Your next American Idol

So let me first start off by declaring my general hatred for American Idol. The phenomenon of this disaster masquerading as a television show blows my mind. Every year millions of people tune into this dredge to watch your average person become a superstar. Every year billions of said average persons tryout across the country with hopes of becoming the nations new superstar. Even without winning, it is safe to say that one can become famous just from the exposure. I think it would be safe to say that one can find less harm by pure exposure to the cosmic waves, or that creepy guy hanging out at the library. Wait, were'd that last part come from? Ah, I digress, I will admit to have watched some of the early train wrecks of the early auditions, all the while hoping a train would wreck into the audition rooms. This would seem to be capable of happening if you have that walking dead Paula driving the train. I mean, as soon as she awakes from her drunken stooper and stumbles out of her sarcophagus like Mummra



Sorry, I really just wanted a reason to add Mummra to my blog.

The real reason I started this particular blog entry was to introduce America to the latest superstar. Now the pure uncoached talent I would have to say came directly from my silly money genes. Well, I really don't feel like typing anymore right now but I wanted to introduce the world to their next superstar.




Classic.

We now return to our regularly scheduled program

If only I could somehow attach one of those cute little doors you find on an old cuckoo clock onto my head I could allow the world to take a peak into the insanely hilarious sitcom that plays within. I could probably solve all the worlds ills. The shit that goes on in my head is pretty effing funny and I have no doubt the world would smile just that much more if they got to experience the same things that I have going through my head. With my extensive library of completely useless knowledge there basically is no end to the amount of side splitting zingers, one-liners, and sound bytes, ahhhh the "Inner Monologue".

I mean really, is there anything funnier than when you see a mass of people moving in a confined location, or some little sparkies riding their bikes down the street you hear the Sabre Dance playing in the background and envision them moving in fast motion like everyone did in the old days. (Isn't it amazing on how fast people were back in the day, I mean look at the old film footage, those effers were quick.)

(Couldn't find an audio clip to embed so here is a creepy group of asian kids doing their Sabre Dance thing. Rock on you little bastards!!!)





And really who doesn't love to hear quotes from a certain governor of california fighting an alien trophy hunter in the jungles of central america?

"Come on... Come on! Do it! Do it! Come on. Come on! Kill me! I'm here! Kill me! I'm here! Kill me! Come on! Kill me! I'm here! Come on! Do it now! Kill me!"

or

"Get to da choppa!!"


Not everyone though can appreciate the wit and general awesomeness. A perfect example was during a recent outing with a couple of my mates enjoying frosty libations at a place of entertainment. As the "entertainer" made her way around the fine establishment to give a heart felt and sincere "Thank You" to all of the patrons, oh and to collect her additional earnings, I felt it necessary to engrace her with my wit. After rehearsing the script in my head I proceed to spew the wit and charm that is me, fully expecting her to move on thinking, "you know, that middle aged, 1 chicken mcnugget away from being a fat turd, half asian guy was pretty funny", instead all I heard was the sound of a car crash followed by crickets. It was about as awkward as that scene from An American Werewolf In London, where Jack asks the patrons of the Slaughtered Lamb, "Whats the star on the wall for?"

Well needless to say, there are times where things shouldn't be said out loud. Take for instance when I go to the gym, in an effort to prevent from becoming the aforementioned middle aged, 1 chicken mcnugget away from being a fat turd, half asian guy. As the two donkey muscleheads discuss their workout regimens in "way too much information" detail, in my mind I say, as if I had a sudden epiphany, "ahhh, that's what a douche looks like". I mean watching these meatheads is about as uncomfortable and awkward as all of the gay innuendos from Top Gun.

I mean really, could there be any more dude love going on in that movie. The volleyball scene alone is strife with masculine homoerotic undertones, with the exception of poor Anthony Edwards. Unfortunately Mr. Edwards was unable to fully grasp the workout regimen and thus was forced to wear that terrible sleaveless tshirt which ultimately led to his being written out of the movie by way of death from ejection.



(Ahhh, can't you just hear Kenny Loggins' "Playin With The Boys"?)


Well my minions, I think I've shared too much, so I must go for now. But worry not my loyal followers, I shall return soon to further amuse and entertain the masses.