Ryan Seacrest- Center Square. AI Re-cap 4/12

Fifteen seconds into the show and fucking Seacrest has already used the name I was planning to call this re-cap, Another One Bites the Dust, and I’m pissed. Not because he took it, but because I realize I’m no less lame than that fuck-tard or whoever writes his cue cards. Yeah, it’s Wednesday and I’m pissy because tonight’s show is a time wasting full hour and it’s 1AM and I’m just getting around to doing this now. I started reading a book around 8:00 and the next thing I knew, five hours had gone by. And I have a full day tomorrow so it’s now or never. And my next door neighbor who is my age and is at Dreamworks, so you’d figure she’d be at the fucking Mondrian trying to hit on Wilmer Valderama, goes to bed every night at 9:30 and throws shit fits if I so much as crack my knuckles, so I have to keep the TV low. But hey- On with the show!

Ryan didn’t shave today or moisturize. The frog eyes are particularly bulgy. Perhaps he was up crying all night because he realized this might be the last time he gets to see Ace and America will no longer be privy to watching them act out “The Way We Were,” all across the stages of Idol. Seacrest is dyslexic tonight as he says the good news is we have an hour, but the bad news is we have to let someone go.

Ryan calls the judges Queens in trying to make some lame ass joke that, surprise surprise, falls flat. For all those who wondered whatever happened to Rod Hull’s puppet Emu, look no further than Randy Jackson’s shirt. Paula’s in her cups already and Simon looks at Seacrest, thinking- we gave up Dunkleman for this? Ryan asks Paula if looking back at the tapes from last night, it was more apparent that the music of Queen might have been too difficult for the contestants to handle. Paula fumphs for a few seconds, because she can barely make it through the live show, let alone watch a tape and says nothing of consequence or import, with the exception of accusing Cowell of tickling her under the table. No dear, those are the beginnings of the DTs. Randy says that the girls have to sing better and show a little personality, which means more boobies (except for Paris, who needs to come out next week in roller skates, rainbow suspenders and deely-boppers attached to her wig.)

Now Seacrest gets into bullshit banter with Simon and this, this, THIS is why we have to have one hour shows, because Ryan can’t keep his fucking mouth shut. God, I’d love to see him get into a bar fight and get his ass kicked to hell. Even a sucker punch that sent the Pink Squirrel flying out of his hand and across the table. Something. Anything.

We see reruns of last night’s performances and in the calming serenity of 24 hours, they look even worse. I think we were all shell-shocked last night into expecting an eight body massacre and when we only got a minor disaster, we somehow convinced ourselves it wasn’t so bad. (Well, I knew it sucked shit, but I’m trying to give many of my friends the benefit of the doubt.) Looking at it again, it’s abundantly clear that a last days of Pompei-like phenomenon needs to come along and wash away this year’s crop so we can just start over. Hell, I’m getting misty for Brenna.

The Idols are doing a group sing, the first in many weeks, performing “A Kind of Magic.” Behind them, we see footage from the auditions. Let’s see how many people we can count that should be onstage in place of the remaining eight. It’ll be like punch buggy or car bingo or name that rash. I’m sorry, they’re doing a medley and tying the footage to it. How…clever? Ace takes the lead on Killer Queen to footage of Rhonetta. Paris is irresistibly drawn to the screen because she can’t take her eyes off Rhonetta’s wig and if you turn up the set, you can hear her mutter into the mic, “Mm, gonna get me one a those!” Ace is rocking the sleeveless t-shirt to see if he can cause Ryan to have an accident in his Hugo Boss. If only his falsetto was that solid. This split screen crap is annoying. I want to be able to make fun of the sub-par Debbie Allen choreography, but all I can see is the girl with the swiss miss braids and a big blue sticker over Rhonetta’s twat. The idol-ettes do Under Pressure, Don’t Stop Me Now, Another One Bites the Dust, You’re My Best Friend and if ever there was an act destined for Branson, Missouri, it’s these kids. The stage show I saw at the Disney theatre before “Finding Nemo,” rocked harder than this.

We see footage of Mandisa and Paris playing a game of bible-sanctioned pattycake, the winner of which got to go out and disparage the gays. And there’s Katharine getting a kiss on the lips from Simon, pretending he didn’t reek of hand rolled cigarettes, from Paula, pretending she didn’t reek of gin and vomit, and from Randy, pretending he didn’t reek of the last six meals he consumed the previous hour. The big finale is Taylor leading the kids in a chorus of “We Are the Champions,” and after hearing it, he made the right choice to swap out songs last night. Will Makar is in the audience with his $8 haircut and the same shirt he wore three times while on the show. Couldn’t they have given him a mercy makeover?

After the break, we see the latest Idol commercial. Nuff said. Ryan asks who picked out the wardrobe for the golf-themed spot and Ace fesses up to it. Ryan asks if he was blindfolded (Stop, my sides. Really, just toooo funny, Ryan. Larf.) and Ace lies through his teeth, saying it’s the first time he’s worn pink. Ryan says he’s worn it many times, probably on his toenails.

