Mentally Ill Is The New Hilarious, Part I

Tuesday

We open on Leandra Jackson, a large twenty-year-old woman from Ohio, who is singing "The Star Spangled Banner" in a weird shaky, screamy voice that keeps changing key when she bounces off the walls of her admittedly limited range, like a remote-controlled bumper car or Roomba. She seems nice, and they always get points from me for being game, which she very much is, if only because she's sadly wrong about how well she's singing and, in fact, how well-advised her current choices in life really are. Fittingly, she ends by shrieking the word "brave" in a register just light years away from where we all started at the beginning of the "song." It's like whoa, there's just so much of her, and so much of her singingcut to Simon, who looks at her for a second, and then shuts his eyes hilariously, like he's thinking of calling it quits for good. Like Leandra has done what we all want to do, and broken him for good. Andscene.

It's nice because there's no sound other than her tortured screams -- kind of subtle and funny. Actually, kind of brilliant. Then the credits, whichnot so much with the subtle, although I gather they are new. The digital AI person this year is not so androgynous and creepy -- when it's a girl it's a girl, and when it's a boy it's a boy and so forth -- although when it finally swooshes its way through its weird Tron-Game Grid-world, it's a dude. With not-at-all Guarini hair. The more fringe elements of the American Idol conspiracy contingent ("The truth is trivial!") take this to mean, and I believe they might be right, that the winner of AI, by hook or by crook, is going to be a dude, only with, you know, a sack. We shall see. Although if it is Constantine, I will take my own life. He/she/actually he is backed up by weird neon green peacock feathers. Huh?

So it's August 18, 2004, in Washington, DC, where we lay our scene. We talk about Fantasia and some other girl who looks like somebody's short mom -- I think Diana Degarmo? Don't hate me, I'm totally your friend! -- waiting, waiting, waiting for the results from AI 2004 and it's Fantasia and she wins and then practically cries her nose ring out of her face and then Seacrest wigs in voice-over talking about how everyone ever in the history of American Idol has been mind-blowingly successful, including Kelly, Clay, Josh, Tamyra, Kimberly, Ruben, lots of album covers, Diana (yeah, so that was her), and altogether they've had 23 #1 hits (does that include "Baby Mama"? Because that's the awesomest song of all time!) and how this year is going to be bigger, better, louder, crazier, and generally more magical than everything ever. Hmm. Seems like it's in the interest of AI to think that. I'll reserve judgment.

Ryan explains that, this year, the age limit is 28 (note how he doesn't tell us about the 53 other fucked-up changes to the format that we'll hear about in a few weeks), meaning that the contestants will be, oh, lots "more sophisticated" (cut to an unsophisticated girl in a cow costume, clutching her udders troublingly and saying "Hold Onto To My Love" as she shakes her udders all over the place, and some sad unsophisticated girl in a giant red apple costume tripping over herself, and a totally weird unsophisticated girl in an '80s aerobics one-piece with a giant cardboard face over her real face, screaming, and the judges laughing) "and talented" (some funny, funny retards that aren't worth discussing). There's also an extended montage meant to explain to us that Paula will be yelling Shut Up a lot this year. I think me too.

Seacrest tells us that over 100,000 auditioners were seen this year, in seven cities: St. Louis, New Orleans, Las Vegas, Orlando, Cleveland, San Francisco, and Washington, DC, which makes the "odds" 100,000:1. (Is this on the test?) Also, there will be guest judges in each city (rather than during the finals), and starting us out is Mark McGrath. Also, we see shots of other guest judges: L.L. Cool J (who's as hot as usual -- what is his secret? Does he use Pearl Cream? The hell?), Gene Simmons (opposite of Pearl Cream), Brandi Moesha (in the clip she's saying she "looks for melody when people sing," which is wise, I think), and Kenny Loggins, who sings so dogs can hear.

Then there's crazy amounts of trite DC footage. Then we introduce Mark McGrath, and there's talk of how hot he is, he's so hot, it's so crazy how hot he is, et cetera. And yeah, he's better looking than he has ever been, right here, but God, it's Mark McGrath. Let's steel ourselves to ignore it or we'll never get anywhere. Mary Roach, who we'll talk about in a bit, gives him 9 out of 10, which is a good score, because she's very precise, because she has Asperger's Syndrome, and that's somehow funny. Then performances.

