I'm sure she would do the same for her horse if she came upon it behaving the way she did on American Idol tonight. Not a fan of her anyway, but this time was particularly abominable, abysmal, appalling, atrocious .... (must I continue with the alphabet of shame?). We never thought we'd prefer listening to Elmer Fudd in a blender full of jackhammers.
Two enthusiastic paws up for:
• Chikezie**, this is the second time I have heard the lady of the house scream "Chikezie!" "Woo-hoo!!!!" The first time was when you did Stevie's "I Believe." Even if we learn on the Internet tomorrow that you lifted the arrangement, execution is execution, and you, Chikezie, are the grim, if a bit dorky, reaper.
• Here's something I never thought I'd hear the lady of the house yell: "Amanda O., you totally smoked it! That almost makes up for all the other times we prayed for a merciful god to end your suffering!" I mean, it sounded like maybe she even hit a non-screamed note somewhere in the vicinity of where it should be.***
We'd anticipated tonight's sing-off with the certainty of this equation: Lennon-McCartney + David Archuleta = Dream Team. But alas, the sum was Nightmare. Poor kid. It stinks when people say you're great only 4,999 out of 5,000 times.
And Carly, who we hearted, we now only half-heart. Predictable, we thought.
All in all, a ruinous meeting between the Beatles and people who are old enough to be their great-great-grandchildren. Sony, puh-leeeeeeeeeze, put the LM Songbook back under lock and key.
*I resent that I had to Google the spelling of her name, because that is yet another minute of my precious time I could have spent napping and getting paid for it.
**Had to Google that spelling too, but with much less resentment.
***The man of the house, watching it on TiVo under duress, panned it summarily.
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