Just when you thought the competition couldn’t get any more nail-biting on Dancing With The Stars, they go and prove us wrong once again by kicking off yet another hopeful. There’s not much time left in the season, so let’s all rub our bloodshot eyes and gear up to watch the semi-finals results show!
Tom informs us that the three finalists are about to be revealed, and by now we should all know that, in Tom-Land, the word “about” means “in a little under an hour, not counting commercial breaks.” If you can believe Len (and in light of certain things, I’m not sure I trust him at all, to be honest), the competition was taken to a whole new level Monday night, and everyone upped their game. The judges choose to see Chelsea and Mark’s Rumba again, the one where she strides onstage looking like the rogue gay member of the Benedictine Monks of Santo Domingo de Silos, posing for the new Chant album cover. The passion of their routine causes Mark’s unbuttoned shirt to flutter delicately, baring his shoulder, and we can practically hear Maks scoffing in the background. Leave the lavender pirate blouses to the Eastern European abdomens, Mark, and stick to the high-water pants, teal socks, and two-tone shoes. Actually, go ahead and lose the teal socks, if you don’t mind.
Seriously, why do these exist?
Hines and Kym are first, and we flash back to bits and pieces of their rehearsal footage, most notably the aftermath of a Hines-shaped block of solid, NFL muscle landing on the head of a woman whose mouth circumference is larger than that of her waist. We also get to see more of Hines crying tears of relief and remorse on the dance floor, as the last vestige of his whole “I am a masculine football star” persona waltzes right off the dance floor. However, Kym’s pain is not for naught, for we have all learned a valuable lesson: there is no path more direct to two sets of straight tens than almost paralyzing your dance partner. Take note, Mark Ballas—there’s hope for you yet! Just make sure you crush Chelsea’s spine right to the point of no return, not past it, because she’ll still have to dance afterward.
No more second fiddle for Mark Ballas, no sir!
We’re left aching with suspense during the commercial break, trembling with the anticipation of finding out whether or not Hines and Kym have made it to the finals with their double set of perfect scores. Our blood pressure is skyrocketing needlessly, though, because I think we all know that Hines has the same chance of going home tonight as Bruno has of getting that long-craved hummer from Len.
Sure enough, they’re safe, and we can all exhale while Kym scampers backstage to rest her neck bones, and Hines tries in vain to hide the dew in his eyes. Brooke asks My Schnookums how he feels about being dead last on the leaderboard, and whether or not he thinks he has enough fans to make up for the fact that the judges don’t give a rat’s ass if they ever see him again. Schnook acknowledges how much he loves his fans, who have carried him all the way through to the almost end. Chelsea pretends like she doesn’t know she’ll be back next week, and Mark dodges a question about whether or not he feels he’s prepared Chelsea to be a winner.
Translation: Will the judges place them over these two? Answer: Not likely.
Kirstie and Maks are literally seconds away from killing each other by this point, and she seems to have crossed a line in the sands of Sanity Beach sometime in the past 24 hours. I’m pretty sure she’ll be OK with whatever the results are tonight; if she gets to the finals, great—she’s another step closer to Hines’s the coveted mirrorball trophy. If not, she never has to deal with Maksim’s disdainful, accented, spit-flecked yowls in her face ever again. Plus, she can start eating like a normal human being, and start shopping for new clothes to accent her much improved physique.
If she doesn’t watch that attitude, though, the next time he drops her may not be an accident.
Now, since we still have the requisite hour of air time to fill, we get to sit through another star-studded musical number that no one requested and no one cares about. This evening’s first performer is Stevie Nicks, who really has no business dragging her wizard robes anywhere near this show. Then they throw Pitbull and some other special guests into the mix, and the show has officially become less about dancing with our stars than promoting whichever new album is slated to drop from the corporate umbrella. The powers that be seem to have decided, however, that the judges’ lives will be incomplete without getting a face full of crotch, so there’s that, at least.
Check out Bruno’s happy ass in the background. At least someone’s enjoying this.
