Sorry for the Interuption

We are sorry for the delay but Gina and I are currently off to Pretty Vegas to see JD, err, I mean, INXS and we haven't had time to do the reviews for this week. We will have a double issue next week to make up for it!

Auditions-Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead

Denver-One Mile Above Sea Level and on a Different Planet

I Came Such a Long Way

Crystal: Marlows Davis, the boy who would be an Idol, umm, in his head, came and went with this mantra, “I basically is a natural.” This signals to the millions watching that we are about to be punished acoustically for laughing at him, and, of course…we were. I think he must have been practicing in a padded room with earplugs stuffed in his ear holes.

Surprise!

Crystal: Generally speaking, if someone has a truly irritating speaking voice they are going to have a truly irritating singing voice, which is to say, they will have no singing voice. And Tiffany Christianson all but proves that theory. With her red cowboy boots and three years ago hair cut, she sang, “I ain’t leaving ‘till they throw me out!” Fortunately, for AI bouncers, she walked her talentless ass right out of the audition room after coming face to face with three grimaces.

Straight Up, Now Tell Me…to Just Stop

Crystal: There were two Paula Wannabes tonight, Olivia Dudley and Angela Garcia. Now, here is my problem with that, Paula’s no singer, they never gave her songs for a songstress. They are not songs to prove to anyone that you can sing…therefore, if you are thinking “Oh, yeah! I’ll sing a Paula song,” there is a tremendous possibility that YOU CAN’T SING.

Gina: The best was the chick who sang “Rush, Rush” a song that showcases Paula’s lack of singing talent to the extreme. That song sounds straight stupid when you try and dress it up with lots of trilling. Especially if you can’t sing in the first place.

Lock Your Door When You’re Sleeping, Young Lady

Crystal: Lisa Tucker, a small warning, when you sang for your audition (and you did a great job) Paula’s head was running a mile a minute with these thoughts: “I wonder if anyone would miss her if I kidnapped her, drug her, bring her to my secret lab, have my doctor cut out her vocal chords and implant them into my throat? I could do it this weekend, I only have that manicure scheduled…have to remember to get her address...how far way is Anaheim?”

Paula is so Horny

Crystal: I do not think it is fair that we all have to suffer through a season of Brett “Ace” Young just because Paula needs to get some. That’s all I wanted to say.
Gina: I know, I’m not looking forward to Paula telling me how much I should like him and think he’s cute. I do, however, look forward to his ouster and watching Paula completely lose her shit, just like she does every year.

There’s No Place Like Home…You Know, If You’ve Got One

Crystal: So Rochelle Elaine from Kansas says she’s been evicted and has no place to go home to if she doesn’t make it to Hollywood ALTHOUGH about half a million relatives showed up and spent what looks like all the rent money on T-shirts that spelt out her name. That’s money well spent.

Gina: All I could think is that she’d better be good because I am going to feel bad laughing at a homeless person. Also? While I appreciate honesty and everything, I don’t think I’d go on the most popular show in the history of freakin’ television, or whatever, and tell people I got evicted. I would have had to dress that up a little. I think that you should be allowed to lie in situations like that. Although that gimmick is probably what got Rochelle in front of the judges to begin with.

Rockers on Idol

Crystal: Here’s the thing about Rockers. Many times they suck because they rely on screaming or a weird, fake vibrato. But, I think I speak for a lot of people when I say, I’m not looking for quantity on Idol, all I want is one great Rocker to make this season for me. Will it be the Fat Constatine guy? Or will it be Naomi Guse, after Joey Ramone comes back from the dead to kick her ass for ruining his song? Nope…but Chris Daughtry will probably be one I’ll root for. And not because he used the “Thank you, thank you very much,” send off, but, he’ll get better at performing, I promise you.

Gina: I hate to be the voice of doom, but there was a small part of me that was like, NOOO, don’t make it to Hollywood, Chris! I had all these visions of him getting pretty far in the competition, leaving his wife for some LA broad, and becoming a virtual stranger to his children. He seems like a decent dude, I hate to see a happy family get broken up. But you and I both know that if he gets very far, that is a definite possibility.

