A-Fed sucked it through a straw while poorly dressed, then rocked a BSB song yelly and well, not to mention blind. Carrie was "evil," if by evil you mean cute and kind of pointless, then she was awesome, if you mean awesome as in note-perfect and very lifelike. Bo looked better than he's ever looked, and first apologized ("Stand By Me"), then celebrated ("Heaven") how he's a huge pothead, and of course he was very good, but a little tired. Vonzell took her whole "tsinging a tsong you've heard a million times" thing to an unimagined level, and did a great job, but only after maybe her worst performance. Scott was a huge mess and a jerk to boot, and sang both his songs pretty-to-really well. The judges refused at any time to make any damned sense at all, and should be slapped, except for when Scott took his Hubris Fairlane out for a spin and got a moving violation from Simon. That part was friggin' awesome.
Tonight: Ryan looks his personal best even in his weirdly-fitting suit; Carrie's cute and her smile is realistic; Bo is still hot, although he's wearing idiotic Charlie's Angels-era Kate Jackson shades that make him look like Megaman; Scott's looking particularly slow tonight; Vonzell is tres Vonzell; and A-Fed looks bummed and terrified. Me too! Then Bo and his American Idol Backup Band sing what we're I guess calling the Michael W. Smith classic "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Is it any wonder I know nothing about music? Lies, lies. All the time. The Idols harmonize hideously, thanks to Vonzell, who's really off this week, and Scott keeps petting Bo like a bunny, George.
Then Carrie and Vonzell book it downstage to give Paula some huge bouquets, in solidarity. So that's how we're handling that, huh? It's nice for this show to actually show some class, for once. Too bad nobody knew for sure ahead of time that the ABC thing was going to be about the crappiest, cheesiest, most self-indicting, dumb-as-hell, amateurish, tabloid piece of trash since Little Dorrit was published. I'll tell you all about it in the recap, but trust me, if you didn't see it? You win. Worthless.
Ryan couchifies A-Fed, who says aloud (while doing the Gilbert Grape DiCaprio): "It's not over." Because he knows where he belongs, and that this makes the couch the bad, and not the good, place. I do this all day long, so I can't blame him for giving himself a little pep talk. I remember it's his birthday (it's my job to know stuff like that) and I get really sad, because it is, A-Fed. It is over. Ryan tells Vonzell to remain on the stage, and the one-third of the audience that is not as smart as A-Fed starts booing, because they think she's in the bottom two. Fools.
Scott is encouched, thanks Fake Jesus fifteen ways, and heads over to gloat with Anthony about their good fortune. "Wow, wow, wow," he says; he just can't believe his good luck. His ass is dumb as a box of nail clippings. Anthony tries desperately to save Scott from looking like the total asshat he is, shaking his head on the DL and trying to tell him to chill without moving his lips, because Anthony is fantastic. Scott is that mean kid in special classes that you don't want to piss off because he has the strength of an ape.
Bo and Carriefuck it. There's only so many ways to word it. Even they are bored by this. They and Vonzell are the top three, Scott doesn't even have the sense to be ashamed about his ridiculously unobservant and embarrassing behavior moments ago, and A-Fed, as usual, finds the whole thing hilarious. Scott sings the McKnight song, worse than last night, and then A-Fed sings the Backstreet, and his crotch takes it out on us. Somewhere in there, Randy says that the right people are safe this week, which: agreed, and then Ryan and Simon get all catty and in total gay love with each other.
They show the Ukrainian Immigrant Contingent and I get kind of chokey because I'll really miss the little tyke. Scott laughs and stares and giggles and talks to himself about how funny all this is, his blinding success on American Idol, and how hilariously unstoppable he is. If he could spell the word "farce," he might bust it out at this time, because we're all just going through the motions. I'd be pissed if I weren't busy getting pre-sad about little Anthony.
Who issafe! Happy fucking birthday, you adorable little pumpkin. Constantine's departure was carefully choreographed so it got to even me, all the most shocking dramatically-lit romantic downfall of all time, and it was freaking amazing. This week? Also carefully choreographed, so that Scott's inarticulate shock and rage are not given voice. A-Fed's safe/Video Journey/"On Broadway." No hateration! No talking of any kind!
There's a tiny amount of sad part where he bites his lip to keep from crying, and I felt a little bad, but mostly I was just looking forward to him ripping off Ryan's little arm and beating A-Fed to death with it before running rampant through the crowd on a crack-fueled rage and climbing up to the top of a radio tower with Paula Abdul clutched in his meaty fist. Throwing phones like barrels you have to jump over.
Man. That rules. Did I say I was burned out? Surely that was not me.