The Idols: Trollie, Screechy, Scratchy, Tourettes and GORGEOUS!

Okay, yes, I should have named our little singing science experiments like dwarves back when they were the seven. Or at least waited until the final four and named the judges too (Heavy, Slurry and Grumpy?) but dammit I'm doing it this week. And, in honor of a very different kind of night of idol (read: all the contestants sang TWICE and i still feel like the judges didn't shut the hell up for half a second and you could feel someone off stage making that STRETCH IT OUT motion to Ryan), I've decided to go over our performances by performer rather than order of singing:

TROLLIE WEARS A DRESS MADE OF FECES
Ah, Elliot. Well you started the evening with the endlessly boring "On Broadway" and no matter how much you jazz it up, you can't make up for its fecal nature. I mean, really, if you were to take, let's say, a dress made out of poo and then put it on the fiercest model ever (Kate Moss in a coke-feauled rage?) and she walked it so hard you'd think the catwalk was falling in, she'd still come out smelling like shit. And, honey, you ain't even the fiercest model. His other toilet design, the embarrassing "Home" by the Buble has these problems: a) the Buble sings old fashioned songs well and so he writes new songs that are meant to sound old but just sound bad and b) you didn't at least deviously dedicate it to the troops. Come on, nurse, if you'd done that you coulda headed off Simon's "Interesting song choice?" and maybe Bush would have ordered the secret service to vote for you. After they finish rigging Stephen Colbert's car to blow.

SCREECHY JUST WANTS YOUR EXTRA TIME AND TO . . . PISS
Oh, Paris, honey, child. You had to be on tonight. You know you and Elliot have big 'ol targets painted on all y'all's asses and somehow the both of you neglected to turn up the heat. First, there was Kiss, which, really, is not so much a song as much as a premature ejaculation and it can only really be properly sung by her majesty the Artist. And on top of that, you splurned around the place like you had to pee, screeched all over the place, and don't YOU THINK I DIDN'T NOTICE WHEN YOU WAS MAKING ALL THOSE KISSY FACES INTO THE WRONG CAMERA! DID YOU? Ah, and then the Blige. Impressive in its way, except for the fact that MARY J. BLIGE'S REALLY GOOD SONGS DON'T SOUND LIKE THAT. Yes, sometimes Mary has to get up and preach it and she does her vibe and her thing and we respect it. But really? If it ain't like Family Affair, we just don't care. And we certainly don't want to hear you do it.

SCRATCHY LEFT HIS VOICE OUT IN THE RAIN
See, here's what happened. It's not that Chis lost his voice from singing that song so many times. It's that a few weeks ago, he was hanging out with Kid Rock and this hooker took a load of Rock's ghonnoreah ridden manjuice in her mouth and then snowballed it right up into Chris's and now his vocal chords are ravaged by massive infection? What's that you say? That was the Scott Stapp? But are they not one and the same? Furthermore, after he was a little weak on Styx's "Renegade" they asked Donna Summer what was wrong, and she said someone left his cake out in the rain and she doesn't think that she can take it cuz she took so long to bake it and he'll never have that recipe again. So they turned up the flames on his shitty, shitty second song. Of course, rather than dry out his cake, it warmed up the festering disease in his throat. The moral of the story?Never trust Donna Summer.

TOURRETTES AND HIS CHEATING HEART
Ok, the point of the night was clearly an older song and a newer song. Now Taylor had no problem witht he older song. He had clearly been spending all his free time doing kegels to get ready to perform the "I've Yet to Find a Cure for these radioactive pubic live" dance during 'Play that Funky Music White Boy" during the entirety of which I heard Simon echoing in my ears "It's like you're somebody's dad who got up at a wedding, drunk and decided to do a number" which is what I always hear when No Control Patrol mounts the stage now. But then, to intentionally subvert the point of the evening and do the Beatles? LOOK, ASSWIPE, WE GET IT - PEOPLE LIKE THE BEATLES. But why don't you take a clue and try to do something new. Or, hell, isn't Jamie Foxx's Ray Chares tribute album still on some chart? At least that's pseudo current. You cheated! AND I'M TELLING!

GORGEOUS AND HER CHANGE OF A DRESS
For SHAME, Ryan! You bastard! Yes, we all were enraptured by the dress and yes I know the producers told you to speak of it, but that "whole country knows you wear boxers" thing. Listen, if you weren't such a total ass-reamming closeted fag you'd know no to talk that way in front of a young lady. HELL, EVEN I KNOW THAT AND I'M THE BIGGEST FAG EVER! I think this explains Kat's first performance, which a) really wasn't that bad - she did a lot with the song even if it wasn't spot on and b) she was forced to perform in a trash bag because we live in the Puritan States of America and c) which I think she wouldn't have needed to get so apologetic over had the judges not slammed her so unmercifully, particularly simon's ass face interrupting the goddamn boingy music (AND THE NUMBERS!!!) to correct his slip of the tongue. LOOK WE GOT IT, MISTER CASHMERE TEE, YOU DIDN'T LIKE IT. GO SUCK SOME GRAIN ALCHOHOL OUT OF ABDUL'S KNOCKERS. Fortunately, Kitten Kat turned it all into a glorious celebration of her goodness by stealing Chris's put musicians on stage thunder (and doing it WAY better), picking a wonderfully glory-note-free, actually contemporary, lovely and fun performance and even showing off her aqua tootsie-nails. BRAVA, my princess, BRAVA!

So I'm saying Elliot or Paris to go. If there's a God, Elliot or Chris, to go. And if, for some reason, Kat were to exit out lives tonight, let's just say, Stephen Colbert will not be the only television personality receiving death threats this week.

P.S. Can we talk about Paula? Is she not just too drunk? Like she stopped even being funny and now she's like the last girl at the party? Is it not too, too sad?