E3 2009: only read this after you’ve geeked out on positivity

One of this site’s super top secret agents sent me pictures from E3. I was all set to post them. Then I got sick. In spring, right? I mean who gets sick in the spring? If it were swine flu, at least I could’ve earned a badge of honor, but this was one of those non-badge-earning sicknesses.  Not herpes, of course, because that’s the badge that keeps on badging. But maybe an unoriginal strain of the common cold. Like if Kanye West made a batch of common cold (KanyeWestchulism). Like that. Unoriginal, boring yet delusionally self-important.

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American Idol Results: And The Winner Be…

After 19 week, 40 episodes, and more hours than I can recall without weeping uncontrollably, we are about to reach maximum safe distance from this show. At long last, Finale Night is upon us. Who will win? Will it be the glamorous lady with the shrieky voice, or will it be the kid who wandered on stage looking for a place to spend his Old Navy gift card? Hot or cold? Salt or pepper? Adam or Kris? Everybody has an opinion–including the very valid “I don’t care.” But if that were the case, you wouldn’t be reading this. Would you? This is American Idol. The Visitors are not our friends. They’ve come to rape our planet and kill us. They are not who they appear to be!
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American Idol: The Big Ding-Dong

Flashbacks remind us that once upon a time, Adam Lambert and Kris Allen were two people nobody gave a shit about. In Olde Audition Tymes, Adam didn’t wear eyeliner, while Kris sported an ill-conceived cabbie hat. Then they got famous. Kris embraced the cuteness. Adam embraced the Maybelline. I embraced the idea of tonight being the final night of performances. This is American Idol. Carrot cake, carrot cake, have ye any nuts?
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American Idol Results: 3 Become 2

Why in the name of Victor Von Doom is Ben Stiller on my TV? Worse, why is he talking to me? I know I’m not on medication and I gave up crack after that unfortunate Disney World incident. (The Pirates of the Caribbean are robots. Don’t try to have sex with them. It hurts.) Is this really happening? Where’s my show? Holy armpits, he’s doing some kind of promotional skit to push that museum movie on us. Now there’s a Saturday Night Live guy talking to me. And the fat kid from Superbad. And Agador Spartacus. I feel like Jodie Foster in The Accused. No means no! This is American Idol. Armand, why won’t you let me be in the show? Are you afraid of my Guatemalan-ness?
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