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Thursday, May 25, 2006

Your New American Idol

Posted by on May 25 at 13:32 PM

While I would love to jot a few impressions of last night’s weirdly AMAZING American Idol finale, I gotta give props where props are due: Nobody recaps Idol like the Portland Mercury’s Chas Bowie. Check out his hee-larious analysis! Take it, Chas!

I woke up this morning and checked the papers to make sure it hadn’t been one extended, beautiful fever dream. Sure enough, the whole thing was true: two glorious hours of American absurdity capping off countless hours and months of time wasted jeering at the blandest, limpest form of entertainment that our advanced evolutionary minds have to offer. Last night’s finale to the fifth season of American Idol was like some Croation’s television-fueled image of the United States, where bouncing bubbles of cleavage harmonize with quakey fat men who hold hankercheifs; where singers-turned-psychics-turned singers again are serenaded by the morbidly obese and the nearly illiterate; where the only thing rewarded more than mockery of the socially disenfranchised is the cultural advancement of soullessness, marketed with the knowing phrase “Soul Patrol,” and brought to you by Coca Cola.

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Crazy-ass highlights and lots of beautiful photos after the jump.

(By the way, Taylor Hicks, the fat, grey-haired guy won, but who gives a shit, really? Mitch Buchanan, that's who. But more on that later. On to highlights).

Katherine McPhee showed off those great hee-haws for one last time on the Idol stage last night as she came out singing somme WTF song. Then the producers got all Back to Future and cut fast to Katherine's pageant mom, sitting in the audience, her own hee-haws spilling out into a varicose-y puddle on the floor. UGH!
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But wait, who's this coming to duet with Kat? Oh my fucking god, Chris Farley is back from the dead and he's terrifying like a zombie in Thriller. Oh my fucking god, wait—that's Meatloaf! 'Loaf apparently thinks this is musical theater of another sort, as he waves a bolero bandana at Katherine, who can't bear to look at him for fear of vomiting all over her tits. When 'Loaf goes for the big vibratos, his entire body starts shaking like Alex Keaton on the Zipper, and holy shit, there's no way it's gonna get weirder than this.
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Painfully unfunny segment with Pickler spitting snails at Wolfgang Puck and stabbing at live lobster with a fork, going "gro-o-o-o-sssss." Seacrest commends Puck for his patience and gives him some eye contact sympathy for debasing himself so.

Next up: Burt Bacharach medley, and ohmigod there's Mandisa! There's Ace! There's Bucky! ***eeeeeeee**** There's Chicken Little! All is forgiven, little man. Li'l Kev starts singing "What's New Pussycat" (these producers know exactly what time of day it is), and everytime he says the word "pussy," he rubs his crotch. Then he leaves before I start to hate him again. Well played, player.

Dude, Toni Braxton is the new Bobby Brown. She's a living, breathing anti-crack commercial for the kids at home.
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Take a deep breath, because we've got a long way to go.

Remember that guy from the audition round who looked just like Clay Aiken, but couldn't sing, had to pee, and was blessed with less charm than Kellie Pickler? (No? Just watch the tape). Well he's back by zero demand to sing a Clay Aiken song. It's funny--because he's terrible. Wocka wocka wocka.

Whoa--the goat-toothed eunich is freaking out. The real Clay Aiken just walked on stage like he owned the motherfucker. Faux-Clay is freaking out. What the in HELL is going on wth Clay Aiken? He looks like a cross between Martin Short in Clifford and KD Lang. This is shaping up to be the best television show ever.

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Appropos of nothing:
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When we get back from commercial break, Seacrest tells us that we're allout of surprises. PSYCH! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HERE'S PRINCE. pleaseplaypurplerain. pleaseplaypurplerain. damn.

Yeah, Prince played. For reals.

Then Katherine and Taylor sing the Dirty Dancing duet, but I think they really hate one another, so it's deliciously phony and I'm loving it.

America, your new American Idol...................Taylor Hicks. Taylor does his best Fred Sanford, gasps "Soul Patrol" in what appear to be his next-to-final words, Hulks up, and tears into his terrible new single that nobody in America will listen to.

Cut to crowd: David Hasselhoff is blubbering with emotion. Good night America. Good night Croatia. Let's have a Coke. Soul Patrol. Yo Yo Yo. Thanks for keeping it true to who you are. From the dawgpound. Seacrest Out.

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CommentsRSS icon

And what exactly was up with Clay's hair-do? He looked like a Desperate Housewife!

It warms my heart a little that only one person commented [earnestly] on this post.

I yet have hope in humanity.

ohmigod....i was flipping back and forth between 'Idol' and 'Lost' and I missed Miss Clay Aiken and the Fake Miss Clay Aiken...I'm so fucking distraught!!

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