Liveblogging the Idol shitshow
by Kathy Cacace

This year I’ll be doing one entry per week that includes coverage of all the episodes. After a false start with the top 24, I’m back from here on out, until the bitter, bitter end. Check back at this entry tomorrow for the results show.

WEDNESDAY: THE RESULTS

8:57: Okay, God’s honest truth, I’m liveblogging in a towel because I just got out of the shower. That may be gross for you to know, but there’s something about seeing my boyfriend Jason Castro through slightly steamy glasses lenses that makes him all the more attractive. I’m a weird girl, y’all.

8:58: They’re hauling out all nine finalists to sing “9 to 5.” Oh fuck, and they’re making Jason line dance. It’s pathetic and charming, but in the way that makes me fear that movie “Pumpkin” may not be such a satire.

9:05: Recap, which is exciting for me because I missed everything yesterday. Quick responses: David poofed his hair up! I missed “Jolene!” Fuck! Syesha is so lucky Dolly wrote “I Will Always Love You”! Did Carly get a weave? Is Michael wearing an ascot? Dolly looks more and more like a marionette as the years pass!

9:07: Michael Johns is safe, and I think he’s wearing a Dolly shirt. Way to suck up, fucker. The only way he gets Dolly suck-up cred is if he wore HER. Is that joke overtly sexual enough? Michael should fuck Dolly for votes, that’s what I’m saying here.

9:09: Archuleta and Carly are safe. P.S., I’m now wearing a towel and eating a salad with my fingers, because I refuse to go get a fork. Class all the way, that’s how I blog.

9:14: Christ, the phone calls. Syesha gives a boring answer, David wishes he was more organized, I am so completely uninterested I would rather fucking corkscrew my retina than listen to this week after week. And a tragic 52-year-old rounds out the phone-ins. Shouldn’t you be tracking your 401k or making mortgage payments or bugging your children in college?

9:18: Who the fuck are the Clark Brothers and why are they singing “This Little Light of Mine?” Wait, are these the guys that won that Next Great American Band show? In which case, that doesn’t get you all that far, now does it? Where’s your Jesus light now? NOT ON THE MARQUEE, that’s for sure.

9:23: David Cook is safe, and tugs the heartstrings a little with the story about how he got rushed to the hospital. High blood pressure, what are you, a pussy? Next he’ll be turning in notes to Ryan saying he can’t play because he’s got cramps.

9:25: Kristy Lee Tommy Lee Buddy Lee Peggy Lee Ang Lee is in the bottom three again.

9:30: We’re catching up with old idols who live in Nashville. Bucky Covington and Phil Stacey–I could’ve gone another few years without having to dredge your names from the septic tank of my pop culture memory. Now we’re catching up with Bo Bice, who had some intestinal issue that ruined two years of his life, but he put out an album and loves being a dad. Apparently there is nothing sadder to me than someone saying they’re Living the Dream when they are actually Living Their If-This-Doesn’t-Work-Outs.

9:34: Syesha is safe to Whitney us again, and it comes down to Brooke and Jason.

9:36: Jason’s safe, because the world is a just and fair and wonderful place in which to live.

9:41: Now there’s a weepy segment about all the good the money raised during last year’s Idol Gives Back. They reunited street kids in Ethiopia, which is good. But I’m still trying to think up a word for this kind of segment, these obviously underhanded tearjerking phony investigative heartwamers. I’m thinking “tearing aids.” Let me know if you come up with anything better.

9:44: Dolly’s singing a song called “Jesus and Gravity.” If this were Jeopardy!, the question for that answer would be “What are the two forces acting upon Dolly’s corset right now, Alex?”

9:47: I love me some Dolly Parton, but I’m getting more than a little sick of choking down the Jesus Kool-Aid tonight. This is now eight musical minutes of Christian broadcasting.

9:50: Ryan just called Dolly “hot” and then I think he cut to commercial on a vague tit joke. If Nobels were awarded in Insincere Flattery, this would be a fucking prize-winning moment.

9:54: Brooke is crying and blubbering about Jesus and she’s safe.

9:55: Are you KIDDING? Kristy Lee Da Dee, Lee Da Dee, Lee Da Dee Da Dee Da Dee is is safe, and Ramiele is out. This makes me sad because 1. I hate Kristy and 2. Ramiele dresses like a girl I would hang out with. Plus, have there been any Asians that have gotten anywhere on this show? We have got to stop voting off the people of color, America…

9:56: Oh god, and now Ramiele has to sing even though she’s sobbing. This is pathetic. I’m gonna go put some pants on now. See you next week. Hopefully clothed.

TUESDAY: THE TOP 9 PERFORM

I have an engagement this evening. Since I will be missing the live broadcast of the show (though I will be here tomorrow for your recap, results, and Dolly Parton appearance), I’ve decided to leave you with a selection of haiku written for the remaining contestants. Good luck, top nine.

Kristy Lee Cook

That’s a lot of name,
Kristy Lee Cook. So much name,
And yet such small hair.

You look like Barbie,
If Barbie went to Jesus camp.
W.W.K.L.D?

David Cook

I remain convinced
That your hairline is like a
Tide pool: ebbing, man.

Things that are crappy:
Creed. Creed. Creed. Creed. Creed. Creed. Creed.
Soundgarden. Please stop.

David Archuleta

Come live in my house?
We’ll bake cookies together
And talk about boys.

But you like girls, eh?
(Girls are the ones with vadges.
Just so we’re all clear.)

Syesha Mercado

You’re like the Dopey.
The dwarf I never recall.
Sing it, Dopey. Sing.

You say some weird phrase
I can’t understand. Oh-la?
Is that Jesus-y?

Jason Castro

I wish “marry me”
Just had seventeen goddamn
Syllables. Love you.

You have dreamy eyes
But also that nightmare hair.
Marry me. Marry.

Michael Johns

Why do I suspect
Autoerotic hanging
Is something you like?

You could be a star.
By which I mean a guest star.
On that soap Passions.

Ramiele Malubay

Looks like she’d work at
American Apparel.
Get me a discount?

Seriously, now.
That v-neck’s twenty-eight bucks.
That is total crap.

Carly Smithson

I used to hate you,
But you’ve kinda grown on me.
Like an Irish rash.

But we could hang out,
Drink in a parking lot. Sing
A LOT of Heart.

Brook White

That is your last name?
I can’t think anything but,
“Why yes. Yes, you are.”

Brook White, what big teeth
You have! Please, please, please, please, please
Don’t eat my grandma.