Celebrity Circus: The Light At The End Of The Tunnel Is An Oncoming Crazy Train

Yes, this is the world’s gayest gecko.

It’s Do or Die week here on Celebrity Circus.. At least that’s what Pudgy Fatone is telling me. Oh, but it’s also Judgment Day according to Louie. But things here just aren’t what they used to be. Peter Brady had to drop out of the competition and now there’s a severe lack of hilariously incurred injuries on the show (the slow-motion video edit of him falling and re-breaking his arm was better than a free tank of gas). Four celebutards will become three, and it’s THE FINAL COUNTDOWN. What should I do to stay alive? Go to the local Red Cross and beg for some transfusions of optimistic type O blood? Or cryogenically freeze myself and have you wake me up when this is over? My apologies for being so tardy; I’m still living out of a suitcase (Week 3) and am on the right coast where I was promptly eaten alive by DC’s mosquitoes last weekend. Now I look like I have chicken pox with a splash of leprosy or that I plaster pepperoni slices all over my legs. It’s hot. If you’re in NYC, you should holler.

“I’m not obscure; I have quotes online at ThinkExist.com!”

Pudgy Fatone is still chipper, so I applaud him for his valiant efforts, considering it’s the final week of actual performances where votes determine the winner. His Victorian-inspired/Vegas burlesque lounge MC getups are getting more arbitrarily decorated with askew appliqués. And the facial hair is just driving me nuts. The overall effect can be best described as a mash-up of the following aesthetics:

PLUS

A celebrated people lose dignity upon a closer view. – Napoleon

Also, Fatone tells me we’re going to attempt to break a world record on this stage. The one with no net. Oh goody gumdrops!

Now on with THE REVEAL. It’s a bit distracting because it looks like Dionne’s makeup artist was having a duel with Rachel’s makeup artist (sure, it’s probably the same girl, but for dramatic effect, I’m pretending it’s two separate people, or someone with a split personality), over who could make their client look the least appealing in the shortest amount of time.

The lipstick smeared around the eyes? A Helen Keller trademark.

We’re left with four celebucircutards: Dionne, Wee Man , Rachel, and ASJ. Or, as I like to call them:

Gangrene Girl, Captain Picard Jr., Poor Man’s Tonya Harding, and Aladdin

Do you know what they’re competing for? No, it’s not $20,000 donated to the charity of their choice, or Kiva micro-loans to needy people. Or even an extra gig hosting the next season of this show (Dionne, you really need some work, girl. We love you but it’s been awhile). Nuh uh. It’s better.

Celebrity Circus Champ Trophy or Daytime Emmy? Yours free with 4 magazine subscriptions!

What the eff. A Bedazzled Wheel of Death? Can I get a trained hamster or two with that? Because if it doesn’t actually rotate, I’m going to be pissed and ask for my three months of training back. Plus a masseuse named Sven.

Anywho, they’ve got to keep it interesting, so they continually change up the way they announce who’s safe. It used to be at the end, now it’s at the beginning, but now we’re going doing one at a time and then allowing the safe kids to perform. It’s not very difficult to guess who’s leaving us tonight, but if you haven’t been watching along with me, it’s going to be a GIGANTE SORPRESA!*

*giant fucking surprise

Three acts over an hour’s worth of episode means that there are exorbitant amounts of montages, dramatic sound effects, and editing tonight. But that doesn’t mean I have to put you through them. Dionne’s montage can be summed up as: “I’m a raging perfectionist and whenever I try to have fun on this show, they act like I’m a total slacker. Also, why did Alicia Silverstone get all the limelight in 1995?! My boobs are better.”

The worst part about these montages? The hometown visits, a la American Idol and The Bachelor. These are more retarded than the “extreme cleavage pads” containing water/fake silicone-gel/strange clear liquid inserts that Victoria’s Secret puts in their new line of push-up bras. Of course, I am probably the only person alive who snickered, yanked out the inserts and waved them around, and wondered if they were over or under 3 ounces and would meet TSA regulations at the airport. Certainly they wouldn’t set off the metal detector, but how hilarious would it be if they did?

I digress. But really, look, it’s embarrassingly obvious how they need to fill the hour, because Dionne’s best friend, Cynthia, sits down with Dionne in her house and re-watches last week’s performance on a decidedly low-budget TV. It’s not flatscreen! These people can afford flatscreens in their shoe closets! I am led to believe that the house Dionne walked into was a total prop.

“I always hated that you were prettier than me.”

It also takes on that whole “humanizing of the celebrity” angle, as her Rent-A-Best-Friend Cynthia explains, “Stacey looks really intense on the show, but that’s not who she is.” Who is she, then? An indulgently lazy individual who apathetically tries circus acts for shits and giggles? Well, Dionne’s wearing a shirt that says “God surfed.” I can’t read the rest. The editors get really effing bored, because they set up a gratuitous scene for the hotblooded males and Dionne lovers of the world. Someone brought matching cowboy hats.

OMG. Boobs! These boobs rule!

As a girl, I’m just disgusted with how blatant the 15 second shot is. I wonder if they’ll just stick Antonio in the same hot tub with one of HIS best friends so that they can get the ratings up for the end of the show.

