~~THE HOTTEST MEN IN HOLLYWOOD WHO I WOULD KISSSSSSS
~~~~I have been known to obsess over things….become addicted to this and that, that and this.
What a shocker.
For example, I wore out my Robin Thicke CD; my “Immaculate Conception” cassette (yes, cassette) by Ms. Madonna has unraveled, and I can’t keep chocolate in the house without devouring every last rotten good for nothin’ fabulous piece.
- Angelina Jolie is the most severely beautiful person that ever walked the earth. She and Brad tangled together generate sun, moon, & stars. WOWWIE!
2. Javier Bardem is established as one of Spain’s top stars. I consider him the manly man of 2010. He’s the man all men want to be….and the man all women want to be with. Oh, and the accent helps.
3. Mark Walberg: Every girl likes a bad boy. Mark is a very bad boy. I like it. I like it. Oh Markie Mark, will you kiss, kiss, kiss ME?! Hot Damn.
~~Does American Idol exist after Adam Lambert?
Haven’t you observed the blahness, the blandness, and the utter boredomness? Sure, some of the contestants are terrific, but is terrific sufficient? Is terrific worth missing Criminal Minds or a 7:00 roll in the hay?
The truth is, Adam Lambert set the bar so freaking high that every competitor is now, well, how can I word this, “DULL as triple Hell.” Sort of reminds me of Plath’s poem- where she describes somebody (actually, her out of town guests) as “flat paper dolls.”
Yeah, Goldilocks is gorgeous with that bluesy sexiness oozing. Mama Sox has that kind of breezy Bonnie Raitt thing goin’ on. And I want to gobble up Big Mike and hug, hug, hug him to death. But seriously, Lambert has made even these talented singers appear tedious, yawn-worthy, uninteresting, and dry as the inside of a mouth after drinking Merlot mercilessly and recklessly all night long.
I mean, watching Glam Boy each week was like experiencing a bomb exploding, untamed foreplay, and if one lacked any stimulation that particular day, s/he would most definitely and unequivocally receive a full dose of hotness that night.
Anticipation is a drug.
Black leather pants. Sleek leopard lined eyes. Vocals soaking soulfully into bones Testosterone boosters like testogen. More. We always wanted more. It didn’t matter a damn if Adam only kissed boys. We wanted him for ourselves, regardless.
Even the judges seem uninterested this year. If Simon isn’t flirting with Kara, his eyes are half opened like Garfield, the Cat. (Yes, Mr. C, it’s a good time to split this gig). Randy is tsk-tsking and yawning- “Oh, that wasn’t good for me, Dog. Sorry.” And Ellen usually says with a sugary smile, “You look cute tonight. I’m acquiring a taste for you.”
Do I need to tell you that when a judge declares you’re cute or that you look super fine; what they’re truly saying is: YOUR PERFORMACE SUCKED EGGS!
It’s time. Meritocracy is not acceptable. Blah is a bore. And I blame Lambert. I blame him because American Idol is finished, over with, repetitive, and irrelevant without somebody who blows your mind from one end of the room to the other.
Sometimes one must know when enough is enough, when it’s time to pull the bloody plug, when the luminosity has finally muted and faded.
Mr. Cowell is a genius for grasping this in advance, for understanding that American Idol is now just going through the motions.
And in my opinion, that really sucks rotten eggs.