On Monday, Chelsea and Mark won the Winner Take All Instant Cha Cha, and today we get to see Chelsea pull her underwear out of her cooter folds. Special times, these semi-finals. We get a quick montage of all their performances, and Chelsea reveals that she hated Mark this week. I feel you, sista. Are Chelsea and Mark in the finals? You bet your sweet ass they are. And raise your hand if you’re even a little bit shocked by this.
Put your hand down, bitch, you knew this was coming.
Brooke reveals that in the finals, Chelsea and Mark will face off with Hines and Kym, both couples dancing a “judges’ pick” routine, based on what style the judges want to see from that particular couple. Hines will dance the Quickstep (and is excited about it), while Chelsea will bring it with the Samba (but not, unfortunately, in her flag fringe pants). She seems surprised that they have to come up with a whole new routine, and I have to wonder if she’s been paying attention. Of course, I am pretty sure that Mark just programs the new dances into her microchip at the start of their first rehearsal, activates the No Back Talk option, and only flips the autonomy switch right before they hit the dance floor each week. In light of that (totally factual) information, we should remember to just smile and nod at Chelsea whenever her yammer hole starts making noises.
Enough about that, though, because there’s something much more important to discuss: BlueCanary’s Opinion of the Winner Takes All Cha Cha. In short, the entire idea behind it is shaped like an extended middle finger, and pointed directly at the viewing audience. In long, basically what they’re saying is that the judges are not interested in whether or not America thinks Chelsea should go home before Schnook or Kirstie; they want her in the finals, so they ensured that by pitting her against Hines, for two reasons: 1. It looks more like a close race that way than a dance off with, say, Kirstie would; and 2. You and I both KNOW Hines isn’t going a damn place, what with his two perfect score dances and an injured partner, so he doesn’t need the extra 15 points that would actually make a difference to the others. Chelsea is a great dancer, but she just doesn’t have the viewer support that Kirstie and My Schnookums have been accumulating since before Chelsea was even a sperm in her daddy’s sack. As the judges are well aware of this, they set up those extra points so that there’s literally no way Chelsea and Mark won’t end up in the finals. That leaves the audience vote split between Schnook and Kirstie, and screw you, viewers, if you wanted to see both of them in the finals, because now you will not.
Eyes, look your last.
The only question now is who has more fans. It really sucks, because it basically eliminates the concept of an audience-based vote. It also shows that the judges aren’t even interested in the illusion anymore. I mean, we all know that this is a popularity contest to begin with, and not a serious dance competition, yet they all keep trying to bullshit us that the opposite is true. So if they’re really interested in doing so yet insist on controlling the results anyway, why not just change the format to an entirely judge-based vote, and stop getting people all worked up about texting in their choices? It’s less insulting than the shit they pulled this week.
Next, there is an inspirational story of a young girl who is coping with her illness via the power of dance. Dance has made such a big impact on these young people, especially young Tayla Kelley, who’s been sick as a dog with an immunodeficiency disease since she was two weeks old. Despite the fact that she has a 60 percent chance of making it to 18, and can be put down for the dirt nap by a simple bacterial infection, she has dedicated her life to dancing. What a horrible situation…and scary, too, since dance studios are notorious for being filthy, bacteria-laden MRSA fests, on par with boxing rings and locker rooms. She performs with Lacey and Chelsie, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see Bruno applauding silently at the end, on his feet with a dignified smile on his face. No matter how much he enjoyed the performance, it would be beyond inappropriate to hump the furniture in front of an impressionable child. Bruno already maxed out his vulgarity credit line this week, what with telling My Schnookums he was “too rough with (his) pussy” (aka Karina) on Monday night, so it’s nice to see him restrain himself for a second or two.
Whether the comment was more or less inappropriate than Len grinning at this child’s ass, I’ll leave to you to decide.
