauling and such that emanated from the down the way from my little casa high in the hills above Hollywood was enough to make me want to slap someone. Thankfully there was no one whose company I was forced to endure as we suffered through bad skin, bad hair and some seriously bad attitudes. Lawd kids, they was some messes for sure!

That’s not to say the night was a total bust. No-sir-ree-bob!! While I haven’t seen the little Castro boy yet, I know he’s lurking out there somewhere and my heart beats up just a little at the thought of that child and his organ! But if I’m being honest, and we know I always am, there is one that has my heart a beatin and a poundin like something that only happens in the scariest of movies. Now kids, I’m gonna name a name which you know is very unusual for me this early in the season. But that tall, dark and handsome thing named Jamar with a voice that melts me like butter is something else. And those tats that are so sexily scrawled across his fingers…lawd ya’ll, I just wanna…well, never-damn-mind what I wanna do. Get your own damn fantasy!!

His little man friend ain’t that bad either…at least in the voice department. Can you imagine those two battling right down to the very finale? Well, that thought did pop into my head as those children did all manner of things with their voices that simply sent my head a spinnin and a whirlin. Along with Rihanna I was a singin “please don’t stop the music!!”

But listen, there was a lot more disaster showin on my big ass teevee – the kind you hang on the wall with the crystal clear picture – than not. Thankfully we got rid of that fraudulent little hussy named “bikini girl.” You know, that child was a diva for no reason and deserved, yes, absolutely deserved the bitchy little slap-down from Kara!

And then there was that child who was unceremoniously put out on his kiester who made the oddest of comments. You know the one! Hell, I pulled out my trust little iPhone and typed in his comment. Look y’all, we’ve had drunk Paula, stoned Paula, head in Simon’s lap Paula, but we’ve never, ever had “evil Paula!” That child, lookin a little possessed himself, actually went there. “I saw evil in her eyes I didn’t know exists!” Sweetie, the reason you didn’t know it “exists” is because it don’t! Trust me, Paula is too “over-the-rainbow” messed up to be evil!

There were some other interesting comments from last night, but I’ma gonna end with one that set it off for me. Lawd, that child with the weird colored reddish, crap brown hair straight up said “I don’t like fake people!” Ah, hell naw she didn’t! Little gurl, if you don’t like fake ass people then you should have stayed in little bitty somewhere else cuz here in Hollywood, we all about fake ass people. We parade our bosoms and banana boats around, live in big ass houses that are filled with big ass furniture and big ass teevees, drive big ass cars with names that most of America has only seen on their little bitty teevees. And children, we don’t own a damn bit of it. We fake as hell! So, here’s my little bit of advice…if you don’t like fake people then stay the [blank] out of Hollywood!

Hollywood Week – Round 1

February 4, 2009

Now listen here kids, I’m in some sort of mood right now! Hollywood week means all those damn kids have descended on my fair little city and right down the hill from my humble little hovel high in the hills above Hollywood. If I’m being honest, and we know I always am, Hollywood can handle 147 nervous nellies who have their hearts beatin and bumpin in their heaving chests and their hopes built up like sandcastles.

These little fraudulent wanna-be’s showed up in my little berg and were immediately thrown head-long into some sort of boot camp. Now, my good friend the Army Drill Sargent said it was nothing, absolutely nothing like what a real boot camp looked, felt or tasted like and felt it was an absolute travesty that these Idol buffoons could get away with calling it such. But, whatever! The most important thing to come out of this so-called “boot camp” was not that frosted queen Miss Manilow. No, it was that song-selection is to be the main ingredient throughout the season…right from the get-go. And Lawd a mercy did a whole bunch of these little frauds fail that little test.

Now I’m not gonna start pickin on these little frauds who have “sacrificed” everything they’ve got to worship at the altar of this bloated and self-important teevee reality show called Idol. But listen kids, if you’ve got bad hair, bad teeth and an atrocious accent plus you sound like you’re trying to squeeze a canary out your ass then don’t tell the judges they suck! There is NO call for being rude when you’ve just got a free ticket to visit someplace you’ve never been and won’t ever come back to. This little fraudster wanted to know what kind of “message” the judges were sending so, let me clear it up real quick like. You can’t sing!

And speaking of singing, this is a damn singing competition right? Or at least it purports to be one. So why in the name of all goodness and light did we put a damn comedian through? Huh? You tell me! Norman Gentle made me wanna hurl stuff at my big-ass teevee screen…the flat kind that hangs on my wall and puts forth an image that is crystal clear. And for some damn reason our judges put him through? Have they lost every last little damn bit of those things they call minds?

Before I completely blow a gasket here, I need to talk about that insipid little no-talent except on the stripper pole whose name I don’t care to know or remember girl sometimes referred to as “stripperbikini girl.” Even the hot-blooded heterosexual man currently sleeping on my sofa thought this child could not sing. Which of course had absolutely nothing to do with what he wanted to do with her naughty parts. It’s safe to say that’s why she sailed on through to the next round. Mr. Heterosexual himself, old Simon horn dog, wants to tap that ass. You know it, and I know it.

Now kids, I’ve got a lot more to say but I’m damn tired! Tonight, apparently, we will be treated to round two. I think we’d be smart to cut about half of these 104 children left. Hell, we should probably do so before we get to round two! Lord knows, I’m afraid they’ll be scaling my gate and sleeping on my lawn if we don’t hurriedly put them on a plane back to Timbuktu or where-ever-the-hell they came from!