American Idol
Hollydidn't, Paulashouldn't

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Jacob Clifton: C | Grade It Now!
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Hollydidn't
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Tuesday

Last Wednesday, we took 175 hopeful young people, and turned them into 99 very tired young people, with a remainder of 77 broken young people who will never attempt anything of worth again. Until next year, when we'll hopefully at least remember the joke we made at their expense. Tonight, we do group performances, do another cut, and then put the rest through a cappella performances in a darkened, creepy theatre. There's all kinds of practicing and madness going on at the Orpheum the night before this all goes down. At 11 PM, the scratchy-voiced young people are reduced to saying things like, "I am thirsty, and hungry" and "I mean, where is dinner?" Elsewhere, Garet the Breakdown Cowboy practices with his team of two other men, and it is not going well.

Better, though, are things for Garet than for the teammates of a girl named Brenna Gether, who seems at first to be cute. One of her teammates, Marcy Stone (yay!), is having trouble with the choreography. Not like she doesn't get it, just like she hates it. Pointing to their third, Nick W., Brenna catches herself in a slight faux pas: "The brother's six foot, he doesn't want to look like a...um, like he's from the Village People." Yeah, on behalf of gaywads everywhere: much better, thanks. Nice catch, idiot. Marcy takes off because even Mikalah Gordon is like, "Brenna: learn when to quit," and Brenna cam-jokes that she's probably off crying somewhere. Marcy doesn't exactly ask for sympathy from the camera, although having just seen Brenna in action, it's kind of assumed: "I only have myself to blame if I don't get it together and put on a smile, and do what I have to do." Word. I love Marcy.

They get back to the hotel at 2 AM, and people like Will Makar and Paris B. -- namely, tiny ones with a good sense of professionalism -- get their asses into bed. Everybody else, who apparently have never learned a song before and cannot use their time efficiently, stays up to all hours. Anthony, a nice-looking Carter brother post-Nick-bloat, finally finds Brittenum 1, Terrell, who has apparently purloined the identity of somebody's slightly demented asshole grandmother. The Brittenum twins, you remember, are the ones that look like dandies from long ago. Like black Fezziwigs, with their cravats and weird Tutenkhamen beards. Anthony immediately gets bitched out for his trouble ("You don't have to find me, you have to find them") with some head-circling and some entitled sass, like Brittenum's too good to be "found" as he wanders around whining and yelling about nothing. Their other teammates, Elliott (gas-station attendant with meth-mouth) and Sway (Pinoi b-boy), unlike Brittenum himself, can actually sing without the high school choir attitude and blame-shifting, and have gone to sleep. Ever since Brittenum found out they were second to perform in the group session, apparently, he's been raging and out of control. Previously, I guess, he was just hideously annoying. Anthony is clearly tired of his mess already -- and I'm guessing that's the main reason the other guys skived in the first place anyway -- but still Brittenum lectures us about what terrible people they are. The show hasn't even started yet and I already want to slap a bitch. Who was it said Hollywood was the best part? Not me, surely. Somebody who had never heard of Team Brittenum, for sure. There is, I think, Kellie Pickler singing with other very tired (-looking) girls, and Mecca singing with somebody's mom or something.

An hour later and Brittenum is still freaking out, because it's just sooo important that he get his practice in that he's...not going to practice at all. What a useless fucking waste of time that last hour was, you moron. He lectures Sway on the phone, all hissy and bitchy, a way you would not talk to a dog, about how he's just going to tell the judges that they didn't feel like practicing because they were sleepy. Also disappeared: Brenna, whose teammates Nick and Marcy are now practicing in the blissful, happy silence of a world without Brenna. Brittenum calls up Elliott and lectures him condescendingly with a drama-teacher "If you don't meet up tonight don't worry about it, because I don't have time for it. I promise you I don't." Then...don't? I hate that, that don't worry about it shit, because the answer is always: way ahead of you, dick.

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American Idol

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