|by Darla Kitt
More crazies, bad hair, slutty girls, and one guy whose teeth I’d like to knock out with my Doc Martens.
Okay, okay, enough with the crazies already. Yes, the crazies are funny and weird, but jeez-oh, can’t they show us more of the good ones? In Vegas, we only saw 3 of the 11 who made it to Hollywood, and in Austin we only saw 5 of the 12? Boston better be better, because I’m getting sick of this sh*t.
I really don’t understand how people can walk into these auditions all decked out in some crazy get-up and then get upset about being denied a golden ticket. The first guy in Vegas, in the Rasta dreads, cried after Randy, Paula and Simon sent him on his way. He cried. Well, boo-hoo for him, he looked like an ass on national television, it’s his own stupid fault for walking in there in that ridiculous wig.
Although I was digging the Welcome Back Kotter theme music, I really didn’t need to see all the crazies that came back for a second (or 3rd or 5th) chance to get to Hollywood. That fat psychic, Bobbi Mae? Yeah, her sister sucks too. She’s cuter, and thinner, but she still sucks butt. Buh-bye. And JC Gray? He still has the crazy eyes, and his new super-mullet wasn’t helping matters much.
And speaking of super-mullets, the bad hair rage continues. Ryan Hart was that “I’m too hardcore for you, man,” annoying, wussy-ass indie-rock jack-off who screeched like a dying pigeon. Did you notice the hair on him? Did he carve that side part with a melon-baller? You could land planes on that strip ‘o scalp. And, oh, Anthony Andolino. I actually felt bad for that guy. He had to have used an entire tub of gel on his ‘do. And could someone please tell him that sweater vests are not attractive on anyone? Especially on giant fat men? He looked like an upholstered bean bag chair.
I have to admit, though, that I adored Taylor Hicks, shaggy gray hair and all. He talks like Elvis, and boy do I love the King. I was excited he made it to Hollywood. Get him to a salon for a cut and an eyebrow wax, and I’m all over that, yeah.
Unfortunately, the bad hair and weirdos continued in Austin, which I was greatly disappointed by. I’ve been to Austin a few times to visit a musician friend of mine who lives there, and that place has got some damn good music. But I guess all the real musicians stayed home the day AI visited because I didn’t see ‘em.
What I did see was a whole lotta whorey-looking, too-tan college girls. But maybe they’re trying to rake in some skeevy dirty-old-men fans this year. I don’t know. It’s a possibility. Future stripper #1: Paula Goodspeed, the chick with the extra-large mouth full of metal and extra, extra-large boobs. Future stripper #2: Allison Schoeling, um, she flew in from Raleigh and almost died on the plane? She couldn’t find a ride to Greensboro? Future stripper #3: Ashley Jackson, the “fit model” who already sounds like a porn star. She sang like she was gettin’ banged from behind. Plus, she’s already got the dumb, pouty thing going for her. But they let her through! Oh, I’m gonna hate her. If she makes it through the first round of Hollywood auditions, I’m predicting she’ll be my new Mikayla Gordon, and I wanted to punch her in the face.
The guys they waved on to Hollywood didn’t bowl me over, either. The funeral director, Jason Horn, was kinda okay, but diagonal striped shirts annoy me. The music major, Ricky Hayes, was pleasant, but nothing special. However, Ronnie (RJ) Norman drove me insane. Him, I really wanted to punch in the face. He’s the kind of guy I despise: a cocky, pudgy man-whore, who thinks that women should worship him. Randy was on point about that guy, I can’t believe Simon and Paula gave him the go-ahead. I’m naming him my “asshole-of-the-season” so far. The arrogant SOB.
The saving grace of Austin was that cutie, 16-year-old William Makar, who sang “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg.” He was darling. Absolutely adorable. I’d go further, but I don’t wanna sound like a horny old lady, making wolf-whistles at a high-schooler. I’d feel filthy dirty. So let’s just say, I like him.
So, after I saw him, I was feeling pretty good, or at least a lot better. And then came the buzz-kill of the evening. I should have turned off the TV after William, but no, I had to watch the show ‘til the end. I had to hang in. I need to learn to switch it off on a high note, because that Tessie Mae Reid killed it for me.
I actually winced when I first saw her. Do some people not look in a mirror? Does she have a trick mirror or some other form of reflective technology that transforms her appearance into something that she thinks looks pretty good? If there is such a thing, then I want one. Because anything that can convince her those bleached-blond mini-braids smack in front of her head and cornflower blue eyeshadows are attractive, will make me think I look like Charlize Theron.
When my boyfriend looked up from his motorcycle magazine long enough to cringe at her appearance and hear her name, he blurted, “Tessie Mae? Was she named after a cow?” And that sums it up kinda nicely.
Anyway, I can’t wait to get Boston done and over with, although I’m still holding out hope that we’ll see some better specimens. I hear Boston boys are pretty hot, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed on that front. Plus, they have the coolest, drunk-sounding accents.
Drop Darla a line at DarlaKitt@realityshack.com.