"[We] make the calls, [we] call the shots," Ryan reminds us. Joe says that the reason we're having extra Results night on Thursday because they don't want to hurt Bono's feelings by having an elimination during IGB, but man. If they boot somebody this week after giving those bitches last year amnesty, I'm going to freak out. Let them twist for an extra twenty-four hours and then screw them? That would be so vile.
Speaking of vile, tonight's theme is "inspirational songs."
Michael, in a little ill-fitting monkey vest and yet another stupid cravat and some hideously preplanned "I'm rocking out so hard" faces, will be hitting the deck with "Dream On." A song which has inspired me to shoot up heroin and drive really fast into the oblivion of the setting sun, but not to help starving people. Ah: "Dream until your dreams come true." That's all it takes, folks.
And then the screaming. The fucking stupid-ass bad-sounding falsetto screeching. I had no idea Steven Tyler had a talent besides spawning beautiful creatures, but apparently there's a way to make those awful sounds that is better than other ways of making the horrible sounds. His face looks nice, but it's dressed up all in bullshit.
Randy tells him that he sounded screechy and uncool, and that he needs to start singing the soul songs that he has never, ever sung that Randy always, always thinks he used to sing at some point in the imaginary past. And instead of just nodding and praying that nobody notices his goddamn stupid-ass cravat, Michael backtalks and says that, I'm only barely paraphrasing, Randy is wrong, because America is wonderful. Yeah, that's what he said. I blame the Colonel.
So the stupid shitty crowd goes wild about America, of course, but then Randy gets pissed and tells him this show is not about DREAMS, it is about SINGING, and then gets very fussy. Very fussy, like, somebody just fucked up Merv Griffin's egg-white omelet amounts of fussy. Randy cracked! Randy never cracked before! OMG he is pissed! This is beautiful! "It's not about dreams! We have discovered that this show is about singing, we have finally gotten to the bottom of it, and it's not dreams!" He's going from zero to Brittenum faster than anything I've ever seen before. Wow. Wow! Randy kind of sucks!
And then Paula interrupts and tells him that the opposite is true, and it's not actually about SINGING but about DREAMS. Which, for her it is, I'm not popping that balloon. But like, five minutes and twenty-five seconds into the episode, everybody's nuts. And Michael didn't suck that bad, except for the end. He sounded all right. And we still haven't gotten to Simon, and Sinbad is in the audience, which makes me sad because he looks so old, and Paula tells MJ he looks hot, and that the high notes will summon Chihuahuas to him. Randy agrees. Simon is like, "Both of my co-judges are stupid, but I liked the performance." However, it was an "impersonation of a rock star." That's the perfect expression of it, exactly. "A little bit wannabe-ish," also. See, tell me the diff between David Cook and Michael at this moment, please.