Thursday, March 13, 2008

Too Many Cooks

NO! IT CAN NOT BE!! How can they have voted off delectable David Hernandez, and left still breathing that Creature of the Walking Dead, that hideous blond, c'untry singing horror who tried to turn 8 Days a Week into a ho-Down? That ho should have gone down!

It isn't fair! Certainly lovely David was somewhat disconnected from I Saw Her Standing There. Of course he was. They made him sing the original lyrics, rather than change it to I Saw Him Standing There. Hello? The second biggest news story of last week (According to TV News) after Governor Spitzer being revealed as a hypocrite of epic dimensions, was Davey being outed as a gay stripper. So then they have him singing about his passion for a girl? I'm afraid that the huge non-vote that took him off was a national collective "Oh please! Come out already."

Certainly Ben Linus is shocked, and that's a man who has weathered a lot of twists. (New Otherton has cable. All The Others loved American Idol, although the Castaways all watch Survivor, and snicker, and then try to vote Ben off the island.)

I would have to say that David gave me the most unenthusiastic lap dance I have ever received from a gay stripper, when he came by for his Consolation, Cheer-Up Shag after the elimination show. (As a new, strangely unpromoted, feature of the program this year, after each elimination show, the loser/reject is brought here to Morehead Heights for their complimentary Consolation, Cheer-Up Shag from Yours Truly, regardless of gender.) But I must ask you this: if David Hernandez had been a STRAIGHT male stripper, giving lap dances to frustrated Arizona housewives (a literally gigantic, and deeply terrifying, population), would he have gone to Morehead Heights this week, instead of that unspeakable bimbette who so viley desecrated that seminal Beatles song, which John and Sir Paul wrote FOR ME?

There are entirely Too Many Cooks on American Idol this season. David Cook can sing well enough, and while his approach on Eleanor Rigby was to take a lovely, simple, sad song, and turn it into something a little more over-the-top than a 1984 QUEEN Concert if Freddy Mercury had been dumpy, unattractive, and possessed of no hair sense, (David Cook has the worst hair of the show's Worst Hair Season Ever) nonetheless, it was BETTER THAN THAT COOK BIMBETTE'S MUSICAL ABORTION!

Not that I'm bitter, but I will feel better when I see Sir Paul standing ax-in-hand over Kristy Lee Cook's lifeless corpse, which lies in a growing pool of her own blood. Paul's been having a bad enough week already. The only good thing about it was it turned Mark David Chapman into a International Hero for killing John Lennon before he had to live to hear Ms. Cook take a dump on his delightful song on American TV.

Well, I'm sure David Hernandez will do well. Here is the cover shot for his first CD: Booted!

You must understand that The Beatles and I were very close. I left our relationship out of my award-dodging autobiography, My Lush Life, as I don't like to brag. All of the thousands of prominent world-leaders, stars, artists, and celebrities who have known, loved, and shagged the bloody Hell out of me over the last century or so will tell you (Or at least the handful of them that survive and are still capable of speech will), that I am not one to boast. This is one of the many great things about me that I love the most; my innate modesty. I may do a lot of blowing, but it's never my own horn. I'm just not that flexible anymore.

Back in The Beatles Liverpool days, while I was in England making Hammer horror movies, I was always hanging with the Pre-Fab Four, making us an X-Rated Five on occasion. I will say that Pete Best earned his name the hard way, and it was a sad day for me when he left, although Ringo has his nasal compensations. (The crannies he can thrust that schnoz into are amazing!) Anyway, 8 Days a Week was written to say in music how often they wanted to gang-rock me. Can you imagine how outraged I was to hear this C'untry Fair, theme-park, rockabilly arrangement proffered on a #1 TV show? At the bare minimum, she should be waterboarded.

This lovely picture of The Beatles and I was taken in Liverpool in 1963. I'm wearing a fabulous, brand-new turban, designed for me personally by Cecil Beaton to wear to the Ascot Races. As you can see, the design was based on a famous French dildo. I didn't wear it much, because it made me severly top-heavy, and I'm unsteady enough on my pins as it is.

I later learned to my chagrin, that The Beatles were only hanging out with me, sharing new intoxicants with me, and gang-rocking me because they thought I was the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, Oops. It's a common mistake. We are so identical, both in appearance and philosophy, that people have always had trouble telling us apart. I might add that, since Maha's death, the problem has only gotten worse! See our resemblance for yourself, check out this picture, snapped when Maha dropped by Morehead Heights to give me a lap dance.

The Beatles eventually realized their mistake when they asked me about "Transcendental Meditation," whatever the hell that is. They asked me, "Haven't you been teaching us how to achieve inner peace through TM, Mum?"

"Good God no, darlings! You need to pay closer attention, and Ringo, I'm talking to you! I never said a thing about TM? What the hell is TM? I was talking about achieving inner peace through TNM, which, as every schoolgirl, knows stands for Terrific Nipple Manipulation! Now off with those gloves boys; it's time for Lesson 13: The Ecstasy of Aureoles.

