Antonio Sabato Junior wants you to STOP watching this show.
Celebrity Circus, you’re like the ultimate cockroach. You resist radiation, survive FOX’s attempts to kill you by way of lukewarm ratings, and thrive despite Joey Fatone’s penchant for dressing like a total assclown. May you be plagued by a thousand violin-playing midgets on flaming tricycles made of swizzle sticks!
A Tribute to Siegfried and Roy: Available now at your local Hot Topic.
Let’s skip the formalities and drawn-out introductions. Sensing my impatience and utter contempt, Pudgy quickly announces the three contestants who are safe this week. Brevity, I love it. It’s incredible! I picked on him recently for sounding like what he thinks someone from Brooklyn should sound like, circa WWI. Then I looked up his Wikipedia entry and realized Joey Fatone is from Brooklyn. That means he’s just 100% annoying.
“Isn’t there more to life than being ridiculously, ridiculously good-looking?”
Overgrown Keebler Elf or Disgruntled Jewish Tailor?
I hate puppies, rainbows, and small children.
Oh! Pudgy is going to reveal the fourth safe celeb, just to drag out the final two for the next hour. Antonio Sabato Jr. is safer than using condoms, spermicide, and the Pill combined. Throw some abstinence education into the mix, though, and you’re definitely at risk – I’m talking to you, Wee Man and Janet Evans. And poor Janet doesn’t have the novelty of being a dwarf/Jackass/entertainer. I’m going to be sad that our only athlete is probably on her way out, but she appears to have a career outside of sequined shitshows.
Who will it be? The Gay Ice Luger, Bachelor Party Leftovers, or Pocahontas on Ice?
Trying to throw the audience for a loop, Pudgy announces that Wee Man is safe. If you slept through last week’s episode, that might be a shocker (Oh no! ASJ might be sent home!? Global warming is real?!) but um, no – they just stupidly exonerated the only other person who could plausibly be sent home. He did have the lowest score of last week. Remember, the only folks voting on this show are Midwestern housewives and people who don’t have lives. They want to keep a topless ASJ around. Foulmouthed midgets are still controversial. Olympic swimmers with gummy smiles? Not so much. Learn the art of suspense from American Idol eliminations, people.
If only one could win a Pulitzer for a career built solely on recapping bad TV. It’s my one-year anniversary with the ‘Gasm, and my improved powers of prediction should really get me a cameo on Heroes. Who’s left?
Fortune Cookie Says: Your future is embarrassing. I can’t even talk about it without curling right back up.
And what is with Pudgy’s Brooklyn-ese accent in the commentary? Peter Brady is tackling the trapeze bungee and saying goodbye to his crotch (again). At least nothing’s set on fire this week. He grunts and yelps through the training sessions, and it’s not attractive. Even his trainer admits he has to outdo Dionne’s flying funbags and sensual aerial seduction, but is pleased to say that Peter’s never worked this hard. Cue more middle-aged man groaning.
We revisit 2002, as Pink’s “Get the Party Started” blares from my TV, while Peter flips on his trapeze bungee, accompanied by two aerialists in pink frou frou outfits. How very Lady Marmalade of them. A couple of twirls later, he clambers onto the trapeze and then flings himself backwards off of it, hurtling towards the ground. REMEMBER: THERE IS NO SAFETY NET. NO NET AT ALL. INVISIBLE NET.
Peter also picks up a little friend, who appears to be a part-time genie.
Hammer Pants are BACK, baby.
Then the genie rubs his hands and ala kazaam, slingshots Peter back up in the air. That was neat, and not unlike a ride at Six Flags Magic Mountain. As glitter/confetti rains from the sky, Peter launches into a big setup where he swings and somersaults forward and manages to bounce into a sitting position on top of the trapeze. He’s thrilled with his accomplishment, and I would be too, if my mantra was “Don’t die.” Louie’s going to get him for breaking character and pumping his fist, though. However, watching Peter bounce around is probably not as delightful as the busty Dionne flipping every which way. Men in tights just aren’t that attractive (unless you’re ASJ).
The delight of a child is contagious!
So in between that last screencap and this sentence, I hopped in a friend’s car that was en route to Vegas. I thought I could recap a bit while in the car, but instead, I passed out and dreamt that I had to beat up middle schoolers for their lunch money so I could go buy a push-up bra for someone with no cleavage. Now it’s 4 am. I just learned how to play video blackjack and got a free pineapple and Malibu, but lost five dollars, and I’m sitting in Excalibur the hotel, paying $12.99 for 24 hours of “High-speed” internet and desperately trying to fill out my notes by streaming the show from NBC.com. I even have a bag of Little Caesar’s Crazy Bread next to me (no lie, they charge $2.40 for it), and I think I can do this.