I can finally get a look at the outfit Katharine has on and I’m guessing after the taping tonight, she’s gonna go stomp grapes with Lucy Ricardo in Italy. Since we have 45 more minutes to kill, Ryan decides to ask the Idols if they’re homesick. He wants to know what Taylor misses the most and Hicks says the southern cooking, specifically barbecue and turnip greens. You’d never know it from his rapidly expanding waistline. Kellie misses fried okra. Actually what she missed was her cue to say “Whut’s a tur-nip greeeen?” Paris misses fried chicken with hot sauce. Now you can’t tell me anyone who has shopped for all the wigs she wears hasn’t passed a place that makes good fried chicken. Elliott misses his family and friends and his basketball. Ace misses things that he probably doesn’t even do, like football and hiking. Ryan practically channels the spirit of the late Paul Lynde as he simpers to Ace, “You clearly aren’t missing the gym,” while licking his chops at Ace’s biceps. Teri Hatcher is at home, smacking her forehead, going, “Shoulda stuck with Clooney.” We have no idea what Bucky misses, because we can’t understand a word he says, literally. Katharine misses her dog, because he’s the only one she can trust. Chris misses his wife and kids, which is a pretty dumb thing to say, considering they’ve been in the audience for the past two nights. But I’m guessing if I had that frump to go home to, I’d have the bodyguards ban her from the green room.
Oh look, there are taped hellos from the parents of all the Idols, as though most of them aren’t in Los Angeles with their kids, as we’re treated to shots of them every week. First up is the dragon lady, Peisha McPhee, who only lives ten fucking minutes away from where the kids are staying. She and her hubby have the McPheever.

Ace’s parents are named Jay and Kay. Really, they are. We see Elliott’s mom, Taylor’s mom, who has the gaudiest fucking lamp in her living room that’s pink and in the shape of a flamingo. And here’s Jamecia, the self-described “legend” saying hello to Paris and wishing her well, as though the poor girl can’t menstruate without momma and grandma coming in to check the color and consistency of the flow, then praising Paris for how well she bled on the cotton.

I dig Bucky’s mom. She just seems cool. If you want to see what Chris Daughtry is going to look like in 25 years, just take a look at his dad. They look like Millhouse and his father. I think both his parents were lobotomized before the last election. They speak in matching monotone drawls. And now we see Clyde Pickler, Kellie’s grandpa, along with a very small boy who is billed as Kellie’s brother, but I’ll be any amount of money it’s a creepy Chinatown situation with the kid being her brother, her son, her brother, her son, her brother….

After the montage, Ryan makes light of the fact that Elliott is tearing up, moved by the messages. Ryan espouses the importance of family, as if he hasn’t filed gag orders against everyone he was ever related to so they can’t spill the beans about things like his real age, sexuality, height, etc… Oh, thank god, it’s a sweet, blessed commercial.

Oh my god, that last segment was only three minutes long. We still have 38 minutes to go. Ryan introduces next week’s theme, telling us that the contestants are going to be coached by Rod Stewart and performing standards like the ones he’s mangled on his last four albums. So it shouldn’t be a train wreck for anyone by Kellie and Bucky. We see a minor career retrospective on Stewart, chock full of tons of close-ups. Do you think the mole on his cheek is any relation to that small planet over Aaron Neville’s eye?

Gaaaawwwd, more fucking footage of the Idols’ hometowns. Ryan’s going one by one and telling them who is in the bottom three. We’re stuck watching Taylor’s backing band play and talk about him. Good grief, I would not want to be around those three when a plate of nachos is put down in front of them. Apparently, they’re still playing without Taylor, but I’m sure they’ll be back with him in a couple months playing bars. Taylor is safe.

Then we see probably the only two people who can still stand being around Katharine, her parents. They show us footage of Katharine babbling into microphones at age two and carry on as though she’s performing an aria. Best in Show, anyone? Katharine is safe and she does a little self-satisfied head waggle.

We’re treated to footage of Chris Daughtry’s brother, who makes Bucky look and sound like Albert Schweitzer. Chris clearly got the looks and the brains in the family, and his brother says he also got his talent from mom and dad. Cut to the lobotomy folks, still in the same position they were in from the last time we saw them, still droning on. Yeah, I bet dad is a hoot at open mike night. Chris is safe, so there goes the accuracy of dialidol.com, who predicted Chris, Ace and Bucky in the bottom three. I wonder if Chris read the boards today, because he really looked as though he thought he might be in the bottom three.

Back from commercials (sweet, sweet commercials) and we’re up to Pickler. Ryan had earlier handed Katharine a handkerchief because she got misty watching footage of herself as a young girl, proud of how she sounded even then. Kellie, not wanting to be outdone, dug a Miss Lee press-on nail into her own thigh until she could squeeze out a few tears and then snatched the hankie away. Ryan, money-obsessed freak that he is, asked for the hankie back and Pickler said- “I’ve got the snot rag.”