The first guy doesn't really count, it's this dude singing "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" in a creepy falsetto. The usual. Then there's cute little Sean McNeill, 27, of Plymouth Mass., who's currently stationed in Abilene TX as a youth pastor. Nice necklace, dude. He has a baby on the way and smiles a lot, you know the kind of person I'm talking about. Cute and well-meaning and big and very red-state and with a goatee and whatnot. The clear skin and wide smile of someone with evangelical feelings about God. Randy likes his voice and me too, he has a nice guy voice -- he's likeable, basically, so he goes to Hollywood.

Then there's filler girl, with the scary psycho Baby Jane lipstick happening. Her name is Rebecca Nassar (25, Sacramento -- which means she's basically nice and has a well-tended lawn), who sings in a tone-deaf manner that perennial Whitney Houston song about how Children Are Our Future. Then there's a girl who needs Otto Titsling like whoa who sings "YMCA" with crazy tits all over the place. Her name is Davon Wright and she's 16 (well, 48 FF) and is from DC proper -- I like her, but not exactly for the same reason Randy does, I think, because he's watching the boobs like he's on a bunch of drugs and her shirt is full of an amazing light show set to "Wish You Were Here," but so she sings "sit down and rejoice" and I don't know that that's necessarily part of the song as usually performed, but like the judges, I am not paying attention, because her breasts knocked down some stuff in my living room. And in Randy's brain.

Then there's this terribly nice 20-year-old boy with an eyebrow ring, Jessie Grazella, of Philadelphia -- who tries to convince Simon that all the contestants are supporting each other and loving each other and generally acting like they live in Amsterdam -- and then he says he's going to be singing that damned Josh Groban song my mom likes, and Simon is my mom but less hot and he also loves "You Raised Me Up" and Jessie forgets the words immediately. And again, like that's a bad thing, but for Jessie, it is. I mean, this is not a difficult song: "You raise me up so I stand on a mountain / So I can bathe with you in the sea" or whatever. It's not got a lot of words that will blow your mind with counterintuition. But in any case, it's not so much snarkable, as he's got a lot of grace and he's totally neat-o, in my opinion -- and the judges want to like him so much but there's only so much they can dothey really want him to remember the words and it's so not happening but they're so supportive and trying to help. So finally Simon sends him out to ask his buddies the words to the song (the better to prove his earlier point that they are all back-biting bitches with ambition running clear and spooky in their veins, not unlike Simon himself). And his friends outside write down the words for him, and he comes back and the judges are like, so into it. Then he starts to sing andhe's crappy. It all goes to shit. Oh dear. I really like him, that's too bad. The judges are like, I cannot believe we wasted this much time on your wonderful ass. So he starts crying and they stare at him and this goes on for one million years. Everyone's mind is blown, especially my boy Jessie. Finally, realizing it is all happening, he cries and wanders out and Paula's like, "Jessie..." but he keeps going because it's all so horrible. He cries and interviews that he completely lost it and can't even remember the name of the song. It's brutal. I want to hug Jessie Grazella of Philadelphia so hard.

Then there's the series of a bunch of people forgetting the words of their duh songs. This one cute girl goes all elbows and knees when she can't remember the chorus to "Torn" by Natalie Imbruglia -- a song I've always wanted to cover with my post-electroclash band, along with "What A Fool Believes" by the Doobie Brothers -- and Seacrest notes that not everything is horrible and that there are people with talent. Um, THEN WHY HAVEN'T YOU SHOWN THEM? Oh right, you never, ever will.

Then we are treated to the amazing outfit of nice-voiced Anwar Robinson (25, Newark). He's got dreads and a crocheted hat and awesome circus-striped cigarette pants that are nine miles long just like his legs, and his shirt cuffs open. He looks amazing. He sings openly, without a lot of glory notes and shit. He has a nice, pure voice. It's awesome, and I love him. He works with kids, okay, and teaches them music. Randy says he can "blow," so I guess that's a good thing (ask Derek Braxton! It's not always enough!). The judges rightly note how much they like how he kept it simple instead of trying to impress them with runs and all that. If there's one thing I would like to project onto the moon, it is this: we can tell if your voice is shit, even if you sing like Xtina. You're not fooling anybody, Miss Melisma. So then cute little, fratty little Mark McGrath says something dumb, and calls him "bro." What's weird and fun about Mark McGrath is how very cool and knowledgeable about music and the technical side of things Mark McGrath turns out to be -- although not at this second. Everyone loves Anwar and thinks he is "pure." So he's going to Hollywood.