We know it’s time for the Dramatic Feelings portion of tonight’s show, because the montage is all about Breaking Points and Turning Points! Chelsea informs us that how you handle the breaking point (not folding like a little bitch) is what matters. My Schnookums’ breaking point was when he collapsed on his bum knee in rehearsal, which led to him getting stuffed in the MRI tube and his subsequent gimpy performances last week. Kirstie’s was when she injured her hip and then had to deal with Maks (which is, in itself, probably just one long breaking point, don’t you think?). Chelsea’s was her exhaustion during the team Cha Cha, plus every time she was criticized by the judges, and Hines’s was, of course, falling on Kym (which, eerily, occurred on Friday the 13th). On the bright side, Schnook’s turning point was peeling Karina off the floor during their Paso Doble, at which point they began really connecting as a team. Kirstie’s shoe mishap was the point where she decided to stop playing the victim, though I sort of wouldn’t blame her for feeling victimized, since Maks has never really stopped yelling at her all season. Chelsea got her confidence when they made it through to the next round after their crappy Paso critique, and Hines experienced a season’s worth of emotions in one fell swoop, when he made it through Monday’s routines without having to load Kym back in the ambulance. Silver linings, right folks?
Because yeah, this could have easily ended with Kym swapping DWTS for Murderball.
Kirstie compares the DWTS finals to the Emmys, which launched a ship full of WTF across the nation, and Schnookums informs us he is ready to win it! But will he? Before we find out, Stevie Nicks croons out Landslide, just in case we weren’t feeling emotional enough already. I wasn’t, for the record, but this song gets me every time, so fuck you, Stevie. Why are you always dressed like you’re about to cast a circle, anyway?
Since we’re apparently running short on inane comments this episode, Kirstie compares dance training to childbirth (which is…also like the Emmys?), and we see some clips of Bruno comparing Kirstie to a ship. You know Bruno loves those backhanded compliments. Maks proves he can stumble through basic addition, and My Schnookums is just ready to dance again, despite his load of crappy scores and crazy, padded-ass underpants. Was anyone else as weirded out by those as I was? But shockingly enough, after a whole season of smiles and easygoing eye-twinkles, we see some backstage footage of Schnookums getting irritated by the obvious reaming he’s taking at the hands of the judges. All season they’ve been telling him to sex it up, and when he finally does, they crap all over him anyway. He’s tired of being the underdog, and would love it if his fans would bring him forward. Will they?? Dear god, I’m afraid to know. I’ve already waxed on and on (no Miyagi pun intended) about how I think he takes a ton of criticism for things the judges let slide in the other stars, most glaringly Kirstie, who is his last hurdle to the finals. As for Kirstie, I have no problem with her personally, and I think she’s fun to watch, but the truth is that she has not performed solidly as a whole throughout the season. I’d have rather seen Hines go before either of these two, obviously, and I reached my limit with Mark about four episodes ago, but I’ve been a Schnookums supporter since Day One, and I’m not about to throw my vote Kirstie’s way at the zero hour. Let’s do this.
The one going home is:
My Schnookums is no more, and fuck that noise. He is, of course, truly gracious, and very happy for his fans and family. He doesn’t whine or cry like Mark a little bitch, and even thanks Brooke and Tom (for showing up, I guess?). Then he makes Karina all sniffly with his praise of her. We see a Schnookums montage, and it all just sticks in my craw. DWTS is losing its very own heart, and it doesn’t even realize it.
Don’t listen to them, Schnook—you’ll always be my star!
Fuck you, judges. Fuck Hines, fuck Chelsea, fuck Kirstie. Fuck you, Macy’s, fuck you, Instant Cha Cha, and fuuuuuuck you, ABC. That said, do take note, Hollywood: there is clearly still plenty of love for Ralph Macchio. America wants to see My Schnookums succeed, so make with the movie offers! He deserves better than this.
Next week, Hines will take the trophy, despite the fact that he’s carved from a single block of wood. Aaaaaargh! I’m so disillusioned right now; I should never have allowed myself this level of involvement with this whoremonger of a show.
Get the fuck out, everyone.
So, tell me what you think! Does Hines have it in the bag, or what? Will Mark Ballas pull a trick out of his sleeve and stage an upset? Is Kirstie still around for the comic relief, or because of Scientology? Hash it out amongst yourselves—I have to go drown my disgruntlement and self-loathing in the box of Trader Joe’s petite cocoa batons stashed under the passenger seat of my car. GAAAAAH! Mmmmm, cocoa.