Little Dougie used to know Eleanor Rigby slightly when he worked at The Hollywood Reporter 22 years ago. She did not keep a face in a jar by the door. (Though Little Dougie does, and I dread asking him where he got it or whose face it is. Is there a Missing Persons Report out on a pale-skinned man with a red handlebar mustache and a mole shaped like Oklahoma under his right eye? Never mind. I do not want to know!) She did, however, meet John Lennon by chance at a party back in the early 60s, and he took a fancy to her name, and gave her a form of immortality as the embodiment of Pathetic Old Losers. Thanks John.

Frankly, despite Ryan's constant mantra of how this is "The Strongest Cast We've Ever Had," this is a pretty lame bunch of singers, as their trepidations amongst the immortal, simple melodies of Lennon & McCartney showed, and they're going to do it again next week! By all means! There are still dozens of great Lennon-McCartney songs to mangle, maul, and crap all over. No one turned Yesterday into a rap; they haven't yet made I Want to Hold Your Hand into a Heavy Metal Goth nightmare, A Day in the Life has yet to be made into a power ballad for an overwrought would-be Whitney Huston. Oh goodie.

I do enjoy Amanda Overmeyer. She fills the void I've had since Janis Joplin caught the Last Chevy to the Trevy. (I didn't go, because I'd heard the Trevy was dry. Not my scene, and I wouldn't have thought it was Janis's either.) Well, she hasn't filled my void yet, but she will the week she's eliminated, because Rocker Chicks never win American Idol. At best, she might finish third. And Amanda isn't just a Rocker Chick. She's a Bluesy-Biker-Nurse-Rocker Chick with a whisky-voice, which must be why I love her. Oh, and when she sings, she has a Wide Stance, like Senator Larry Craig in a public toilet stall. (Same pants too, although Larry wears his under his suit pants.) And then there's Amanda's Look, which is, after all, nothing more nor less than Classic Hollywood Look. Look!

I love her. I'm afraid of her. I want her in the worst way: standing in a hammock. Might I be the Bride of Overmeyer? She did, after all, turn You Can’t Do That into a growly leather rocker, Dykes-on-Bikes, anthem of sexual harassment. That's entertainment!

The most surprising trend on American Idol this year isn't all the Davids, it isn't even Too Many Cooks, it's the plethora of daughters of Latin Dictators. We have Fidel Castro's daughter Jason...

And of course, up until last week, we had Manuel Noriega's daughter Danielle.

Following Amanda's lead, Little Jason has also opted for a Classic Hollywood Look. Now if she'd only follow her example of being an exciting singer, but I'm afraid that's outside her range.

I think a more interesting look for Jason, would be for her to embrace her roots, and adopt the look of her famous father, who certainly knows a thing or two about being a success. How many countries have you ruled with an iron fist for 50 years?

So now we know, when Fidel gave up power last month (Bear that in mind, every President since Eisenhower, and the CIA. He's leaving on His Terms in His Own Time. In half a century, you couldn't unseat the man who was actually ready to bring the whole world down in flames in 1962. Yes, you were all really impressive on Cuba --- Not!), why he gave the power to his brother, and not to his daughter Jason. Not even Fidel is crazy enough to empower this dork.

As for Little Danielle, well now we know where she got her insane, senseless sense of entitlement. Only being raised by people who could be shot if she went whining to Daddy could have spoiled that girl so badly that she acted like she was doing America a favor by allowing them to vote for her. (She probably expected Daddy to fix the voting. Hard to do from prison, Danielle.) The way she just looked disgusted, and rolled her eyes in boredom whenever Simon offered her much-needed advice on how to improve her horrible performance really plucked my annoyance string. I was amused when she dismissed Simon's last bit of constructive criticism by once again making the "Loser" hand-gesture at her head. Yes, what stings a billionaire who co-owns and co-stars on the number one TV show on three continents more than being called a loser by a spoiled teenager who has just been kicked off said TV show by a massive vote of the citizenry? How did Simon endure it?

At least he has something to fall back on.

I'm just glad they don't do eliminations on American Idol the way they've been doing them on Big Brother. Over the last two weeks, first dumpy-but-loveable Ryan got evicted with some boring bimbo - oh yes, Allison - but he couldn't get out the locked door, was brought back, uneliminated, and then made Head of Housdehold. This week, silly-orange-Mohawk-haired, over-tattooed (That tattoo they keep blurring out on his shoulder? It has crucifixes in it's design. It's not dirty or obscene. It's blurred out to avoid offending Christians. Blurry images for blurry thinkers. Meanwhile, we get to see that other boring bimbo pouring over her Bible, for God's advice on winning reality TV competitions.), and extremely well-endowed (Check out his gay porn shots on the Internet. That boy has three legs. Oooh-la-la!) James was eliminated -- for 10 minutes, and then he was brought back and made Head of Household. Big Brother, let them go! And American Idol, do NOT bring back Noriega, although if you sneak Luke Maynard back in, I'll gladly give him head in my household!

Meanwhile, is Jin dead in the future or not? Michael is on the freighter, but he's not one of the Oceanic 6? I'm confused!

Cheers darlings.

1 comment:

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