Now for Melissa Constadine (Toms River, NJ, 20). Oh, starting in early with the retard bullshit. So she talks like an "angel" from 7th Heaven, plus kind of like Darla from Our Gang ("What's that?" You're so cute.) and she says this, verbatim (pretend it's 50 Cent saying this for the proper effect): "This is me...I look like this every day, I love to always stand out, um, it may appear that I look like I have a lot of money but you do not have to have a lot of money to look nice. You don't! And I think that's what separates me from a lot of the other younger ladies out there: because I'm still very classy, and I also know how to carry myself very well." Hey, if you describe yourself as "classy," what can I say? You automatically are not.

Cut to Simon telling her she looks like she's been dragged through a bush. And she does, she's covered in scratches and bruises and cuts and cigarette burns like she shared a sleeping bag last night with Courtney Love and a diseased tom cat (redundant). She's wearing a shapeless black dress with a halter top whose left strap is a piece of metal, a la first season Kirsten Cohen. The skirt part has ruffles vertical down all around the skirt. Also, chandelier earrings that are about six inches long, a few long hanging necklaces, and some bouffant unfortunate-prom-date bangs. She looks like she slept on the floor in this outfit, yes, but to be fair, probably she did. She tells a random story I don't understand about how she was attacked or something stupid, in the Lane Bryant fitting room, and that's why she looks like Margot Kidder after an all-nighter. She sings "How Do I Live" but there's, like, no real relation to the melody that you and I know about, having heard the song, and also she forgets the words. They let her sing "America The Beautiful" just to be mean.

Fine, Mark McGrath is pretty cute. Fuck it. Especially with that blue background of Idols past, it makes his eyes pop, but see, he's still not as hot as they want me to say he is. He's the soda pop Shack won't let me say by name of this episode. So fucked-up Melissa immediately realizes what she has perpetrated, noting, "That did sound very horrible," and referring to herself as "horrific." Nobody can disagree. So then she adds bullshit to bullcrap by criticizing the songs they're allowed to sing. Like she'd do better with like "Maps" or something. Randy tells her it wouldn't matter, and she disagrees, and Simon tells her that she has an "absolutely horrible singing voice," and she disagrees, and then as a group they're just like, yes, yes you do. They can't even get it together enough to get into it with her, so destroyed are their music-loving souls by what she has done. Paula mixes up some quick lemonade, pointing out that she has a wonderful personality, and, like, I guess so. I mean, she's actually retarded, so I'm sure people are pretty nice to her, typically, and that means she's nice. So then Simon asks if she's disagreeing with him, and then she starts singing that one Lisa Loeb song that the people in my shower always want me to sing. The judges immediately start laughing and she realizes she's bugging them, so she leaves and starts crying. She's interesting, this Melissa, because she's simultaneously self-aware and completely deluded.

I call it "the Dungeons and Dragons Rule." It's kind of like being a "little bit" pregnant. Basically, make fun, make jokes, try to out-Seth-Cohen yourself with the self-deprecating irony, but if you play Dungeons and Dragons, you are that guy, whether you feel like you are that guy or not. Not that there's anything wrong with that? Generally those guys are awesome, and frankly, those Magic: The Gathering guys are pretty smart, and for some reason good kissers? It's just that you can't have it both ways. Either you're a loser who can't sing, or you are a non-loser who can sing, but making jokes about other losers who can't sing doesn't make you a non-loser, it just makes you Axl Rose. Or maybe Mike Piazza. You know?

And anyway so of course her gigantic trashy mom is there and follows her out, as she delivers the most somehow-ironically-not-exactly-what-you-are speech to date: "I'm crying because you know what? Not one of them, not one of them [three times total she says this] said I could sing. I CAN SING. I wouldn't have made it this far, I wouldn't come here. I'm not like [this is the part where the D&D Rule comes back in, see?] the stupid idiots who come here and want to sing" And here I must point out that the camera swings away from Melissa altogether to a blonde girl nearby who is holding her head in embarrassment and maybe just a little bit of the Church Giggles "I'm one of the good people that they cut. They have to cut some good people I guess."

Then there's a pretty girl named Regina, who says with liberal tears rolling down her cheeks, "If I'm not able to express myself through music, I will probably die." Which is awesome, because if anybody else said that, I would say, "GOOD!" But it turns out she kind of rules. Well, she's likeable. Her choices do not really rule. We'll see her a bit later.