Question Mark

Crystal: So, what do you guys think…is the world ready for an Asian and/or Mexican Tony Bennett? Decide and let poor Erik Mena know.

Get R Done

Crystal: Okay, someone’s hit a soft spot in my rotted, embittered heart and his name is Garret Johnson. I tell you, I’ve never wanted someone to make it to Hollywood so bad in my whole years of watching this show. Not for talent, mind you, but, Jesus Christ, the boy is from a town of FOUR PEOPLE. When he’s in California, it will be three! He’s never even been in public before! I’m not delusional, I don’t think he has a chance to make it all the way, I just wanted this tiny charmer to be able to fly on a plane and keep dreaming his dream…I’m serious. He’s a total 50s throwback. He’s like Brendan Frasier from Blast from the Past, but, cuter and with more talent.

Gina: That was the most ADORABLE Idol audition ever. The best was when he was so excited that he made it that he took a faceplant while jumping up and down with his family. Seriously, the puppy-dog cuteness with this one is off the charts. He’s got a snowball’s chance to make it past Hollywood, but this cold, mean, callous, bitch is rooting for him.

Flawless

Crystal: I don’t want to put a lot of time and effort into someone who is a walking joke and, honestly, way too easy. But, Nick McCord, let me ask you something, how does someone who finds it so difficult to put a sentence together manage to run four or five businesses? Do four have to do with drugs?

Gina: If he were my drug dealer, I’d fire him. It would take four hours to do a simple deal because he lacks the ability to speak as a normal human being.

American Inventor

Crystal: You know what? I don’t like you, Ben Hausback. You’re an arrogant dork which is never a good combination. Your coaster “invention” sucked worse than your singing.

Gina: This guy reminded me of Ralph Finnes, if Ralph Finnes were not at all handsome and really creepy. The frail hunch over-ness, the awkward smugness, his barely concealed belief that he is the smartest person in the room at all times, that stupid fucking coaster…this guy….I’m telling ya…this is the kind of guy that hits on me. Believe me, it’s not very fun when that happens.

**Best Moment of the Night** After Ben didn’t get a chance “to get to the good part,” and since they did not give him a chance “to evolve,” Simon told him, “This is nonsense! You’re useless, I’m bored, yes or no?” Randy (what the hell? He got funny over the break!) advised him “Definitley, no. Should have invented something that could help you sing, dude.”

Gina: “American Idol: The Search for a Tablecloth” was the best for me, but I do agree that Randy took funny lessons over the hiatus or something. I don’t remember him ever making me laugh out loud before.

The Crying Game

Crystal: I’m sort of obsessed with trannies. I have been since I saw Adventures of Pricilla Queen of the Desert in the seventh grade. So I knew, without a doubt, that little Zachary “Queen of the Night” Travis was a boy,, albeit, a boy with gender issues. Here’s some advice, Zach, performing trannies LIP SYNC, and there is a very good reason for that…men can’t sing women’s songs.

Gina: I felt really badly for Zach because he could actually carry a tune pretty darn well. Here’s what I think. Zach, the second you turn 18 you need to move to New Orleans, Las Vegas, or Miami and start your own drag cabaret act. You can make a really good living at it, you’d get to sing the kind of songs that you’d like, and most importantly I think you would be excellent at it. I hope that someone saw him and was thinking the same thing I was because this is obviously what Zach was born to do. I am being 300% sincere. I really felt for the dude/chick.

Audtions Day One-Chicago and Their Mighty Fine Hot Dogs

CHICAGO—The Proof is in the Paper


The audition portion of American Idol has begun! This was the sweet release I have been looking for. Oh, how I’ve missed Ryan’s “I have a Dream” speech and Simon’s man-breasts. Let’s start with our winners of Tuesday night.

The Generic Two Timer

CRYSTAL: Why did the three messiahs give Derek Dupree a second chance? Why did they allow themselves, and the rest of us, to be subjected to the Dupree twice in one night? I know they did not actually believe he was going to improve in one hour so sometimes their logic baffles me. I will give Dupree this though: Anyone who talks his way into a second audition only to sing a ditty prominent in Porky’s Two-Porky’s Revenge (Constance Will Fulfill Your Needs), should have gone to Hollywood.

