Friday, May 19, 2006

Tuesday, May 16, 2006


I think in all my rage and gnashing of teeth I forgot that there is a tiny bit of time left for the west coast.

So please, let's help this great cozy planet of ours by reducing some noise pollution. Don't vote for talentless hacks that American Idol wants to make money off of. Vote for the wunderkind with the heart of gold, the voice of a singing messiah, and the easy laidback smile of the pirates we Americans love so much.


Ok, guys? It's not lame, I swear. It's a big fart in the wind to all the retards that screw over all that's good 'n plenty about this world.


For Elliott, that is.


I'm delirious. Delirious!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

American Idol? More like American Porn Star


That's all I can say. For now, at least.

What to say? There are so many atrocities to cover I don't know where to begin. If I could channel my rage into tears the second flood would be killing all y'all right about now. Of course, some of you in the LA area might be smart enough to grab ahold of Katherine's drooping breasts of fury and save yourselves...

Many boards are using the word shenanigans to describe what happened to Elliott Yamin tonight, and I couldn't agree more. So: SHENANIGANS.

Of all my many sorrows, can I even attempt to list them all?

1. Elliott went first, again, when he should've gone last. Both Taylor and Katherine have gotten the "pimp" spot very recently, and for their respective second times. There was absolutely no reason, except shenanigans, for him not to go last.

2. I COULD NOT HEAR ELLIOTT SING. He has a naturally wonderful breathy voice, but a powerful one as well. The quality of his vocals have nothing to do with it. The band could not have been any louder. Or more obnoxious. Or more threatening to a performer. It was as if someone asked for an arrangement in the key of vicious.

3. Katherine gives me a fever, but not the kind so many have been so alarmingly afflicted by. Katherine gives me the kind of fever that takes little orphans' legs away, and the kind that eats at your central nervous system until you become a delirious corpse of a human being. What I'm trying to say is, they let Katherine sit down again with a near-acapella rendition of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Mere words cannot describe the bile that built up in my body as soon as she was done. She was flat, horrifyingly flashy, and overwrought. Kind of like the big, boisterous drama club girl in high school that everyone avoided like the plague. You know the kind. She'd always volunteer to read all the lines in Oedipus Rex in senior English, and then she'd do it in that awful drama club look at me I'm a fucking waste of space way. She was also allowed to sing for more than two-and-a-half minutes, the longest it's ever been this season, and nearly twice as long as Elliott's longest. The judges gave her the "THIS IS YOUR MOMENT OH MY GOD ROTTING FLESH" comments after all this. SHENANIGANS. If this show were about finding the best undiscovered porn star in America, Katherine should and would win in a heartbeat. Those poses, those outfits. I have to hand it to her, though, that's mighty smart of her to know how she's getting the votes, because her lack of talent sure isn't doing it. I won't even get into how utterly painful it was to hear her other songs. Apparently, America wants fake and screechy and a porn star. Heck, who wouldn't, right? SHENANIGANS

4. 5. 6. I can't go on. I've always hated American Idol, still do, and now I always will. I've never been so invested in anyone, singer or otherwise, as I have been in Elliott. I truly believe he's the best singer to hit the music scene in years, and this is how everyone (the media, the fucking show, JoAnne from accounting! Fuck you, JoAnne) treats him. Good job, people. Good. Fucking. Job.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

America, you are safe

From my fury! Ha! You were scared for a minute there, weren't you? You were all like, oh shit, America might be going home tonight! But then I was all like, America... YOU ARE SAFE! And everybody laughed and cried tears of joy.

I don't know what I just wrote, and do you know why? BECAUSE ELLIOTT "JESUS IN TINY DIABETES FORM" YAMIN IS MOVING ON TO THE FINAL THREE!!!!!!!! (It's funny because he's a [nonpracticing??] Jew, right? Right?) Is there justice in America? Has America finally redeemed itself for some of the horrible, horrible atrocities it's committed in the past (I'm looking at you, McDonald's awful, horrendous soapy-tasting salad in a "convenient" plastic cup -- oh God my taste buds still haven't recovered, and that was more than six years ago)?

Simply put, no.

But then again, ELLIOTT IS IN THE FINAL THREE!!!!!!! Whee!!!!!

Chris "I am God to millions of goats" Daughtry finally went home and took his Creed-loving ass with him. As I was with Kellie Pickler when she finally shoved out, I had to give Chris a genteel bow and a soft-spoken "Kudos, old man. Kudos." When the threat to the Jammin' Yamin is eliminated, something magical happens where I feel sympathetic and warm-hearted and almost... human... then I snap out of it and my eyes set their target on the next threat. Lasers are set, canines sharpened, shockingly creative swear word combinations assembled in the back of my throat, magazines bought, the past dredged for some suitably unsavoury episode, the dog-eared thought of which can still produce a faint flicker of desire... oops, sorry, I thought I was Alfred Molina again.

Elliott is safe this week, but that doesn't mean he'll be safe next week. If anything, those wacky! Katherine "I do not know of this thing you humans call -- sincerity" McPhee fans will be motivated to vote even more to save their vapid, screechy "death as music," lumpy-bodied queen. We must stop them. We must give Elliott to America, nay, to the world. Consider it a gift, pathetic mortals.

God sent me a vision the other day, a fiery, hair-whitening vision, the likes of which haven't been seen since Charlton Heston was hot and golden-skinned and not crazy. God allowed me to see a glimpse of a tape he had lying around documenting the process of creating such a being like Elliott Yamin.

It was glorious. According to my calculations, it took approximately 12 billion of our mortal years to create him, and even then Gabriel had to step in and say, "Dude, you're taking too fucking long. Just bake him and send him down already." And then God was like "Don't fucking rush me. Do you have any idea what I'm doing here? I'm creating a fucking masterpiece, man. Those things don't just happen, you know. They take time. And a whole lot of fucking work. Damn, man."