But first Seacrest is nattering on and on about pressure. We meet Derek Braxton, who is just bursting with hubris and bullshit and gayness, telling us that "singing is [his] life." Seacrest asks him if he has famous relatives, and we cut to a Toni Braxton video for some song I don't know. Seacrest now chooses his words very carefully, saying, "Derek says he's the cousin of Toni 'Unbreak My Heart' Braxton," thereby inoculating AI against the power of Toni "Unlodge My Lawsuit" Braxton getting all litigious and shit. So then Derek starts singing and Oh God. It's soweird. It's like he is not a speaker of English and learned it phonetically like Ace of Base, or like he's making up the song his own personal self, but it's in the confessional/interview, and not in front of the judges, which means this is going to be priceless. So he enters and the judges talk to him so that we can see he's not just deluded and possibly lying through his teeth about his family, but also dangerously out of touch, and Mark notes that Derek loves to be by himself. Derek admits he doesn't like people that much, which is awesome, because he's wicked off-putting and I imagine that's his only option. My notes say he's 129, but I'm guessing I meant 29, and from Baltimore. For the judges he sings "How Could An Angel Break My Heart," a song with which I am not familiar. And after hearing thisstill not so much.

The singing is even weirder, and then there's this intense part that's a little crazy and then he stares at the judges and they can't handle life at all because he's so discomfiting, and then someone says, "Derek?" and he snaps out of it and says, "Okay great," and stares at them and asks if they want another song and they all just stare into space and Simon says it's the weirdest voice he's ever heard in his life. Which, yeah. Basically a three-way split tonight between this guy, the West Nile chick, and Mary Roach, as far as what makes my skin crawl. So Mark, who I'm really starting to enjoy because he's smart and cool (surprise!), thinks it sounded like a different language altogether from what you and I speak, and Randy asks him to get his hearing checked. It's weird because he says it in a nice and medically-necessary way. Then Randy says the sad truth of how nothing about singing "do you have going on. You can't do any of it." So then Derek wanders out and gives his confessional, and it's exactly what you think.

"I'm a survivor and nothing affects me I'm still confident and I'm still sexy" and that weird gay secretary k-thx thing happening throughout: "Okaygreat" and then some bitching: "Oh Miss Paula I'm going to be doing it, I'm going to be singing English, and I'm going to be singing Spanish -- I'm bilingual, yes -- well, and well, I don't know what race you are... [Oh, cool, because that means I get to be about twice as mean as I was going to, because you're actually pretty much a douche.] Um, and Simon I'm going to be doing it and I'm going to be doing it and [three times total he says this] because I'll be representing you [note: I have no idea what he means by this, unless it's some reference to that little-known guild, the Bitchy Queens of the Northern Hemisphere, of whom I am so not a member]. Randy, you don't even matter. I mean, what have you done? You haven't even been in the industry, what have you, produced a couple of songs with Toni Braxton and Mariah Carey [aww, bitter that your Toni Braxton lies/shameful truths didn't carry any weight]? Wow, um and Sugar Ray, whatever your name is, one-hit wonder? Have you ever sung a note? Do you know what that is? I don't think that you do, but guess what? My album is going to be multi-platinum. Not just one [uh, platinum?] like you, but many of them [um, platinums?]. And Paula? Not just three [you loser, with your three platinum albums], but actually eight! [Precisely?] So anyway, that's going to be my future, and you just wish you could be as fabulous as me." Derek Braxton: He has a nice smile. Lovely smile. I think with no mustache he'd make a pretty lady. Kind of the black version of David Spade's "admin asst" character. Woe betide the breaker of a flaming homo's dreams. Braxton out.

And now to carry us through the horror of where we're at right now, there's a medley of bad singing of patriotism. A guy in a t-shirt with no sides and he's wearing pajama pants and plaid boxers over them, singing badly and forgetting all the words and just humming with a hopeful look on his face. Then a super-weird girl who looks like a victim of her trailer-park uncle wearing latex pants and a blue tank top who hasn't really conditioned her hair ever, swaying creepily with her hips like she wants to fuck Francis Scott Key even though he's dead and singing breathily and gross and forgetting the words and her number paper falls right off her troublesomeness. This wacky guy who moves his arms robotically at the elbows, palms up like he's cursing in Italian about abbondanza, instead of forgetting the words to the national anthem, which is actually what he's doing. Then this creepy undead kid with a really nice voice, actually, that unfortunately cracks and it's too bad. Then Boxer Shorts comes back and I don't know what he's doing, exactly.

