First off, let me just put up this disclaimer. I didn't actually take notes on this episode of Idol because I wasn't going to write it. However, some logistical entanglements have occurred, and now I find myself racing against the clock to get this bad boy up before the next installment airs. Apologies in advance if this seems hasty. Also, apologies if I sound particularly bitter. I watched Babel last night, and it has cast a pall on my day. Way overhyped.

Anyway, first up was a male cheerleader/captain/choreographer/possibly gay man named Frank Byers from Waldo, Arkansas. He was so excited for his audition that he brought along the entire cheerleading squad AND the marching band. I'm not convinced that the booster club and football team wasn't that far behind either. Well, I don't know if it was because I was so used to the God-awful auditions last week, but I thought Frank sounded good. In fact, I turned to J-Unit and said, "Of course they put a good singer first." As he continued to sing, I then noted, "He's really good." Imagine my surprise when all three judges gave him firm, assured No's. Huh? Maybe it was a little shaky because of nerves, but it certainly deserved a golden ticket, especially considering that equally or less talented people (cough, all the guys so far, cough) have made it through. The judges lambasted Frank for being too over the top -- as opposed to that crack baby last week who belted "And I'm Telling You" so loudly that the microphones nearly broke.

Well, there was nothing left for Frank to do but shuffle out of the room and do one last cheer to his audition failure. Poor guy. Next year, audition in the North.

Of course, the audition may have been over, but the chaos was just beginning. Frank's marching band started tooting away as if they had just entered the Rose Bowl. Pushed to the limit, Simon stepped out of the room and asked the kids to "SHUT UP," which I totally backed. I used to live in a dorm in college where on every game day, the freakin' marching band would run through at 9 AM and blare some dumb song like "The Saints Go Marching In". Let me tell you something: hearing a marching band at 9 AM on a Saturday when you've just been out drinking 'til 3 the night before is not fun.

Next up was a girl named Timika Sims. The producers informed us that she had no talent, personality, or stage presence, which was true. She also sounded like the love child of Nelly Furtado and a deflating balloon. She was fairly awful and not particularly memorable. Moving on...

We then met Christopher Rivera, who was terrible in a generic way. The only thing noteworthy about him were his ridiculous jeans which had some sort of spiral stripe of patchwork snaking around him. He sang "Superstitious," or perhaps, I should say he bleated "Superstitious." His performance was peculiar mostly because the longer it went on, the less distinct the words and lyrics became. At a certain point, I was convinced he was merely riffing on the sound "EEEeeeeooooOOOWWwwAAAAEEEE." Needless to say, his anti-skat was not rewarded with a golden ticket.

Similarly awful was the next girl, Alexis Partee, a girl whose gums looked like the Great Wall of China. I felt bad for her, on account of her horse mouth, but at least Simon didn't mock her on national TV like poor, deserving Kenneth Briggs. Alexis may have been a sweet girl, but her attempts to channel Tina Marie only sounded like a terrible Prince impersonation. Sorry Alexis. Not happening.