Let’s get on with the show. This week, the judges get to select the act the celebrities will have to perform. Yawn. “I’ve got a fever and the only prescription is more bungee,” declares Mitch Gaylord.

Dionne comes out and just flat out states that her act is not going to be as good as her first trapeze bungee effort. Well. Way to set my expectations low. Good strategy. Oh wait. She’s just kidding – it has to be bigger! Better! Harder! Faster! Stronger! Also, she’s attempting something called an ankle catch. My bug-bitten legs look worse than hers.

LET THE DIVA DUST DOWN / AND WAKE MY DREAMS! LET IT WASH AWAY / MY SANITY!

Something about that photo screams Hilary Duff songs to me. More so than the Natasha Bedingfield song that accompanies The Hills. Dionne wins me over again when she declares, “I’m taking it to the bank! You can’t stop me! I can’t lose!”

Despite my best attempts to not get emotionally attached to this show, I have been able to predict its behavior far too well. Guess what Dionne’s performing to? A poppier remix of the “Let the rain fall down!” song (the name is actually Come Clean [Let the Rain Fall Down]). Shit.

There’s a lot of pretty somersaulting as usual, but Dionne misses the trapeze bar on the upswing twice (sad!). However, three’s a charm, but I worry she’s going to be behind in the choreography. Oh noes. However, she’s a pro and doesn’t look too ruffled – I’m just wondering if there was any editing in the taping of this so that she got to catch up with the music. That’s okay, no one cares, because look at her:

Someone missed the Bond Girl boat.

I’m a straight girl and even I’m feeling a bit flustered. Dionne does a straight dive downwards where a partner catches her ankles and launches her back up. It’s fantastic. And her other errors don’t really matter to me, because she clinches the ankle catch! At least I think she does.

Look Ma, no hands!

She tries it again at the end and can’t quite catch it, but it’s okay. The performance wasn’t polished but it had heart. That’s what should matter for at least half of the score!

Our judges speak. But first, Louie’s shirt has something to say.

“You can survive a downturn in the economy by unbuttoning a few more and save on AC!”

He also says that while his fluorescent shirt needs an off button (’cause it’s so bright), Dionne needs a temperature gauge because she too is hot, hot, hot! There’s a lot of squealing and flailing — oh, I’ve missed Louie.

There’s more ego fellatio as Louie praises Dionne’s never-gonna-give-it-upness, and her desire to be challenged. He calls her the heart of the competition. Is there any other competition? I don’t think so. Louie acknowledges her hiccups and said that she showed the true spirit and she’s a frontrunner to win. Woot.

Aurelia says that Dionne proved she’s a real artist, because she kept smiling through technical difficulties. She doesn’t bitch her out at all about the mistakes. Um, the next line is priceless so I suggest you savor it.

“Vee are not robots! Vee are people!”

Mitch regurgitates everything that he remembers from the Wheaties box about being a champion and having true focus and overcoming obstacles and setbacks. It’s kind of endearing. Dionne made him proud. Woo, personal growth.

Yep, NBC’s solar-powered averaging calculator = still busted.

Pudgy then declares the next safe celebrity is…Wee Man. And promptly reminds us that Wee Man got the worst scores of the entire competition in Week 2. However, he overcame adversity and got perfect 10′s last week. I’m still calling this for Dionne.

Last week, as you may recall, Wee Man supported the weight of his partner, who was at least ten times larger than he is. I was not the only one shocked and awed by the success of the sensual routine. In fact, I’d say some audience members were positively scarred for life by the experience.

Some became men. Others grew Sharpie molestaches.

This week, the judges have selected the Flying Straps for Wee Man. Wee Man enjoys the act, so he’s in it to win it. He’s also pairing up with two buff guys to do a trio strap act. Dirty!

Wee Man’s audition for The Dark Knight didn’t go as well as planned.

Sebastian has decided to incorporate a skateboard into the routine. I grew up as one of the only girls skating around hordes of southern California boys. This is pretty exciting. Wee Man’s montage has him taking Seb and his other partner to what I assume is his personal skate park. Hmm, strapping a skateboard onto your circus partners = bad idea before the week’s performance. I’m just saying.

In the world of cliché reality tv lingo, Wee Man chooses “The cards are on the table, my chips are in, this is the hand that counts.”

Between the 80′s poppy synth song and the two partners in cummerbunds and no shirts, it’s like Chippendales goes to the Circus! Aw. There’s some inverted poses, and some fun spins.

But then my jaw drops, because what ensues is perhaps totally inappropriate for television. I also am just highly attuned in general to liability and “what to do when things go terribly, terribly wrong.” You know, accidental death. I’m a former sorority president, after all! (Just kidding. My sorority always looked out for its members and was super-tame and respectful towards its members. But I can’t say the same about other chapters.)

Probably not the best scene to catch while channel-surfing.

Phew. Well that’s over.

Welcome back to another episode of Aerial Beefcake!

For a split second, I imagine Chris Farley (rest his soul) flipping around with the guys in his SNL Chippendales skit outfit. I can’t help it. The two partners grab hold of Wee Man’s straps and they all go spinning together. Where’s Patrick Swayze when you need him?