Charmed.

We’re now going back to Albermarle to listen to Humbert Humbert, I mean Grandpa Pickler, talk about his pride and joy. All around the town, people have up signs of support for Kellie. I’m moving there immediately to provide an opposing viewpoint.
Kellie is safe and every time they cut back to the group of contestants, Ace deflates a little bit more and his clapping becomes more wan and robotic. Kellie brings the hankie back to Ryan and he backs away from it, because it’s not enough that she be safe for turning in one of the most putrid performances ever seen on an Idol stage, but she has to milk the fucking cornpone even more.

Ryan LITERALLY sashays back to the podium and throws the hankie at Elliott. Elliott’s mom says really great stuff about him and it feels very genuine. Elliott is in the bottom three because America would rather have a moron like Pickler around than to listen to the person with the best voice onstage. Ryan asks Randy why Elliott is in the bottom three and I truly love Jackson’s answer. He says that around this time every year, America goes a little crazy and usually picks the wrong people to be in the bottom three. He says they have to be wrong because Elliott can SING! He’s right. Remember last year this time Nadia Turner got voted off and the year before that was Jennifer Hudson. Ryan asks Elliott to sing and he looks stunned at the request, not sure if it means that he’s going home. It would have been nice to tell the contestants all the bottom three were going to have to sing. Poor Elliott looks like a deer caught in Ace’s headlights, but he sings, anyway. And boy, does he sing. How can anyone listen to this guy and not hear what an amazing voice he has? If he stays tonight, I think this performance, coupled with the video footage will help him in the long run.

We get stuck now having to watch video footage about Ace. Instead of interviewing his very first Weho john, we see his boring parents again tell us about how Ace likes to go hiking and fishing and hunting… Yes, we know, he’s manly. He fixes roofs and wrestles giant squid and I hear they’re using his sperm to cure cancer. We get it. We meet two more of Ace’s five brothers, Duff and Mark, the ugly ones in the family. They’re kind of like the two older Osmonds that were born deaf and sort of deformed looking and were forced to sell t-shirts and mail out 8x10s of Donny and Jimmy instead of singing with the other kids. If Ace isn’t gay, then I’d lay odds his brother Mark is, so maybe Ryan can marry into the Young family one way or another. Ace is in the bottom three and Ryan asks Paula if, after watching the show back, she thinks Ace was better than her initial impression. Paula hates these sorts of questions, because she doesn’t want to lie (basically because she’s used up all of those to cover her drinking) but she has no idea how to tell a convincing whopper. Simon says Ace was just as bad the second time watching as seeing it live. Ace performs and he sucks yet again. I am going to wake the bitch next door up shouting with glee if he goes home tonight, if only to celebrate never again having to look at his nasty, sweaty pit hair.

Bucky’s dad talks about the town of Rockingham and how they lost the speedway a couple years ago, but that the town is polarized to vote for Bucky and he wells up, speaking about all the support he’s seen for his son. This was the only other genuine video besides Elliott’s. And since the last one is Paris, we know it’s not gonna be three.

We see Paris’ grandmother, who apparently scalped Bernadette Peters moments before this video was shot and slammed the hair on top of her own head. Granny Annie tells us Paris was going to be a gynecologist, which says more about those outfits and wigs than three years of therapy ever could. Of course, the waterworks are flowing down Paris’ cheeks.

Bucky is in the bottom three and Paris is so busy praising her folks in the audience that Bucky has to tap her on the leg for a little sympathy. Bucky gets up to sing “Fat Bottomed Girls,” and doesn’t do as good a job as last night. What I find interesting is that the audience rose naturally for both Elliott and Bucky, yet Ace had to yell for them to get up and even after that they were kind of like, uch, really?

Ryan asks Simon which of the three he thinks it will be and Simon says based on last night’s performance (but forgets to say- and the past four weeks) he thinks it will be Ace. Ace tries for a poker face, but little Dondi looks like he’s gonna cry buckets.

Bucky is going home. Paris looks sad, and even Ace’s brother in the audience looks like he thinks they picked the wrong guy. Now, I know Bucky was never going to win this thing or even come close, but damn it, he was one of the only people left on this show who was genuine and likeable. Since we’re obviously not voting for singing, otherwise, what the fuck are Pickler and Ace still doing on this show, not to mention 3 or 4 of the others, why does Bucky have to go? Katharine has no personality, Paris is irritating as hell and Chris is like a shouting stucco wall.

Bucky, I will miss you. You did something no Idol has ever done on this show yet, you actually showed progress from week to week and proved you belonged where you were. Good for you and good luck.

If this fucking show is an hour again next week, someone’s gonna be sorry.

Oh yeah, me.

Seagulls out.