…and the reason it suddenly stopped. And, no, I don’t think it looks real either. I really, really wish it was, though. Even more than I wish Madonna had never recorded “Ray of Light.” Well, almost as much.
Here’s the deal with me mocking the bad singers and dancers of the world and still being able to sleep at night: I am one of you. I love to sing and dance – loud, flailing, looking like a damn fool in the process. And if you ever see me in the act, I encourage you to throw out your own witticisms.
Now onto Mr. Intensity. The singing? Not great, obvs. The periodic bore-a-hole-through-me glances at the camera, the bulging neck veins, and the death grip he’s got on that mic as he sits alone in his dark living room with the curtains drawn? Well, these things only allow me to draw one conclusion, which is that he wants to kill me and add my mangled remains to the ones already in his basement – allegedly.
“We were as one bathe/For da Mormon in time/And it seemed every last thing that mule would always be mine”
Truer words have never been sung. And let’s hope they never are again. I do love his level of commitment, though. The hand waving, the closed eyes, the disco queen spiderweb cardigan. Throw on some stilettos and jump on a StairMaster, and you’re more than halfway home.
Sadly, it won’t help the singing. But the judges here almost ruin the moment for me. Keep it together, guys, in the name of future comedic bits. Please. Think about the children.
Peanut Gallery