Especially since I discovered something more frightening than anything that could possibly happen on this show. A thousand dicks have crawled back inside of themselves after first perking up over the right half of the sign:
Worst. Marketing. Ever.
“Carrot Top + Topless Show…it’s like…they share a word or something!” Whoever made this ad should be shot after being forced to watch Carrot Top strip while the topless girls attempt to do improv with stupid props for twenty four hours straight.
Peter polishes off his routine with the endless somersaulting move that Dionne used last week to massive applause. But he just looks slightly awkward and emasculated, even though he got tricks in and didn’t flub up too obviously. I’m proud of him for not croaking mid-air, but his tights are way too close to becoming stirrup pants, methinks. There’s no real choreography, and I don’t care enough to want to watch because the routine doesn’t really go anywhere. Aw, he’s still with Adrienne Curry (of ANTM fame) because she’s in the audience clapping her little hands off. True wuv!
We wait awkwardly for Peter to get down from his crotch harness, and the judges are reintroduced. You know them as crazy French trapeze bitch, Paula Abdul if she were an Olympic male gymnast, and the Brit more bloomin’ than Bruno. The show’s wardrobe budget is severely limited because their tops have only changed colors, not styles or fabrics. And this could all be a Photoshop or lighting trick!
Pudgy skips over Aurelia, instead asking Mitch first what he thinks of Peter Brady’s first acrobatic act.
“Aww, he’s so cute when his Tourette’s flares up.”
Mitch gushes for a bit about giving it a standing ov(ary) while I tune him out. Slingshot triple backflip salchow looptyloop ice cream fudge sundae with a side of tiddlywinks athletic gymnastic airzen munchausen bloopity bloop bloop. Fannnnntastic.
Aurelia, whose blue-painted talons match her top (roarrr, watch the claws), says it was extremely acrobatic and impressive, but not as sexy as Dionne.
“You make meee smile because zhoo remind meee, oui, of Peter Brady and more innocent times, non? Before I had to go to zee trapeze labor camp and assume zee face of a nun forced to give blowjobs, euh?”
And Louie’s all, nuh-uh girlfriend, I don’t think we’re watching the same show here. And that Peter reminds him of a baby in a bouncer while Dionne was a fierce diva. Yowza. I don’t know, I’d probably give the guy a 7.5 if I could.
Bitch is the new black.
Next, a redux of Dionne’s dominance these past two weeks. Cue Louie screaming “THIS. IS. CERCEAU!” and leaping on top of the judges table while exclaiming that he’s love with Tom Cruise. This week’s act will entail the Spanish Web, which Dionne mentions Blu got eliminated for – well, that’s because Blu didn’t climb the damn rope at all like she was supposed to and just hung on while someone else spun her, not because she worked diligently to master it.
Dionne also says she’s 41 and the mother of two…but her birthday is January 20, 1966. Wait. Did our celebs start training during the writers’ strike, film this entire show through to the last elimination, and pretend that votes actually affect who gets sent home in real-time? And the show’s pretending that the celebs are still currently performing and learning tricks this week when in fact they haven’t touched any of this stuff in like, five months? Because that’d be both unbelievably lazy and awesomely conniving, NBC. No wonder people can vote online. No one’s counting the ballots!
She’s b-b-b-bad to the bone (it’s the song, obvs) and I’m really proud of Dionne when she climbs up the Spanish web like one is supposed to! Dangling from the ankle ensues, and spinning. There’s also a motorcycle on the stage, and the kicking aside of a fake cop. Her stage presence is really phenomenal, but the tricks don’t feel as cohesive. There’s also a veritable tornado of spinning.
Two reasons why Dionne will win.
Raucous applause erupts out of my tiny little laptop speakers. The routine felt a bit short to me (maybe more climbing could’ve been done?) but her grace and poise and choreography was intact. However, what could possibly satisfy Aurelia?
Aurelia says the tricks were good, but the comfort level wasn’t there – however, she thanks Dionne for climbing the rope, with a knowing nod. Blu is breathing fire somewhere out there and getting ready to kill Aurelia. There’s so little drama as it is on a show like this that they basically have to write it in. Mitch tries to do his part by saying Dionne needs to forget this whole “being number one thing” and to go out there and wholeheartedly perform, and that her beginning wasn’t cohesive. Oh wait – drama, is that you? Louie’s been smacking the judges table and rustling the mic and shifting back and forth in his chair, looking constipated as the other two give their critiques. Hee. Now he’s wildly flailing and talkin’ jive with his hands and hissing like he’s on fire and super indignant! The sequence is too ridonkulous not to share.
