Gasmini The Wondertastical…On American Idol

Yes, it’s true. My identity has been compromised. The one once known to you as Madeyoulaugh is actually I, Gasmini The Wondertastical.

Though I’ve tried in the past to keep my premonitions of the future to invade my recaps and sarcasticaps, it seems my visions are so grand they cans’t be contained without great concentration and focustude. In my age, I find myself weaker and unable to keep my powers at bay. Recently, as one reader pointed out, I accurately predicted the type of celebritizitude Chris from The Apprentice had in store for him. This weekend, that forvision eventuality came to fruition in Las Vegas.

It seems my powers are too great to be contained within my mortal coil. I appear to have transferred some of my abilities to B-Side. Last week B-Side asserted “I’m sure Kristen will be more than happy to make a big stink (about her stolen commercial idea), if only to further extend her time in the reality spotlight.” What we all saw as a snarky comment, I feared was an indication of the growing power.

If not harnessed properly, I fear this power will be uncontrollable and I couldn’t forgive myself by what may come. Which is why, not unlike a well shaken 2 liter bottle of Dr. Pepper, I must open my cap slowly from time to time to keep from exploding in a sugary mess.

So what follows are my visions of tonight’’s American Idol….I see Anthony Federov gingerly emoting his last note, followed by undeservingly long applause and fanfare….maybe…a sign. (I’m sorry this comes in flashes and shapes.) Now I see what looks like a black man’s corpse, I’m not sure what that means. In my vision though his skin is black, his soul is whiter than sun bleached bleach. He’s talking. I believe what he is saying is

Next, this is strange, I’m not even sure what this is, I see what appears to be a talking vicodin, with a stiff tongue and face-lifted perma-smile. I hear a woman’s voice. She is saying….

Then the pill seems to be standing up revealing some nauseating purple floral attire and applauding like my aunt Sadie after she farted, during what we call “her final years.”

Now, all I see is a black t-shirt far too tight for the man boobs inside. It’s as though Pillsberry Dough-Boy is now metrosexual. He begins to speak, but just as he does, the vicodin gestures to the audience with a thumbs down and nothing is heard but boos.

Now I see a young rocker walking out on the stage….he’s being introduced as Constantine. He’s doing quite well vocally….oh god!!! His eyes!! they are tearing through my soul!! I feel him penetrating me! Stealing all that is good and pure—

I’m sorry, I cannot continue with this vision.