Then this chick from Muriel's Wedding in a neon orange jersey sack with a giant floppy hat with orange fabric all over it and a couple of bananas hanging down, and her right shoulder strap is a somehow a belt from Wet Seal in the same orange color -- I'm not describing it tragically enough. Her hat is fruited like the plains. Then an opera girl who trills the /r/ in fruited like that one episode of A Different World where Gilesa wanted to sing backup for Aretha Franklin or somebody and they drafted this girl to try out with them and she kept pronouncing things and forgetting she was black and it was driving everybody nuts. Then lots of unfortunate young ladies singing the word "fruited," which honestly is kind of genius in itself. Then back to Derek Braxton, now one of the fruited young ladies (perhaps their leader?). Then he laughs psychotically and not unlike a spitting camel. Then this melisma girl and then a big guy with a cracking voice who knows he screwed up. Then more explosive scary laughing and talking of Derek. So tired of him so tired of him so tired of him. Three times total I have said this.

Then Clea Duvall with some kind of lesbian appeal and then the same tragic girls from before. Again with the fruit hat girl. STOP PLEASE. And this kind of creepy but kind of pretty Natalie Merchant type with the long curly hair and a faraway look in her crossed eyes. And then the main tragic girl, who's not ugly or anything, although a little foundation would even out that skin tone, sweetie, who's wearing a Cherokee brand t-shirt and a gold cross on a too-short chain, and what she does is sing intensely and then repeat the "sea to shining sea" part in another register, and then piercingly screech "AMERICA!" at the top of her lungs, and honestly, it's an interesting way to do things, and the note is a LOT more clear than it should be for someone so lacking vocal training, but it's really kind of scary and weird and she does it RIGHT AT YOU. Simon sighs and it's over. No more ruining of America for now.

The deal is that they're so interested in showing us shitty singing and hilariously fat/crazy/deluded/ horrible/trashy/tragic/monstrous people that they're just shooting them at us like with a gun and that makes them not matter, which is good in some ways because you don't get invested enough to get off on watching them embarrassing themselves to the point where you hate yourself, but also, like, that's why we're here.

Bags under his crazy Muppet eyes, Seacrest introduces Regina Brooks, that girl who might just DIE. She is beautiful. She tells us that she didn't have enough money to come to the auditions (traveling from Belpre, OH) so in a twist right out of O. Henry, she chose keeping her karaoke machine over hocking her wedding "rings" (I assume she means "engagement and wedding rings" and not her multiple wedding rings from her multiple weddings) to get the money to audition. She immediately starts crying crazily and Ireally like her. I do. So anyway, she got $200 for it/them and is now already again out of money, and she's not sure if she'll be able to get the rings back. And this time, when she says she will probably die, I believe her. She pronounces words in a very weirdly precise, quasi-Baltimore way, like Amy Sedaris on Strangers With Candy, like I would like to hear her talking any old place: automated phone menus, public transport, whatever. "For English, press one."

Her husband isnot someone I would personally have married. He seems to like TV wrestling, and I am betting his pickup truck has a "3" sticker somewhere on it. But his name is Mark, and I like him, and he only-a-little-ambivalently supports her dreams of superstardom, and clearly loves her. Anyhow, she sings "Misty" by Johnny Mathis. I don't know any of his songs, but I love him anyway because -- and your grandmothers' mileage may vary, and I sincerely hope it did, because you lucked out and I salute you and your grandmother -- but those of us whose grandmothers were total white racist jerks, Johnny Mathis taught them that it's okay to think a black man is hot. As far as I know, this is universal, judging on the informal poll I conducted yesterday. All the white grandmas, raise the roof for Johnny Mathis.

She sings the song already, and it's nice, and super-pleasant, and lovely, and I like her a lot even though she might die from not singing. Mark likes her "smoky, billowy" voice. I might agree but I don't know what that means. She reassures him that she wants to be here more than anyone (so much so that she might die, in fact, although she does not say this again). Simon brings in Mark the husband and their beautiful, wiggly four-year-old child. Simon wants to talk to husband Mark about how she's going to be gone if she gets accepted, and husband Mark wishes her the best and thinks she's good enough to go all the way. Randy and Paula like "the story" and Mark McGrath admits that he too is "emotionally involved." Simon says no, and that she's not good enough for this, and it's down to Paula, so of course she says yes. Lovely Regina cries, and her husband hugs her and holds her up while they cry, and the judges congratulate him too. The whole crowd outside goes bonkers. She interviews that she is just happy to have confirmation that she's right about having a good voice. That is awesome. I'm pleased, although I think she won't be final 24.