GINA: This guy reminded me of Wesley Willis. Like, as in he looked like him and couldn’t sing like him and is probably certifiably insane like he was.


Seriously, Where is her Golden Ticket?

CRYSTAL: Alright, very short here, that girl Katrina…she sang THE HUMPTY DANCE…pay her freaking way to Hollywood. Stat.

GINA: I must have missed this part, but um….they’ll let in the annoying guy that jumps up and down and screams like an idiot, but don’t let in the girl who did Humpty Dance? Dude, she once got busy in a Burger King bathroom. That’s….unjust in every sense of the word. Can we at least reward the people who are actually funny instead of the guy who screams?

Crusty Simon

CRYSTAL: Moments after Randy called Simon “crusty” Mandeesa (no last name needed) walked in and sang very nicely. Paula said she had a “Frenchie” quality, referring of course to the giant talent that was Frenchie Davis who was axed from the show in Season Two because of some nudie photos, and Simon responded with “Forget Frenchie, she’s like France.” At which point I laughed at a fat joke. I should never laugh at a fat joke.

GINA: Simon was full of extra piss and vinegar last night. Is anyone else just like, hot on fire for him right now? Is that just me?

American Hobbit

CRYSTAL: Kevin Brenneman, you know the one Simon referred to as a wasp, would kick so much hobbit ass if he was auditioning in The Shire, in America, eh, not so much.

GINA: He’s not fat enough to be a hobbit. They are a sturdy creature, you know. He looked like a toy. A little Pocket Idol.

Should We be Embarrassed, Gina?

CRYSTAL: I am only bringing up the girl in the wedding dress because she is from St. Peters, MO which is like ten minutes away from where we live. I, just, I don’t know…that was her Prom dress…I don’t want people rolling their eyes going “Oh God, Midwesterners suck…”

GINA: To lift directly from my notes: “I swear that we don’t wear dresses like that to prom.” And you know, people do think that Midwesterners suck, but I think New York sucks, so I guess we’re even. God Bless flyover country, I say!

CRYSTAL: The second Missourian was the tragic-ly closeted Erik Lawhon who talks like my sister and sings like my very tone deaf mother. Erik has been getting false confidence from his domineering Grandmother who spoke down to Simon, but seriously, lets get real here. Erik, please, take the advice Simon attempted to bestow on another contestant, go back home, practice your female impersonation with your grandmother’s dresses, move to the Big City, and be the coolest thing that ever came out of your town in Missouri, Population 338.

GINA: I had to sit and think about Erik for a good twenty minutes or so. Mostly because I wonder how someone so gay came from a family so white trash? Erik is the kind of offspring I would expect from pale, nebbish, intellectuals, not from beer swilling NASCAR loving, rural Missourians. He did however, provide Simon with the biggest laugh of the night (for me, at least), “Well, I was going to let you through, but Randy and Paula…” Thank you, Simon, just for being in my life.

Thanks, Mom!

CRYSTAL: Ah, Christ, her name had to be Crystal (Parizanski). And she makes us all look dumb as she explained everything else, from her song title to where she came from, when Simon asked her about her suntan because she is a CLASS A MORON. She looked like a skinny, arrogant oompa loompa. Then her Mother came in and they looked like the Garish Botox Twins of Illinois. Scary!

GINA: I kept on saying it was like the Barbie Twins but without the implants and they were, you know, mother and daughter instead of twins. It works out because they both look to be about the same age, anyway.


****Best Moment of the Night**** She is, as Simon says, “An absolute no.” “But, you didn’t let me finish the song,” Crystal pleaded. “We don’t let anyone finish the song,” explained Paula. “Yeah, we can hear,” snorted, the suddenly very funny, Randy.

GINA: You know you have nothing left to live for once Randy Jackson has gotten a good crack in about you.


Crazy Dave Can Talk to the Animals

CRYSTAL: For some reason, ones I would never want to discover, Paul and Randy voted yes to allowing Dave Hoover to go to Hollywood where he can talk to the animals…my guess would be he developed that skill when all the humans ran away.

