There's a lot to be said about the toolsheds that we're apparently going to trust with this MAJOR AWARD. Because, have you seen these people? Seriously.
I won't even go with the obvious "is he? isn't he?" Because, more importantly, what the HELL is up with this guy's skin? I mean, are those freckles concealed by sixteen layers of foundation? Was he a burn victim? Get on the wrong side of the Toxic Avenger? Kid needs some antibiotics because that mess is spreading to his lips.
I'm kinda shocked this girl can sing because she kind of has the ol' Bugs Bunny thing going on. Like, with her teeth, not her ears (duh). I'm talking about the overbite, people. Are you with me yet? Sure, maybe it's a stretch, but I'm trying not to go off on that Manic Panic hair that was only cool, like, when I did it decades ago.
Last week, texting my friend while watching (because my husband pretends we're not married when I watch):
Me: Damn! He can SANG!
Friend: Right? That was BANGIN'!
[Cameras pan to his parents, in traditional Indian garb. Not smiling, nor particiularly looking thrilled to be there.]
Friend: What's up with the parents?
Me: They probably don't speak English.
Yeah, I got nothing on this Mac Daddy, so I thought I'd highlight my tendencies to be a discriminatory wench instead.
Ok, I have to tread lightly here because this guy is Dead Wife Guy. But he does have a last name that sounds like a character from my son's cartoon cache. Plus he TOTALLY dresses like he's about to try out for a role as the D-Bag who stands at the bar ogling the bartender in some Justin Timberlake video.
This guy creeps the hell out of me. He makes weird faces. Faces that suggest he is either A. concealing a medeival weapon or B. Actually John Mayer in drag or C. Hiding something in his pants. Something that moves.
Lil? Lil. Is there a consensus about whether this is like a stage name or what? Get her off the damn stage before she busts out a cane and top hat.
Something about this fella reminds me of this boy I went to school with. He once had a cold (not quite the plague) while we were taking a Latin test (oh yeah, I took Latin, punks). He kept sniffling. Like with such regularity that it seemed it was his job to make me jump out the window. I finally offered him a tissue loudly. He declined. I wanted to throw him out the window. But I didn't. I just took my test instead. Maybe I got a B or something.
But yeah, Matt reminds me of him. Sniffly-nosed boy who probably needs a shave.
Oh, Megan. Something about me wants to love this girl. Probably her entrancing good looks and that raspy voice. BAM! Whoa! Look out! Just like that, she stole your wallet. Because all that pretty hair and pretty eyeballs and pretty clothes are the first clues to her menacing ways. We don't need some gypsy woman with the coveted title of American Idol.
Oh, Scotty Scott Scott. Listen, everyone else might be tip-toing around this boy because he's all BLIND and everything, but what is WRONG with him? Ugh. And do they really need to have him in all those frigging choreographed dance routines? I mean, come ON that shit is absurd! HE CAN'T SEE! He's got that same facial expression the enitre time, too. The one somewhere between "I'M TERRIFIED!" and "I know what Kris Allen is hiding in his pants!"
I know, I know. I should shut myself up now before someone points out that I'm a mother (oops). But come on. Send that boy home already. With the help of an escort, of course.