Mitch turns to Louie and asks, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Louie literally flaps Mitch away and shoots a venomous look of utter contempt towards Aurelia as he snarls, “Excuse me, but these fucktards just gave Chris [Peter Brady] nines! They need to pull their heads out of their asses! I am soooooo glad I’m not American or French!”
Mitch musters a lukewarm comeback.
“Talk to the hand, Louie, because I can fellate myself.”
Also, my room has suddenly transformed into a refugee camp due to the six drunk people who’ve returned from the casino and various strip joints and are piling into two queen beds. I am hunched over at the teeny corner desk. This is very surreal. Needless to say, my morale is at an all time-low. I will reward myself a nap with the desk chair if I ever finish this.
JAZZ HANDS ARE LE PISSED.
Louie exclaims “You were wonderful, Miss Thang!” and leaps up to reinforce the fact that Dionne climbed the rope. The rest is unintelligible shrieking, but Louie stomps off, does a sassy walk, and LAUNCHES INTO A BACK HANDSPRING. I think I’m hallucinating again, but I think this is a FULL ON FIERCE CONNIPTION FIT.
That just happened.
Next, he snaps so hard that I’m convinced he’s overextended shoulder socket and elbow and thrown his back out. He even does a full bend backwards, arching all the while, yelling that Dionne would make Baby Jesus cry tears of joy and save the world from imploding in on itself and how the gays love her to bits because they love Dionne Warwick, and “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” Everything goes blurry.
I believe this is called a tempest in the teapot.
After a few more exclamations of “YOU! ARE! FIERCE!” Louie gets the indignation out of his system.
He screams “I AM LOVING YOU!” to her and starts to bawl, hot tears streaming down his face, as he belts “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” from Annie.
Deep down, I really love reality TV. It’s just that sometimes, you get that rare unedited, unequivocally explosive moments that could only happen on an unscripted show with people who have no real reputation to lose. This is one of those times. It’s like the most enjoyable heart attack ever.
“Suck on that, Bitchy and Leotard!”
My jaw? Still gaping open like a mailbox with a loose hinge. Let us forever remember this much-needed judge freakout and finish up the show.
Wee Man’s tackling the Flying Straps this week. They’re essentially the ghetto version of the rings used in men’s gymnastics, and look like strong but thin black strips of stretchy nylon, because someone jacked your rings and pawned them for some drug money. “Finally, Wee Man is going to be graceful,” Wee Man explains. He looks none too pleased to have a chick added to his act, but lightens up as she struts in all sassy and cute-like.
The Mr. and Mrs. Smith routine is enhanced by Billy Squier’s “Everybody Wants You.” I suppose Wee Man can’t really extend as much as the rest of the contestants can, nor can you tell if he’s pointing his toes that easily, but he’s really diligent and hasn’t been a jackass so far. They kick it off by having Wee Man hold his partner up as she lays horizontally across his feet, up in the air.
Next, Wee Man expresses his feelings on the recent Supreme Court ruling and the 2nd Amendment.
Wee Man believes in the right to bear (and bare) arms.
After some more twirling and a few head over heels flips, Wee Man and his partner do a little pas de deux by holding hands while holding onto their straps. It’s the spin of love, and he comes off quite charmingly because he smiles through the routine. Aw. America does love him.
Aurelia is none too pleased, as she plasters a fake smile on and snits, “Eh, obviously America loves you, if you’re still here after last week’s performance, eh? Ahm happy to see zee performance instead of you show off.” Boo. Mitch is all praise this week, two thumbs up. Louie says he enjoyed the theatricality of it, and said that he had beautiful lines up there (I mean, he’s kind of a dash, right?) and says he always knew the Wee Man would come up to be big enough to impress him. Aw. Someone’s being awfully nice this week.
Wee Man’s scores:
Somebody got laid this week.
Rachel confides that she’s deathly afraid of the high wire, her event this week. It’s not hard to understand why.
Arbitrary patches of facial hair: the stuff nightmares are made of.
She’s also gotta do the tango on the wire, and attempt the pyramid, where she clambers onto a tiny platform that’s distributed across the shoulders of her two male partners. Some of the Flying Wallendas died attempting this. IT IS AN ACT THAT HAS KILLED PEOPLE. WITH NO NET. But that’s because they didn’t have a net or safety wires. Pudgy amps up the catastrophic potential of this performance by stressing that it “caused one of the greatest disasters in circus history.”
