To break up the monotony, we see a montage of various assh*les explaining why THEY are the next Idol. And if any adults out there are worried about our children’s future? Relax, cause 1500 talentless fame-whores want to inspire the world/be role models, or so we learn. One girl explains that she wants to win “American Idol” because ““I think it’ll give me a better chance of meeting Johnny Depp.” All sarcasm aside, I hope she wins.

Boy group again. First up, Ross Williams, bland and extremely forgetful. Makes it through. Then Sean McNeill, a bald, goateed pastor, who has an amazing voice, and thankfully also continues to tomorrow.

SIRENS! My nightmare is back, and he’s still wearing a mandarin-collared leather jacky. Rich Molfetta is the guy who looks like an ass-raping ape, and who auditioned twice (once with his twin) in order to get to Hollywood. Now it’s his sudden death round. He sings “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart” very very poorly. With his eyes closed. It’s all very hard to watch. And (calloo! callay!) HE IS CUT! But keep your eyes peeled for next year’s Chess King ad campaign, cause I have a feeling Rich will be back and takin’ no prisoners.

Hey! Here’s something new! Stevie Wonder songs. What a relief, I couldn’t remember the last time I’ve heard one. Excuse me while I gouge my ear canals out with a melon baller. First we hear Nadia Turner, a girl with a huge afro and a big mouth that she opens as wide as she can. Frankly, I don’t think she’s all that great, but probably better than most of the people she’s up against. Next, church-boy David Brown, who I adore. He has an amazing, positive energy, and just seems like the nicest, most charming guy ever. Following him, another big ol’ bald guy (what is it with old bald guys this year?) Scott Savol, who has a great voice but is unpleasant to look at. On the flipside of the coin is Jeffrey Johnson, a minister, who you can just eat up from cuteness, but doesn’t have the chops needed to be in the top 12. Results? Nadia: In. David: In. Scott: In. And sadly, for Jeff, it’s the end of the road.

(Read in the style of audience in Rudy.) Shun-ta. Shun-ta. Shun-ta! (wild applause) Shunta makes it to her audition! And with just minutes to spare. And hooray! She’s really good. Clown-face or no, I heart Shunta. She’s through.

Back to the sightseers, Francisco Torres is a Brooklyn native who is channeling a major David Faustino-vibe. He weeps when looking at the Pacific Ocean, explaining that he’s sorry his family can’t see it as well. He goes on to say that it looks so different from the beaches in Brooklyn, a city where “sand” is defined as “needles, used condoms, and fried dough crumbs.” Meanwhile, in the background, a group of kids is singing at the top of their lungs. See? This is why AI is nightmare. You can’t go anywhere without some maniacs breaking out the a capella.

Vonzell Solomon sounds just like Whitney, before her demons set in, and is put through.

Remember Regina Brooks? Yes you do. She’s the auditioner who pawned her wedding rings to pay for her travel costs. Well, she lost 40 pounds and has a new weave to match, all in an effort to look “younger.” I like Regina, but I actually think she looks worse now. Am I crazy, or does anyone else agree? She explains that she wants to win because “This is mine.” Singing “This Thing Called Love”, she’s not bad at all, but really does seem a little to old and out of her element for the competition. Sadly, she doesn’t make it, which surprises me as they certainly let worse singers through. In a DEPRESSING confessional, she weeps that she’s giving up in life. She tries so hard to be good, and then she’s always let down, and does not expect anything from anyone. Yikes. Literally, you’re at a singing audition with 16 year olds. Take it down a crotch, Regeen.

54 are cut. 48 are through. And we have another day to go. Sigh.

Group 2 begins. Farmboy Patrick Norman begins, and is just awful. Also, he keeps rubbing his nipples, I shit you not. It is horrifying. Next, A.C. Slater Mario Vasquez sings, and he’s pretty good, but I’m not moved or anything. Finally, sensitive Brooklynite Francisco Torres comes on the stage holding a schmate with him like Al Sharpton, and when he sings it looks like he’s passing a kidney stone. His face turned red as a monkey’s ass, veins popping out… it was a spectacle. Results: Patrick: Out. Mario: In. Francy: Out. Torres takes it like a man, and at least came off pretty good on TV.

Marlea Stroman is so annoying. Yes she is. She tells us that she left her son at home and misses him awful. Well WHY DID YOU AUDITION, MARLEA! Her performance reminds me of a 5-year-old forced to sing by her parents (trust me, I know). And her dance moves are so strange, again, a little retarded. But she’s tall and pretty, so she makes it through. We later see her weeping openly, not out of joy, but sadness and longing for her son. More on that later.

Today’s sightseeing kids got a special treat by visiting the soundstage of “The O.C.” Piggy 16-year-old Jaclyn weeps openly, much in the same way I cried when visiting the “Clarissa Explains It All” set. (“OMG! That’s the ladder Sam uses to climb into her room! Hysterical bawling!) Then, Jaclyn’s mother starts to weep, and the two cry, hugging each other only steps away from where Seth said something neurotic and Ryan punched someone in the face.

Posted by on February 11, 2005 12:58 PM