Paula is dressed like a hot pink wedding cake, and Simon's wearing a sweater. Nothing else on that front to report. Well, I can't believe Sarver will be on the tour and Alexis won't. Does that seem right to you? Ryan asks Kara to define "artistry" for us, and she says that it's taking a song that you've heard a million times and... whatever, it's rehearsed and we already know it. Ryan asks if Paula's got any props under the table, and she gives him the` all clear. And what's Simon looking forward to? Ryan being amazing, he says, and the artists being amazing, need he say more? No, he need not. Ryan agrees.
Harry Hamlin's got his kids and Taylor McBride out in the audience, which would normally earn us a whole thing about Lisa Rinna's face and Harry Hamlin's face and how every second brings them closer into alignment of being the same face, but not tonight. I am too tired for me to care, and Allison has already fucked up too bad.
Anoop is going nerdcore again, which is nice and works for him if you don't look closely at it. Matt I can't see through Megan's high-waisted mom jeans everybody is wearing right now, I guess to make themselves look like moms. Kris looks delightful, Lil looks like a Golden Globes announcer nobody recognizes, Scott's in all black and Adam continues to look disconcertingly male. Allison, man. She is also wearing a hot pink bridal cake, but it's pregnant with stupidity and a crinoline or something, and her heels have wide ballet ribbons, and of course who would you be without black Capri-length tights, and the dress is barfing pearls in strands thick as your wrist, and her hair looks like the hair of a complete asshole. Complete. Asshole.
Standing next to Danny Gokey, you may ask how this is possible. How does one make Gokey look sexy and suave, like a soon-to-be-fired substitute teacher? Well, first you need some bright pink stupid-looking hair, that's a must. Maybe some of it is fake, that's at your discretion, but it must look absolutely retarded to start out with. Then you take a feather duster in a nearly-matching but not quite matching shade of idiotic pink, and you tease that fucker up right. I mean, until it looks like you were attacked in a carpet store by a pack of frenzied balloons. Clip that shit to your stupid head with a giant thing -- Is it a bird? Is it a cloisonné bird? A model airplane? A bejeweled clothespin? -- that you can find anywhere, as long as it's stupid and has nothing to do with the look you've decided to perpetrate. Somewhere between teen hooker and mental patient playing dress-up? Great. Now you are cooking.