Well. She’s got a safety harness but her partner doesn’t – and doesn’t really tango, because he’s doing all the fancy footwork. She’s pissed that he’s blocking her way, actually. Nevertheless, it’s evident Rachel’s gritting her teeth and trying to get the whole shebang over with, and doesn’t crack a real smile till she gets across the platform. Time for the pyramid!
“If Rachel makes one wrong move, the entire pyramid will collapse,” intones Pudgy. “We need complete silence, so HOLD YOUR BREATHS TIL YOU PASS OUT.”
Seriously, though, I remember reading about the Flying Wallendas in a condensed Reader’s Digest article when I was a kid, and this is a big deal. Fortunately, they’ve got the safety wires on (though they’d still likely break their faces and a few ribs) but the two male partners are barking little cues to each other in French and it’s nerve-wracking.
“I weesh weee weerrrre carrying zee leetle Wee Man, don’t you, Jacques?”
They make it safely across, to raucous applause! At least three elementary schoolers have passed out from holding their breaths for so long (did you ever hold your breath while passing a cemetery? I did as a kid. And then I realized we were walking through Arlington National, damnit.) Commence monkey orgy of love. I guess they’re just grooming each other out of relief.
“Now you do me!”
Louie takes Dancing with the Stars down by explaining that circus acts are death defying, more so than a salsa or cha cha cha would ever be, because it requires cajones.
Aurelia is a bundle of “euhs?” but says that she’s impressed with Rachel (but more with the guys carrying her, because oof, Rachel is probably as stiff as a board). Mitch yammers about the athlete’s zone and how she looked intense concentrating on the wire (although Peter Brady got shit for not smiling enough! Double standard!) – though I think it was also fear that flickered across her face several times. Louie likes the tango rhythm of her walk and the arabesque (I missed it? I didn’t see no arabesque).
Having already established his voting pattern earlier (in response to his fellow judges knocking down Queen Dionne), Louie gives Rachel a generous boost of confidence.
And then there were two. Pudgy hems and haws and stalls for time, while everyone and their mama knows Janet Evans is going home. He finally confirms it, and no one really boos and no one really applauds for her. It’s mega-awkward as they hug, because wardrobe knew she was getting sent home and made her wear a cut up leopard print corset. She graciously thanks her trainers and leaves to go train her daughter for the 2020 Olympics.
Finally, Antonio Sabato Junior. His challenge this week is the Chinese poles, which I suppose is a step up from “Oriental Pick Up Stix.” Quick flashback of Antonio reiterating “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my whole life” during week one and repeating it during his interviews for week two of the competition. “I know I’ve said it before, but this week, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” Till next week, ASJ. Till next week.
“Pon de Replay” is a song I’d never have on replay, and would happily pay people to microwave the cd. Cue the Daft Punk light effects. The psychedelic tie-dye multicolor unitard is awesome. ASJ’s a hairless monkey/smooth koala/shiny gecko clambering up and down the poles, stopping to hold poses, extend his body, or slide down headfirst. He climbs one pole at a time, and then bridges two of them. It’s pretty impressive when he finally clings to it upside down with his legs and slides headfirst, stopping a mere two or three feet above the ground. That’s control.
“I’m sinnngin’ in the rainnnnn…”
Monkeys in a Barrel are all grown up now.
Aurelia is all ufff, you picked a discipline that included bruises and burning, the tricks and control were there, but I detest monkeys. “Where’s zee sexy guy? I want the sexy back, you bring it, no? Rrrrrrawr?”
ASJ to Aurelia: “I love this pole, but I don’t love it that much.” Burn! Mitch gives ASJ props because you cannot fake athleticism on the poles (unlike Blu on the Spanish Web), as there’s no benefit of a safety wire or bungee cord. He points out that no other contestant on the show could attempt this discipline successfully. Truf.
Louie snarks that the kitty cat didn’t get enough kitty tonight, dismissing Aurelia’s disappointments by praising ASJ’s upper body strength and how fab he is. “Don’t worry about Miss Kitty!”
There’s never enough Kitty for you!
I only hope Louie continues to vote the way he’s voting – higher than the other two judges. He’s just giving away those nines.
Why buy the cows, when you can get the milk for free?
Of course, both Aurelia and Mitch are shooting Louie, “Don’t cheapen our scores, whore!” looks.
After tonight’s performances, Pudgy knows better than to do the math for America and tell them how the numbers add up. Instead, it’s a “three-way tie for the lead, never mind the tenth of a point differences between the three leaders (there are five total contestants, btw) because that wouldn’t ever matter in a real competition like the Olympics or anything” and “the other two are very closely tied as well.” GAH.
I bid you adieu (till next week) with a parting gift:
Who’s going home, Gasmii?