Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Death to Simon Fuller. DEATH!
So, anyway, I'm in Newbury Comics today, flipping through a copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, when what sounds like Elton John dying of sleeping sickness while being strangled by a boa constrictor comes over the stereo, singing "Rocket Man".
"God, what is that?" says the girl next to me. Too late, I realize what horror has been inflicted upon me: William Hung.
Yes, William Hung. The American Idol reject whose cover of "She Bangs" made Ricky Martin's look fucking dignified. I thought he would have faded into the ether at this point, but the pain continued.
A playlist, accompanied by my reactions to each song in parentheses:
*"Rocket Man" ("Are they fucking kidding me?")
*"Hotel California" ("God... this isn't just some nightmare, is it?")
*"Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" ("Gagh!")
*Some song from Phil Collins's soundtrack to Tarzan- yes, fucking Tarzan ("*epileptic seizure*")
I was able to retreat from that aural Hell, but not without very deep scars. In short, death to Simon Fuller, death to everyone at American Idol who thought that was a good move, and death to their pets.
"God, what is that?" says the girl next to me. Too late, I realize what horror has been inflicted upon me: William Hung.
Yes, William Hung. The American Idol reject whose cover of "She Bangs" made Ricky Martin's look fucking dignified. I thought he would have faded into the ether at this point, but the pain continued.
A playlist, accompanied by my reactions to each song in parentheses:
*"Rocket Man" ("Are they fucking kidding me?")
*"Hotel California" ("God... this isn't just some nightmare, is it?")
*"Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" ("Gagh!")
*Some song from Phil Collins's soundtrack to Tarzan- yes, fucking Tarzan ("*epileptic seizure*")
I was able to retreat from that aural Hell, but not without very deep scars. In short, death to Simon Fuller, death to everyone at American Idol who thought that was a good move, and death to their pets.
