American Idol: Let’s Get This Show on the Road Already!

This episode of American Idol is like the day after Thanksgiving – you have all these leftovers, and you don’t know what to do with them. You can’t let them go to waste so you figure what the hell, I’ll just slap these all together and see what I get. Some of the ingredients are great, some are iffy, and some are just plain awful, and when you put them all together you wind up with something that does its job, but really just makes you reminiscent of how good it was before. So sit back, relax, and join me on this last audition episode of American Idol – soggy turkey sandwich style.

This one’s definitely the congealed turkey fat.

We don’t waste any time tonight, and dive right into the first audition. Luke Reeder’s our man, and he’s rocking what looks to be a brave hunting cap-hospital gown ensemble. There’s screaming, flailing, and general psychosis, giving further credence to my belief that this one snuck out of the psych ward while Sister Evelyn entertained all on the piano. It’s a no for Luke.

You know who also sucks? Victor Villegas, who sounds like a dying goat. The judges agree, and say barnyard animals are a no-no. But in Victor’s defense, you can somewhat understand why he thought barnyard animals were so money. After all, Carmen Rasmusen was in the top 6 in season 2.

Baaaaaa

The first sob story – and guaranteed Golden Ticket – belongs to Amy Davis. She grew up in a family “lower than lower middle class” (aka working class? Glad you’ve got those brains to climb out of that. Oh wait), which has given her great ambition to succeed. She goes into the audition room, her boobs and plunging neckline leading the way. You can take a girl out of the lower than lower middle class, but you can’t take the lower than lower middle class out of a girl. Randy tries to cover his ogling by complimenting her shoes – which don’t match by the way – and Amy gets through to Hollywood even though she’s somewhat mediocre. After seeing her run down the stairs in excitement, I’d recommend that Amy’s first purchase after climbing out of the lower than lower middle class be a bra.

Now that we’ve gotten one Golden Ticket out of the way, we’re back to the crazies. Tiffany McCambell is convinced her voice was a gift from God, and while she admits it’s not perfect, it’s just a matter of finding the right tone. Dressed like Dana Carvey’s Church Lady, she gives us a preview before heading in front of the judges – yep, this bitch is tone deaf. If that’s a gift from God, then He hates your ass. The judges mock Tiffany somewhat for her divine inspirations, and after she caterwauls for a few moments, Simon asks if God has a return policy. But God don’t want that shit back anymore than we want to listen to Tiffany sing. The answer is no all around.

I don’t think that’s God’s voice she’s hearing…

Up next is a montage of people auditioning in pairs – siblings, dating couples, spouses. We’ve seen this on Idol before, but what we haven’t seen is a fake, camera-whoring love triangle! So we’ve got twin guys, who not only dress identically (that stopped being cute in grade school, asshats), drive the same car, and have the same friends, but they evidently like to pork the same girl. The girl in question is an orange Paris Hilton wannabe, complete with a tiny dog that makes secret plans to chew her face off every night. I shouldn’t mock her too much, though. She’s making great strides for feminists everywhere – showing it’s not just men who can have the slutty twin fantasy. You get down with your bad self!

What do you say… rock, paper, scissors to determine who goes first tonight?

The twins audition first (since they don’t have individual identities, I’m not bothering to figure out their names), and after a few painful minutes of false starts and general bitchassness (love ya Diddy!) it’s bad beat boxing and white boy rap. Shocking, I know. They’re quickly shooed out the door as Simon speculates to Randy and Paula that they must get a lot of poontang. Speaking of, here comes Ms. Poontang herself. The judges lose their shit over the puppy she’s still carting around – which is adorable and hopefully is coming along with that plan – and Simon announces he’s going to steal it. Ms. Poontang is fine with that – or anything else he wants, wink wink nudge nudge – as long as she gets put through to Hollywood. See, I didn’t give her that nickname for nothing. She sings, she sucks, and she shrieks indignantly when the judges give her the bad news. Outside, the tool twins tell us they know she’s a crappy singer, and that’s definitely not the reason they keep her around. Ms. Poontang collects her dog and the threesome heads off to find the next Springer taping.

Please, Simon help me… the noises coming out of her bedroom make me piddle.

Back to actual talent. Cardin Lee McKinney (agh, bad Bachelor Milk Carton flashbacks) has producer favorite written all over her, with her humble background and all-American good looks. Her voice is excellent, but Simon worries that her style is more theatrical than the pop music style they’re usually looking for. But Randy and Paula say yes, so Cardin’s moving on.