GINA: Ugh, it’d be one thing if he were funny. I’ve seen way funnier auditions than him and it angers me that he’s the one that they’re going to let through. It’s just some dork jumping up and down and yelling. That’s it. That is not television worthy. If I were Mary Roach I would be SO PISSED right now.

The two Johns (specifically a John Stevens and a Jon Peter Lewis) of AI Season IV had the opportunity to speak with me in what could be considered the greatest interview ever. While they did not win the coveted prize and went home with their proverbial tails between their boyish legs, these Johns did manage to get the girls hearts a puddlin’ and guys all around the US of A to roll their eyes in painful righteousness.

The Interview:

Crystal: So fellas, one at a time, which one of you wants to go out with me tonight? Shit, which one of you doesn’t?

(silence)

Crystal: Ha. Ha. Just. Kidding. (clears throat, shuffles papers) What have you been up to since American Idol and your shameful loss?



Jon: Well. I really would not call it “shameful,” Crystal.

Crystal: You wouldn’t? I mean, it was pretty embarrassing, anyway. Dancing around like a deranged Bing Crosby to a re-tuned Elvis Presley song and then, you know, getting booted afterwards.

Jon: No. I still wouldn’t. I enjoyed myself. Anyway, over the holidays I recorded a song and made a video called “It’s Christmas!” and it climbed pretty high on the Canadian charts…

Crystal: A Christmas song? Canadian charts? That’s pretty lame isn’t it…wait…aren’t you Mormon?

Jon: Yeah? So?

Crystal: Do Mormons even believe in Christ? Could there seriously be more Mormons on this show? I mean, won’t you be excommunicated for your sins?

Jon: What?

Crystal: And now over to you John, what have you been up to?



John: Well, I graduated high school.

Crystal: hahahahahahahah

John: No, really, I graduated highschool…and I’ve been…

Crystal: …wait! No, sorry for interrupting John, but aren’t you about 62?

John: What?

Crystal: In my notes I figure you to be around 62 now. I mean, with those songs you like, you can’t be much younger than that, right?

John: Well, I would hate to contradict you, but, you are a little off. I am 18 now and I’ve released an album and working on my second.

Crystal: 18? My notes say nothing about that. So you’re only 18? (long uncomfortable pause) So there’s no chance we could go have a drink? You’ve kinda, you know, filled out a bit since the show…

John: No, sorry, unless you mean a Pepsi. (uncomfortable laughter)

Crystal: Well, I guess you could do that…okay.

John: Oh, no, I’m sorry, I was jok…

Crystal: Well that’s about it for this interview. Thank you both very much, it has been a pleasure for you, I’m sure. And readers, please visit both the Johns websites, they could use the hits:

Jon Peter Lewis: http://jplewismusic.com/

John Stevens: http://www.maverick.com/johnstevens/

One Week and a Moment with Matthew Rogers

Matthew Rogers: FratDork Extrordinaire




The third year brought us the brassy Fantasia and pagent princess Diana DeGarmo. It also brought us this ruddy faced, husky, collegiate football player that was made entirely of cheese.

Matt won the Rose Bowl. Did you know that? On the Idol website he mentions it as the best moment in his life. Sounds great until you realize something.

He was a 3rd stringer bench warmer who saw virtually no playing time for the one season he was on the team. So he really earned that Bowl. Yeah.

I feel like this is a metaphor for Matthew Rogers, as he held basically the same position on Idol. Sometimes I have to leave the room, or change the channel when I particularly detest a contestant. I had to do both these things with regular frequency when Matt was on my screen. Not because of my hatred, but rather because watching him perform made me so embarassed for him that it made me uncomfortable to watch.

Perhaps this is because he reminds me of an old friend, one who bears a passing physical resemblence and penchant for impromptu singing and this is the source of my empathy. Perhaps it is because I find people shamelessly dorking out on television to be naked display of vunerability. That sort of thing always makes me uncomfortable.

