American Idol

Episode Report Card
Jacob Clifton: A+ | Grade It Now!
"Paula Had A Very Hit Song... When I Was A Child."

Lesbians of consequence telling you which words you are allowed to use at your leisure and which ones are their property; concept mullets; boys in skinny jeans with vague opinions and of slightly dreamy countenance; wildly over-privileged prep-school cases vigorously pretending they don't hate poor people; and the kind of unearned and conspicuous moral superiority you haven't seen since you first learned about Canadians: yep. This is San Francisco, all right.

The city by the bay, the place you left your heart. Wiggidy-wack streets to drive your Prius down, deeply earnest teenage politicians, and the half-caf nonfat freedom to express everything, from your own sense of entitlement to the politics of the curious paraphilic sectioning-off of your own sexual cues (thanks, Your Parents!) and which have taken the reins for themselves until you can only get off by, like, having your hair pulled by a German girl dressed as a Dodgers pitcher while ever-so-slowly smothering under a pile of limited-edition Beanie Babies, and how fucking dare I find that weird. San Francisco: At Least It's Not Portland.

A creepy ginger kid beatboxes for himself while strumming his guitar. He looks like the kind of guy down the street that would pull out porn for no reason while you were over there just innocently playing video games, and make you look at it. Ryan wonders, and this is adorable, whether -- in a city that produced Katharine McPhee and William Hung -- we can possibly make that magic happen a third time. I don't think he means to insult either of them, and yet he's managed to do both. A pair of serious retards get married in line for auditions. Yeah. Ryan goes into the audition room to chat with the judges, looking freshy-fresh because it's San Francisco, and Randy and Simon call him a homo, and then this obnoxious fucking girl shows up with a bag of bullshit so capacious you could seriously live inside it if you really had to.

Tatiana Nicole Del Toro (23, San Juan, Puerto Rico) is wearing a mermaid dress from the Donna Martin Graduates collection, and here's what she's been up to lately: she's a "full-time" singer, a weirdly nonspecific "musician," a songwriter, a writer (regular), a weirdly specific "assistant director," a model, a "film actor." She's sort of pretty, but deranged on the inside where your brains are, has some kind of Invisalign issue happening, and the fakest dumbest laugh you've ever heard. "I live for what I do," she says, which I guess means she lives a shitload. She went to a psychic -- one of the world's most powerful psychics, Tati informs us, but leaves out that her friend is also one of the world's most powerful gaffers, a gifted baritone, and a certified Cisco Routing & Switching Field Specialist -- who told her that she was going to make it into the Top Twelve. She lied. I can already tell that she lied. Or I mean, I guess... She's not psychic. Occam's Razor would suggest that they are both true, actually. "I just love her because I love her!" Tatiana screams, and Ryan backs away from her, super-irritated. He just hates her because he hates her!

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American Idol




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