Anyways, Aurelia starts to rip Wee Man a new asshole and re-establish herself as the foremost French man-hater in the world by calling his performance, “ehm, original, eh?”
The exhilaration immediately drains out of his face. Oh, well, it’s not that bad. She just wanted to see more skateboard.

“Congratulations on not having cancer!”

Mitch is all, I’ve watched you grow…not. As a performer, I mean. You were in the zone tonight, I love the gymnastic moves – iron cross, handstand, dislocate on rims! Um.

Maybe a teensy bit.

Louie doesn’t like the skateboard flub mid-routine. Alas. “But you have grown…(I don’t mean in inches, darling), but you have grown!” Way to always go for the obvious, Louie.

And now, I give you NBC’s attempt at creating suspense on this show.

Because if all the contestant scores are the same, we won’t be able to predict who’s going home immediately and votes may actually matter? GENIUS.

And now, because there’s still half an hour left, and only one celebrity performer left, we get to fill the time with an exhibition of all the pros! There’s nothing to say except that they deserve to be paid more for doing this. And that half of it looks strangely religious, evoking the crucifixion and Fall of Man and all sorts of allegories. Is this a ploy to get me to go to church? It’s not working. I now just want to drink. It’s 6 am. And I don’t even like the taste of booze. Let’s dance with the devil. Hooray, reverse psychology.

Jesus Christ! Superstar!

Yeah, it’s still not moving me to join the circus. Just moving my bowels. Oh, and Rachel gets eliminated (duh), so ASJ is moving on to the final three.

We get a flashback of ASJ’s showdown with Aurelia last week. He was against creaming his head against the pavement and she didn’t think his Wheel of Death was life-threatening enough. She’s all for Nader and he’s an Obamamaniac. The usual. Maybe they’re sleeping together and are trying to hide the relationship with some fake tension. I love entirely unfounded crazy theories, don’t you?

Well, if Aurelia and ASJ are sleeping together, she’s going to be pissy this week since he has to take Basic Instinct and make it even sexier with his partner. French director Philippe drones on a bit about romance and the magic of the act and how crucial it is to turn it on during the performance. You’re really convincing me Philippe.

“In our country, nozeeng says ‘romance’, eh, like le Eiffel Tower, no?”

So far, ASJ has been the only one who’s mentioned that he wants the Wheel of Death trophy. Just give it to the guy; everyone else would just toss it or give it to their personal assistant.

He’s back on the flying silks with a lady friend. The sky blue chiffon Aladdin pants don’t exactly scream “sensual seduction.” More like “On Clearance at JC Penney next to floral slippers” and vaguely reminiscent of MC Hammer’s clothing if it were designed by Laura Ashley. Although his female partner dances around a lot more around him, ASJ’s really improved and looks more relaxed overall. Plus, he makes a really compelling argument for why you should vote for him.

Also, there’s an aerial orgy going on. No big deal.

They end with a midair embrace/twirl/straddle that’s really, really steamy (in my opinion, anyway). It mostly makes me want to spoon someone. The soccer moms in the crowd are totally fanning themselves and wishing menopause hadn’t come so soon. Even the kiddies sense something’s up.

“Mommy, is this where babies come from?”

Pudgy is totally impressed by the scorching hotness infused into the act. And a wee bit jealous, from the looks of things.

“Dude, I want to be you.”

Aurelia giggles like a schoolgirl while ASJ humbly says he’s doing it for his little girl and his fans. Milk that vote, ASJ. Our Frenchie trapeze artist is grinning like the Cheshire Cat and beams that he surprised her, eh?

“And zees is how I would squeeze your leetle brioche buns! Mon dieu!”

Mitch agrees that it was a complete performance, that he had no idea ASJ had grace inside of him, and that he is the man to beat tonight.

Pudgy looks at Louie and observes that his face is just not happy. Louie says that it’s a final and that they were looking for perfection and growth from the beginning, quite morosely. AND THEN FLIPS THE FUCK OUT AND DOES A BACKFLIP AND JIBBER JABBERS AUGH AUGH AUGH AUGH AUGH AUGH OMG! JAZZ HANDS! BACKFLIP!

Yeah. I have no idea what that funny man is yelling, but here’s how it went down visually. Pretend that I made you a flipbook out of quality cardstock, okay?

I founds it, my diva dust!

He was too damn fast with the backflip for me to catch it. Life is so hard.

Zee scores:

Ten points for the man with only one nipple!

But it’s not over. We’re about to watch a world record get broken. A Russian will attempt to juggle five clubs to break the record of 20 360 degree spins under one minute. So he juggles the five clubs and he has to spin his body around and continue juggling.

The weirdest fucking episode of 24 ever.

He breaks the record and gets to 21 spins. Impressive but I am beyond the point of caring. I don’t care if people solve Rubix Cubes in under 30 seconds or if Lassie rescues Timmy out of the well. Does that make me a bad person?

I feel nothing. I have no heart left. Thanks, Celebrity Circus. I’m officially dead inside.