Seacrest asks the awful, soul-killing question: Which of these contestants is the William Hung? Jesus. What you mean is, how do we raise the bar from retarded Asian dude? Using actual crazy people. But that's not coming up for a while. It's so goddamned funny that we're going to tease you with the actually mentally ill throughout the rest of the episode and that's how we'll keep you watching for the whole two hours. Because we are kind of like Satan in that we hate you and your soul.

Meet Marlea Stroman, 21, an absolutely gorgeous proud single mom, who gained the courage to audition from Fantasia Barrino, who's proudly from Syracuse. She looks and prouds around kind of like Yaya, but is not disgusting. She sings some kind of Bonnie Raitt song about her daughter running away and I like her voice. They cut her off early because it's not funny, it's just awesome, and Randy makes a lot of approving noises that aren't so much talking like you and I do in our daily lives. Mark points out that her high register is strong and "lithenable." I don't know why he says it like this but it's my job to tell you that he does. The judges are unanimous, and even offer helpful notes for the round, Simon saying that voice notwithstanding, her performing could stand to be livened up (true), and Ryan saying that she could do with some more contemporary song choices (also true). Then she goes outside without repeating the word "proud" and is met by the entire gay population of Syracuse, NY, who scream their little asses off like a whole Matrix of Rickie Vasquez.

Okay, Coach Carter. If you insist. I mean, I like Samuel L. Jackson, and Phil Collins covers, and I really like Stand and Deliver, but Ashanti? For real?

Speaking of P.E. teachers, meet Aa'shia Jackson (16, gender-estranged, fedora hat, St. Louis), the girl version of T.E.V.I.N. Campbell, basically (I cross my fingers for Prince watching creepily from behind a pillar or something, but no dice). She comes into the room singing really fast and awesome and creepy, dropping rhymes before the door's even closed. I love that. It'll be awesome season when fifteen people copy that move. The judges just watch her delightedly throughout the whole thing, and then she starts singing, and she sings like Alvin, my favorite chipmunk. It's weird and kind of creepy considering how awesome the first part was.

Then Simon compares her to helium. The gas. Her hair's in all cornrows like a rapper with bullets in him. They say that she is a great entertainer, and Randy tries to make the point that the first part was awesome but that nobody is ever going to enjoy the horrible chipmunk singing. Simon gives Aa'shia a "100% Categorically No" so Paula gives her a "100% Categorically Yes" and hopes that she is in the top 12. Why? No telling, she's high. More screaming outside about how she made it through. Her mom is so irritating that she reaches back in time to a few minutes ago when I didn't want Aa'shia to totally fail like Quantum Leap and makes me want Aa'shia to get hit by a bus instead of succeeding at anything, ever. That's how obnoxious her mom is. Randy and Paula, and the mom in another room, all talk about how Aa'shia has "something unique about herself." And it is a penis, is what I said to this, while across the country, everybody in the world (Hi, wwigbeee!) also said this. Seacrest calls either the mom or Aa'shia "cocky." Funny. Then there are lots of losers both outside and inside the audition room. There's a mime, you guys. Fuck that. I'm not recapping that.

This crazy man Maurice Thomas (28, although I maintain that he is 40 years of age if he's a day, St. Louis) tells us that he sounds like Brian McKnight. Now he's singing and it's funny because I just mentioned T.E.V.I.N. Campbell and now he sings a song by him. How weird. He sings this song like an idiot. Seriously, it's not even worth making any kind of point about, it's just so tiring. Randy tells him it was "wow" and thanks him, and they all kind of laugh and yawn and are speechless. Randy keeps explaining that it's a definite no but he just hovers and grins and finally Simon asks Maurice what the fucking problem is, and it's that his family tells him he sounds like Brian McKnight, to which Paula responds with the classic spit take, and Simon tells him to go ahead and sing already, and they just stare at him because it's awful and ridiculous but worst of all, it's boring. Simon tells him he does not sound like Brian McKnight. He doesn't!

