I’m struggling y’all! Seriously! Tonight was all about inspiration and yet, I am underwhelmed and almost totally uninspired. It could be because I’ve eaten myself into some kind of diabetic coma. I told the good Farmacist, Dr. P. Haze, that perhaps I should shove something long and hard down my throat in an effort to rid myself of the bile I feel building up. I won’t tell you what the good Farmacist suggested, but I will say that I told the good Farmacist exactly what could be done with that suggestion. Bet that’ll be the last time the good Farmacist, who’s still skating on thin ice following the recent newsworthy legality questions which have cost me every last penny I’ve made blogging on this damn show, makes that suggestion again!
But really, we aren’t here to talk about Dr. P. Haze or even our adorable, and ever growing, little progeny who apparently wasn’t feeling so inspirational tonight and trooped off to bed without shouting any of his normal encouragement to his favorites. Now, if I’m being honest, and we know I always am, the little guy is still a bit miffed that pint-sized, power-house, Ramiele has left the proverbial building. He loved that little bitty thing and has some hard feelings when it comes to America and their (in his mind), lack of musical sensibilities. Again I’ve digressed.
Well, to be honest, I’m just not inspired. Not even a little! I feel like Randy acted all night. Just like some fool had done danced a jig on my grave. Speaking of fools, can someone please just shut Paula the hell up? Please? Maybe the next time she goes in to visit the good Dr. who pumps her lips full of Hollywood’s finest grade engine oil, they can pump her just a little too full making it impossible for her to even attempt to utter her completely inane and insane ramblings. I mean, not that I was really in agreement with Randy, but damn, Paula was a mess. Must of been the oil leaking out those lips…good gawd!
But like Randy said, the one time I agreed with him, we are here to discuss music. So, before I get all side-tracked and confused, let’s chat about those lovable frauds we are calling contestants.
We already knew what Michael was going to sing…as we did with all the contestants. I’ve nothing more to say. He wasn’t bad! I rather liked him. He was first and that is SO often a curse. Was anyone worse than him? Sure! Sayesha was worse! Maybe not her vocals but because for the second week in a row, she attempted a powerhouse song from a powerhouse performer. Unfortunately for her, she just ain’t got the chops to pull off a Fantasia number. She’s in trouble!
Which brings me to someone who should absolutely not be in trouble – Jason Castro. Whew Lawd! Were I really the genteel lady from the South my ancestors have prided themselves to be, I might actually have been overcome with the vapors. You know, I rather crudely suggested that Castro might be a friend of Dorothy (if you don’t know, don’t bother) because he sang a song straight out of the San Francisco gay men’s chorus’ playbook. By golly though, that hot little piece of Columbian coca came out stroking a ukalele? A what? Well, let me just get real personal right here…I’ve done watched this performance like 6 times. ’nuff said!!
Except enough is never enough, so apparently I need to talk about the other little frauds who trotted out their bits and pieces and made an effort to inspire. Ms Cook…what can I say. Well, I’ll tell ya…she should be given a reprieve from the bottom 3…just for this week! She was good…not great…but good! The other Cook in the competion though was not so great! Simon was dead on…pompous! Left me cold!!
Another performance that left me cold was Carly Smithson. Could she be making her second appearance in the bottom three? Methinks so! Which brings me to elfin boy David. Simon was right, brilliant choice of song! I absolutely love Robbie Williams and wish his stuff was more popular this side of the pond. Perhaps the best pop song out there. Elfin boy, the good Farmacist’s love not withstanding, did not do it justice. Nothing to see here ya’ll, nothing to see.
Now ya’ll, I’d seriously like to be in bed right at this moment. Except that I’m not! I’m here trying to give all you loveable devotee’s something to think about as you do your voting. Let me just say it right here…vote that damn Brooke White and her fake ass tears (after every bad performance) right off the stage. That blond bubble-headed bimbette needs to take her pompom’s, pack up her fine ass huzband, and hightail it back to the desert where she overflowed from. You’ve got a friend my ass! Once again she pulled out the fake crocodile tears as soon as the judges were the teenceeweenceest negative. That lower lip. That cocked head. That insufferable, goody-two-shoes, act makes me want to vomit. I can’t stand her! Oh lord stop me now before I have a full on coronary! Be. Gone. “Pleasant walk in the park” my aunt fanny!
Now vote dammit and get it right…send peroxided and weaved out babbling Brooke right on home! I approved this message!