JoAnne Borgella is immediately identified as plus-size model. Despite some bad Mariah Carey hair, she’s very pretty, and hopes to show that you don’t have to be skinny to succeed in the music industry. Another producer favorite, we get to hear Randy question her on singing the national anthem at Madison Square Garden for the NCAA championship game. She sings a Celine song that goes very high and probably does not show her voice off as well as she could. Accordingly, Simon says no, but Randy and Paula say yes, so JoAnne’s moving on.

Up next is Alesha Stelzl, a sweet but somewhat dim girl who says she has a “unique sound”, which is usually a red flag for disaster. Sure enough, she sounds like she sucked in some helium before going into the audition room. Simon calls her out on her suckiness, but Randy and Paula think Alesha may sound good singing a Dolly Parton song instead – that is, if she knew any. Simon, smelling blood in the water, orders Alesha to go learn a Dolly song and come back and try again. Out in the hall, Seacrest suggests and sings 9 to 5, while dry humping Alesha’s mom (who ironically resembles Dolly herself). So Seacrest has a thing for Dolly Parton. Never saw that one coming.

Classy.

Alesha chooses Islands in the Stream (which until now I never realized is where the chorus of Ghetto Superstar comes from), and heads back in to face the judges. She’s actually much better on this song – who knew Randy and Paula actually know what they’re talking about sometimes – but it’s hardly going to be Dolly week every week (and hopefully not any week). Simon refuses to vote, but Paula and Randy say yes, putting Alesha through for a massive Hollywood slaughter. As she leaves, a shocked Simon admits the other two were right and bitches and moans about his lost plaything, while Paula loses her shit in excitement over the concession. Or her meds just kicked in.

A truly unfortunate girl named Brandi Gregorie is up next, and she performs the striptease from hell. Simon doesn’t mince any words when he complains that the audition was over as soon as she started removing clothing. She’s quickly followed by Charles Randy Leviner, a mediocre and foul-mouthed rocker who also gets the boot.

I’d be angry too if I were Charles Manson’s doppelganger.

And that brings us to Joshua “Jay Smoove” Moreland, who I already know will be a total douchebag (and is in desperate need of a dentist). The audition begins and douchebaggery is confirmed as he sings an original song and throws confetti and glitter around at key moments. Simon sarcastically declares the song catchy, and Paula grasps at straws by complimenting the glitter. While shiny objects are usually the best way to distract Paula, this one’s a no-go, and Jay Smoove is just A Douche. Speaking of, the judges call in Seacrest to come sweep up the crap, figuring that Seacrest’s sparkly t-shirt might give him an edge in this particular custodial task. Seacrest quickly pawns the job off on a nearby female PA, and Simon scolds Seacrest for being patronizing to the girl and gets up to sweep the crap up himself. Randy and Paula react as if Simon just figured out the key to peace in the Middle East, but Simon’s just showing some chivalry to ensure he can get laid for the next 30 or so years as his moobs continue to sag.

Up above the sound stage, Jay Smoove’s audition makes some PA lose his lunch.

Quick segment of Simon being old and senile – not knowing which city they’re in, what coast they’re on, and screwing up contest names. Highlights are him calling a bigger girl “Hippo-like”, a crazed-looking girl “Kinda Dim”, and a dude “Jessica Brown.” I’m willing to bet any of those three would have been cool with him calling them “Mike Rotch” if they got to go through to Hollywood.

Back to the auditions. Up next is Chikezie Eze (love. it.), who auditioned last year – only Randy wasn’t feeling it. He sings a Luther Vandross song and is pretty awesome, finally earning his Golden Ticket. I like this guy a lot.

Our final contestant is another repeater, a young boy named Danny Noriega. His attitude reminds me of Christian on Project Runway, and he immediately annoys the crap out of me. He thinks he chose a bad song and got too nervous last time, but now he’s ready to follow in the footsteps of Chikezie and redeem himself. This time around it’s Proud Mary, complete with hip thrusts and some jazzy snaps. But he sounds pretty good, which the judges recognize. Randy calls it one of the best auditions he’s seen, which makes me hope this is from one of the first cities they visited. The judges unanimously say yes, meaning Danny will be rolling down the river into Hollywood.

For God’s sakes, Paula, do your hair and makeup BEFORE you have your morning Prozac & Vodka.

And that brings us to the end of the auditions! As the judges celebrate, Paula asks Simon if he thinks they’ve found the next American Idol. Well seeing as though that’s the whole point of this show, and FOX will crown a winner no matter how much he or she sucks (I’m looking at you, Taylor Hicks), I’ll venture a guess and say yes, Paula. You twit.

So the final tally is 164 Hollywood finalists. Next week is the Hollywood rounds, and then we’re finally going to do this thing for real – with Flipit and T.Vo leading the way. Thanks guys for reading – I’ve missed you!