After the commercial, which really means "at some point," Angel Kay LeTourneau's student Vili will sing "Ain't Too Proud To Beg." I wonder, would that be the TLC, or the James Brown song? I love the scandalous TLC song by that name. "Four inches or a yard/rock-hard or if it's saggin'/I ain't too proud to beg, y'all!" That was about the most hilarious thing I'd ever heard in my life when it came out, but remember that I was two years old or something. Anyway, sadly, it is the latter that Jeremy will be singing. I really think one of those Alanis Morissette songs about fucking Dave Coulier would be more appropriate, but whatever.

Seacrest on a farm. Okay. So this is Carrie Underwood (21, Checotah OK). She lives on a farm. It says "home video," but just like with Constantine, this is a lie. She wants to go to Hollywood really bad, she says. She's really proud, and really blonde. She comes out and sings "I Can't Make You Love Me." It takes a few seconds for Paula to click into it and get how good she is. Randy's immediately nodding. It's lovely. Good control and the ornamentation isn't just lame cover-up bullshit -- it's because she's awesome. Randy and Simon are unsurprised to find that her favorite singer is Martina McBride, since they both know who that is, which makes them cooler than me, I guess. Simon tells her to "keep doing what she's doing." Randy tells her she's got it vocally, and so should work more on the presentation. She's through to Hollywood, of course -- the suspense is really lacking with this full-on backstory fake video stuff. Like she's not going to Hollywood for one second: fucking Seacrest WENT TO A FARM. ["Insert 'terrified flock of sheep' joke here." -- Sars]

Now it's time for Angel's little student Jeremy Wakefield (18, Knoxville TN), and he immediately starts in with the "I am going to Hollywood with her, and we are going to have some fun in Hollywood." Jesus. Angel is very nervous for him outside. He snaps his fingers nervously the whole time, which bugs the shit out of me, but the judges seem to be really into it. Angel bounces around outside -- she's just so energetic, and just so upsetting. Now the judges won't look at him, because he is all tricksy and singing like a really good singer would sing, without the foundation of being really good before you add on all the bullshit. So not only should Angel be fired for fucking a child, but also because she's a bad teacher. Randy asks him to sing something else less affected and he thinks he can do it, but I think he'd have better luck with that if he knew what that word meant, which he patently does not. So he immediately busts into the most overblown, ridiculous Phantom of the Opera-sounding "Superstar," and Simon immediately cuts him off to remind him that they said less affected, not more, but it's totally over already. Randy says yes, and Paula -- boobs squeezed up to my own personal chin -- says no. Then somehow it becomes a unanimous no. Outside, Vocal Coach Angel freaks the fuck out -- what children will she fuck in Hollywood? It's so sad! She can't even fucking stand up. Speaking of affected, ya'll. It's retarded. She just falls down and stumbles around with her mind blown and then finally falls on the floor screaming -- and I'd like to point out that another teenager (possibly a fellow "student") throws her arms around her. Anna says, "This woman sleeps in a pile of high school seniors." Psh, lucky. What? I said seniors!

Lots of people screaming and hugging and being happy. And some fat people crying. Also some kissing of babies. Blonde people laughing. Dorks slapping fists as Seacrest introduces the final segment, "What Happened When Adam Met Dirk." Who are Adam and Dirk? Well, Adam is young and misguided, and unless I miss my guess, he will be hot in about five minutes. Dirk isoh, crap. Dirk is one of the funny, funny retards from Tuesday. They are both fucking dorks but in a loveable way. Adam LOVES Dirk and wants Dirk to make it through to Hollywood and be with him in Hollywood. Also, Adam says he can "appeal to America" and that he has "one of the coolest personalities you'll ever meet." I stand by what I said, which is that when he gets tired of being a virgin, he will become hot. Until then, really hard math problems. He's so awesome! He hugs Dirk and he loves Dirk and they're just solonely. Everybody thinks they are so funny. They are the hit of the audition group. Dirk likes to put smiles on people's faces, and especially, he tells us, on Adam's face. I like anything that puts a smile on Adam's face, because he is unutterably wonderful. "I think the judges will see an awesome performance by me. I have the little voice going, a little hand movement, and maybe a little movement also with my legs" I don't know what that means but I cannot fucking wait to see Adam work his magic.

Dirk, additionally, really loves Adam. And Adam's future, which they both agree is chock full of promise. Dirk gives himself lots of pep talks, including something I say in the mirror every morning: "Don't be the William Hung." In his audition, Simon asks why the hell Dirk is obsessed with Baywatch. Outside, Adam does a fucked-up dance, so very much in love with Dirk's career is he. I could make MINCEMEAT of this kid. I am so glad I did not go to college with Adam or he'd be this hollow shell of a person on drugs right now.