God wanted to make Elliott even more perfect! Can you believe that? I couldn't. I was like, damn, man. And God was like, "Dude, I know."

Long story short, Gabriel pissed God the fuck off and then somebody sent God a text about some sort of party and God got pissed that he had to stop working on Elliott because trust me, he had to go to that party. It was all kinds of rockin'. But He ended up putting Elliott in his little people-making oven, baked him to golden-delicious perfection, and sent him down to earth via a lightning bolt straight into the womb of that adorable perfect virtuous woman, Claudette Yamin.

Elliott, no one has rocked me like you rock me.

I wish Elliott was a fig newton because fig newtons are fucking delicious and then I'd get to eat him but then I'd be sad because there'd be no more Elliott! And then God would be like, "Oh no you fucking didn't! Damn, man!" And I'd be like, "Oh fuck."


Friday, May 05, 2006

Ryan <3 Elliott


Thursday, May 04, 2006

Elliott Yamin is hot, damn it!

All people fit into four categories:

1) Retards
2) Assholes
3) Geniuses
4) People who love geniuses

Sadly, 99% of the world fits into the first two categories. Elliott Yamin fits into the third. And yeah, I'm part of the fourth.

The "American Idol" people are treating my Elliott like shit by refusing to acknowledge his presence, as if sticking their fingers in their ears and giving conspicuously Elliott-free interviews on national TV will somehow get people to stop voting for him. Kudos, AI. Well played.

Wednesday night's results show, apart from Ryan's cute rock 'em-sock 'em robots shenanigans with Elly, pissed me the fuck off. Not only did lumpy Katherine and her giant Amazon shoulders of fury block Elliott from view for most of their group song (he, as usual, showed just how ridiculous the other contestants are when he finally got to sing), but also because, well, why the fuck was he in the bottom two?! I've had just enough of this madness. First Al Gore wins the elections and becomes the un-president, then this. Is talent and good looks not enough for you, America? For fuck's sake.

Which brings me to Elliott's appearance.

I've heard the whole "he's ugly, he makes me vomit, blah blah blah I am an ass and should not reproduce." I've heard it, and I could've pooped with rage every time I heard it. But I simply do not understand it. Is he grossly obese? No! He's tiny and fit. Pocket-sized, really. Does he have some horrifying deformity, an aberration so terrifying that it would cause a spontaneous abortion, even if you weren't pregnant and you had a penis? No! So what's the problem with him, then?


He has sweet, smooth lips, lovely light caramel-colored skin... and his eyes! He has melancholy slate blue eyes, a moody, dark blue like the night sky when it's raining. They even crinkle when he smiles. And sometimes when he's smiling and feeling goofy and oh-so-adorable, he does this Popeye thing where's he's only crinkling one eye and it makes me want to become a raincloud so I could mannap him and sprinkle him all over the world.

I could talk about his voice, but what's the point? He's brilliant. One of those unique, breathtaking talents that this world produces too few of. Call his voice what you want: smoky, moody, earthy, rich, lovely, heartwrenching. If artists were jellybeans, Elliott would be the R&B special deluxe version of a Beethoven-Karen Carpenter smashup.

Don't go away, my Elly.

Celebrity lookalikes

I don't know about you, but when I see celebrities, I see other celebrities who look like them.

Thom Yorke of Radiohead, the most delicious one-eyed man in the world, is on the left. Adorable sexpot Ian Wright of Globe Trekker is the on the right.

I wish I were God, a God who wears shirts with two pockets so that I could mannap Thom and Ian. We'd go everywhere together, even to the local Albertsons, and they could sleep next to my God-breasts, with the loud boom of my thunderous heartbeat as an ear-splitting lullaby. I could feed them breadcrumbs from my giant God-sized bread and give them water when they start to smack their little English lips and we'd all be happy together and it'd be just like The Indian in the Cupboard except maybe not because it's been, like, 10 years since I've read that thing. All I remember is something vaguely Native American.

Brendan Fehr, of that yummy gay movie, Sugar, is on the left. David "I am a monotonous sex god" Duchovny is on the right.

Man, I used to want to rape the FBI because of Fox Mulder.

Prince Eric, the first love of my life, in The Little Mermaid is on the left. Mr. Darcy, the Bundys' banker neighbor on "Married... with Children" is on the right.

Why was I so in love with Prince Eric? Well, there was the whole black hair and blue eyes combination. He played the flute. He was a seaman (giggles!). He had that old butler dude with the big nostrils. He wore boots. He had a big, shaggy dog. Let's see, what else? Oh yeah, he was a fucking seaman.

Johnny Knoxville is on the left. Justin Theroux is on the right. Both are pretty hot, but Justin is sort of confusing. He's like the composite of all the hot guys in the world, but with emo glasses. You see him, and you say, "hey, it's that dude," but you'll never say it's Justin Theroux but some other dude. And when you see another dude, a dude who looks like him but isn't him, you might say "hey, it's Justin Theroux!", then you'll frown in confusion because you know that's not right, and then you'll be disturbed because Justin Theroux is starting to ruin your life.

If this doesn't fuck up your mind, nothing will. Dave Foley of the Kids in the Hall is on the left. Isabella Rosellini is on the right. This isn't a particularly unknown resemblance, but it's delightful.

One day the planets will align and Dave and Isabella will finally merge into one super round-eyed being. The process will be messy, with slimy things squirting out and tooth gaps everywhere, but once complete, the heavens will shake in fear and David Lynch will finally make the long-awaited sequel to Blue Velvet and we'll get to see Dave Foley's genitals because that's how David Lynch rolls.