Last Tuesday marked the end of the 9th season of American Idol, the Fox Network reality show charged with the mission to find the next musical artist to appear in the discount bin at CVS.
In typical Idol fashion, the American voting public chose Lee Dewyze who honestly might be the blandest male singer since Jordin Sparks.
Eh, what’s that? Oh nevermind then.
Anyway, that was by far the least interesting thing that happened last night—the 9th season finale was full of surprises, like seeing the New Rubben Studdard. The old one was large and pudgy and looked as if he’d been brought to eat the other contestants. Well on Idol last week, the new one surfaced, who clearly had his stomach stapled, glue gunned and cuffed with those plastic bracelets that the cops use to subdue crackheads.
While this was certainly scary to see, it paled in comparison to the reappearance of Kelly Clarkson, who appeared to have spent time away from music busying herself with merging with the big sister from Wilson Phillips in an attempt to channel playing Cyndi Lauper’s stunt double (chin).
But the show wasn’t only about the past winners. There was also a segment of performers that they might as well have called “Damn They Used to Be Hot”, featuring Christina Aguilera and Janet Jackson. Christina Aguilera came out first and sang….something. Not sure what. The whole time she was singing I could only think, “this reminds me of the footage they play of Big Boy Elvis whenever they talk about him dying from overeating and booze”. I’m all for hot moms, even when hot moms can sing and you know that they used to do stuff like grind in muddy boxing rings with Redman, but post-baby moms in hot pants and heels means Flaccid Fridays for The Kids.
And then there was the woman who is now the trivia answer to Q: “what female pop-artist from the 90’s now sports a “I love dick-punchin’ ” haircut and a skin-tight body suit that looks like it’s housing both Michael Jackson and Gary Coleman’s bodies stuffed in the back?
A: Janet Jackson.
Seriously, Janet Jackson looked like Grace Jones on HGH that night. I was actually worried that all the bright lights and sounds would require AI show staff to have to come on stage and subdue her, like King Kong or one of the Jurassic Park dinosaurs.
I also feared that the poop-chute on her body suit would pop open and out would tumble the King of Pop’s body, clutching a toy monkey.
Speaking of crap in your pants, the show also inexplicably featured Dane Cook, the comedian I routinely wish bad things would happen to—like having to appear on American Idol and singing with a geet-tar. The guy is unfunny in the same way that old college buddy of yours thinks he’s funny just because he can recycle some lame, gross jokes and make really, really lame puns–all while looking and sounding like beat-up box of Summer’s Eve.
I hate Dane Cook.
I hate Dane Cook.
I hate Dane Cook.
I really don’t understand why Dane Cook still gets work; aren’t there some migrant workers in Arizona that they could’ve hired to recite his lines instead, thereby not only saving America the pain of seeing his face, but in the process, begin making good on the pact we made with Mexico to import more of its non-narcotics goods?
I mean, why stop with Salma Hayek?
The only thing that could’ve made Cook’s performance worse was if they had George “I do Mexican Bug-Eyed Minstrel real good” Lopez accompany him on a harmonica.
And so, another season of the U.S. top-rated show comes to an end. And when the lights go back up next season, it’ll be without Simon Cowell, the laser-tongued Brit who was the show’s only relevant judge. Which means we’ll be treated with a series of “Who’s Replacing Simon?” headlines until next January.
Dane Cook’s looking for work!