So why Dirk loves Baywatch? Is that David Hasselhoff is awesome. Simple as that. I love DIRK. So now he sings some crappy Hasselhoff song from the soundtrack of Baywatch! It's embarrassing, and there's no need to discuss it further. Dirk Pearman (24, Granite City IL), is just exactly like the one other person I know from Granite City, although there is one difference: I have it on good authority that Dirk, in high school, did not take "regular classes," is how it was put to me. I'm sure there are other awesome boys in Granite City that I would like to be friends with and eat carbs with whilst enjoying Baywatch. Anyway, it goes on and on and Paula so cannot even handle this shit. Simon asks him if he is serious about any of this because he cannot conceive that this is actually happening, and Dirk adorably says that he "plays 100% in everything he does," and Simon points out something that is almost always true, that no one seriously chooses Hasselhoff ever. Dirk doesn't get it, because he's the exception that proves the rule. Randy says he sounds "almost as good" as Hasselhoff and Dirk totally takes it as a compliment. I had a boss exactly like Dirk and I loved him so much. I'd remind him to eat and every morning we'd have a meeting and I'd tell him who to call and what to do and where to go and make sure he knew what was going on with every aspect of, like, life. Later my office got unavoidably moved to another floor and I couldn't be there every second of the day for him, and it was a bummer, and he was fired six weeks later and I was saddened by this, but in another way it made me feel good about myself. It's a no, says Simon.

So Dirk comes out and everyone claps. Adam is fucking destroyed, of course, and hugs him awkwardly and then goes in for his audition. He's adorable as he throws some made-up gang signs and asks wassup. Oh dear. They have to tell him where the mark is. He tells them that he "just turned 21" on Tuesday and it was the most awesome birthday ever, and then he does a shitty Simon impersonation. Simon has already fucking had it and the audition hasn't even started. Then Adam turns his dubious attentions to Paula and says she is his first memory. NICE. He starts up talking about "Opposites Attract" and pretty much just narrowly avoids talking about her eating disorder, in terms of alienating her forever. He calls MC Skat Cat a bobcat or fox and she just pretends none of this is happening and Simon corrects him and he looks away and mutters, "Whatever," and everybody in the world starts laughing because it's all just so ill-advised, and I LOVE HIM, I LOVE HIM. Not in like a gay way? I justokay, I wasn't going to mention this, but Adam, for me? Has the (Eeeeee!) a little. Okay, I said it. So anyway Paula laughs more authentically than maybe she ever has in her weird life, and everyone just fucking loses it and it's beautiful because he's like, "What's up? I'm ready, guys!" and they cannot get it together and the crew is laughing louder than everyone and it's just chaos and he merely wants to get them back on track but it's not happening and he's like, allow me to inform you that America will watch if I am on American Idol due to my personality and my singing ability. And Simon says that already he has failed on one count -- and I'm sorry, but Simon is so wrong because had I the option, I would watch the ADAM CHANNEL all the time and give up my active social life and just order pizza forever and grow my toenails like Howard Hughes because I LOVE ADAM.

Randy asks him what he will sing and he says, "'This I Promise You' by Richard Marx but performed by *NSYNC." I love that he knows that, and thinks it's important enough to mention during the audition. Honestly? I think I might love him more than Sadie from Helter Skelter. I want to build him a car and I want to make a Chrismukkah miracle happen for him every day of the year. He's my new spelling bee girl. Adam Pratt (21, Hoffman Estates IL) starts singing and it's a bloodbath and the adrenaline of the "whatever" causes them to crack up immediately. He's got a little hand movement and not so much with the leg movements and they laugh and he just looks around all confused by the bedlam. Simon asks again why people would watch him and Paula turns around 180 degrees to put her head between her knees and Adam says again that it is his singing ability and she whirls around so fast that her bangs stand straight up in the air and she looks deranged as she spits drunkenly, "NO, REALLY." And they're not laughing anymore becauseI don't know. I sucked up all the love of Adam Pratt that there is in the entire universe due to loving him so much like the vacuum of space so now everybody hates him. Sorry, dude. He wants to do another song and they all scream "NO!" Should I finish the song, or? "NO!" So he thanks them and leaves.