I hate American Idol. I've never watched it, but I hate it. Hate hate hate. It just proves that a massive chunk of the TV-viewing world is mentally defective and should have been drowned at birth. Even when the commercials for it come on I usually go into the kitchen, open the fridge, stick my head in and slam the door on it a couple times. That makes the bad stuff go away.
I especially hate American Idol now that some local shower-singer made it to the final three. I know this only because that great swath of super-absorbant toilet tissue Stinktown calls a newspaper won't shut the hell up about it. I guess terrorists and snipers and wars just aren't exciting enough for the front page any more.
If I had my way I'd get to produce one episode. Just one. It would be a Very Special Episode.
There would be twenty or so contestants hand-picked from the usual dregs of what I hesitate to call humanity. These would be the most insipid interpreters of that snooze-worthy Top-Forty singing style so popular these days. A contestant would be picked at random and they would each get to sing for two minutes. It doesn't matter what they sing, they could all sing the theme song from Mister Ed for all I care. I will be wearing those big headphones you usually see on the guys working the decks of aircraft carriers, quietly humming some Dead Kennedys song. Or Devo. Maybe Devo.
Anyhow, they sing. After each song the contestant is taken backstage, shot in the head, and another one is picked to sing. This will go on for a glorious forty or so minutes. The last one will be declared the winner, for no real reason except they are the last one picked. Said winner will be allowed to debase him/herself in whatever manner the winners of these things choose. Jump up and down, scream, cry, wet themselves, who cares. We're all just waiting for the finale anyhow.
Ahhhh, the finale. The winner is skinned alive, onstage, to the music of whatever dreck they just finished singing. Hopefully this will be the theme song from Mister Ed.
At the peak of this song, the curtains open revealing the bodies of the previous nineteen contestants. I will then don the flayed, bloody skin of the winner like a cape and caper about the carnage as though I were a demented B-movie Kali.
There will only be one episode, but it will be a glorious one episode, one that will be remembered for generations.
Then I'll invent some kind of device that makes American Idol fans' heads explode. I'll be brought forth before the War Crimes Tribunal whereupon I will declare (dramatic music builds) that yes, I did do this thing, but it was for (music swells) the greater good of humanity, for the world is now be free of the scourge of American Idol. (orgasmic creschendo of music)
I'll accept my Nobel Prize now, dammit.