American Idol
I've Lost My Home To Thieves

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Jacob Clifton: C+ | Grade It Now!
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Rock & Roll Suicide
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

Tuesday

Ryan's wearing a light gray jacket, but it's not noticeable. Ryan's not really noticeable tonight, somehow. That takes a lot, frankly, and I'm glad the stylists are working on it, because God forbid his star quality overshadow the likes of Carrie Underwood and Scott Fucking Savol. He makes a weird proto-"Call Me" and then there's Heather Locklear all of a sudden.

If you don't know the story of Heather Locklear, you must be very young. In a nutshell: On the seventh day, Aaron Spelling took the night off, and then on the eighth day he suddenly wasn't God anymore, so he created Heather Locklear, and on the ninth day, lo but there was a crazy amount of Nielsens happening, and lather rinse repeat for seven decades of TV magic. Heather Locklear is the first through fifteenth comings of TV salvation and she deserves it every time, because forsooth, she is rockin' awesome and smokin' hot. Still!

I've seen every episode of LAX like twice and let me tell you that she's hotter than the hot British guy, hotter than Blair Underwood, hotter than the brunette Alicia Silverstone girl they've got; she's hotter than anything on this planet or off, and she's at this point technically thousands of years old as humans measure time, and she manages to become hotter every year. There is not a situation in this world that cannot be improved by the judicious application of Heather Locklear. I want a "WWHLD" bracelet. Well, actually what I really want is a "WWAWD" bracelet, because if Heather Locklear is the best humanity can do, then Amanda Woodward is the best that Heather Locklear can do, and that's…pretty much better than best.

Can you tell I don't want to talk about this week's Idol episodes? I had to face some troubling shit about myself this week. And it was Idol-related. Think about that, please. Stare into that abyss with me for a sec.

So let's go. Beauty in the breakdown, et cetera. Ryan cracks a joke about how Anwar has been eliminated, buttoned up his shirt, and now teaches little children to do "ten-minute high notes in impossibly tight pants." Which, wrong juxtaposition, Mr. Creepy, but yeah, that's what I remember too. I just hope they don't all end up singing all nasally up their nasal, like a generation of it, because that's kind of Tomorrow People to have to deal with. Also, Randy is wearing some very flattering pink and Paula is wearing some very comedic leopard and the judges all dap each other and it's quite realistic and street.

Fake time travel back to fake Wednesday, where Ryan points out there are only two "girls" left, and then everybody claps and everybody seems like a creepy robot, and then Ryan forces A-Fed to assume his masculine Idol power in a very, um, "respect the cruller, tame the doughnut" kind of way, and then asks some of the less interesting Idols what they were up to on New Year's, '00. To which the answer is clearly going to be, "Being born," with the exception of Bo, who has to say, "Finally letting go of the whole Mondale thing," because he's crazy old, okay, and Scott and Constantine both make arraignment faces, but then A-Fed goes all, "What happens in Pennsylvania stays in Pennsylvania," like that's this amazingly filthy turn of phrase, because he was fourteen and things got crazy on the millennium for him. And that's sad and funny in so many ways that I don't want to spoil it for anybody, but I will make a list, which includes some concepts: Anthony Fedorov, at the age of fourteen, getting wild, in Pennsylvania. And you can draw your own totally scandalous conclusions, but you and I both know they involved table tennis in somebody's basement, utterly insane amounts of Yoo-Hoo, and five and a half minutes in heaven with the exchange student from, like, Guam.

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American Idol

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