But mostly, I think, it's because he was the biggest Kid Songs Cheeseheart of them all. And he didn't mind. He didn't know any better. I would go so far as to say that he thought it was cool. So this is an ode to Matt, who would make me laugh and then make me feel kinda bad about it.

Gina

8 Days Until Idol-You Know What That Means...it's Time to Talk About the Mormons

You may not remember her name. Hell, you may not remember her face, but Carmen Rasmusen will always stick out in my American Idol Hallway of Horror as one of the most offensive singers in the competition. (Sorry, just had to add that she was known as "Stevie Shits" around my house-Gina) Let me start with a little history of myself.

(For anyone who has not had the pleasure of reading our last blog, you may find that from time to time, Gina and I talk about ourselves in the blog. You know, here and there, we happen to mention events from our own life that we for some reason think are funny or intersect in some way to what we’re saying…okay, a lot. We talk about ourselves a lot. If you don’t like that, you should probably stop reading right here.)

…and now back to myself. Around my sixteenth birthday I was introduced, by a friend, to Blondie. I owe Blondie a lot. It was a keystone. Blondie was the gateway drug into decent music that I could stop being afraid to share with my friends. Blondie was everything to me for a long period during post adolescence. Blondie is still the epitome of cool to me. If I had the guts or a smidge of the talent, I would still love to fashion my life after Debbie Harry. Alas, this girl is far too dorky to ever be as cool as Ms. Harry, but, even so, I still feel the need to vindicate her whenever her music has been taken in vain. Carmen took Blondie’s music in vain.

Carmen was brought back to Idol by Simon Cowell after she was not voted into the top 10. This will go down as one of his top five mistakes coming right in under those ugly sweaters. She was cute, to be sure, but her singing ability did not match her 1000 watt smile and I quickly grew tired of her goat-stuck-in-a-fence vibrato. Then she did it, she hit her lowest point, she decided to sing “Call Me.” Carmen can’t be that old. As a matter of fact, I think she had a high school tutor whilst in the competition. If she had taken even a miniscule moment from her all important studies and thought about the lyrics of the song she was about the destroy, she would have discovered that song was not for her:

Call me call me any anytime
Call me for a ride
Call me call me for some overtime
Call me in my life
Call me call me in a sweet design
Call me call me for your lover's lover's alibi

These words are spoken by a WOMAN. These are words from a woman seductress who has been around the block a few times, knows she is being used and is alright with that because she is out of her mind, crazy in love. These are not words to be warbled by a fifteen year old teenybopper with a bad case of the “I (heart) Justin Timberlakes” and who writes that her Idol is “my mom.” She ruined the song, she ruined the energy, and she helped prove my case that no one should be singing Debbie Harry except Debbie Harry.

Carmen, I hope you have since discovered what you want to be when you grow up, and I hope it has nothing to do with singing.

Love Ya's, Crystal

11 Days and a Shameful Confession

Almost a year ago, I watched the newest season of American Idol from the comfort of my mother's living room. I saw an older gentleman with long hair and bell bottoms prepare himself to perform on my television. I sniggered and made a hippie joke, waiting for him to massacre "Drift Away" and provide me with comedy, as so many on this show can be counted on to do. Imagine my shock and horror when it turned out that the hippie was talented. And not just in a Kelly Clarkson "Not my thing but I can totally understand why she won" sort of way, but rather in a "Hey, I might not mind checking out his stuff" way. I was unsure of how to deal with this ironic turn of events. I turned to the bottle to drown my shame. I didn't know how else to deal with the pain. Soon, I had alienated my friends, boyfriend, and family. I didn't know how to reconcile the person I thought I was with the person I am. Okay, okay, I didn't turn into an alcoholic. I did something even worse...

I voted.



I knew it was wrong, I knew it meant admitting that I cared, but I had a mission. To keep Bo Bice on my television for as long as possible. Or at least longer than Constantine.

This new, unironic, enjoyment of a contestant was a totally new sensation. Soon I began to look up bits of information on the internet and would freak out if my mom would forget to tape the show, an action I had never minded in the least before. It got so bad that I reconsidered taking a trip overseas when I realized it had been scheduled the week of the Idol finale. I devoted time to inquiring whether or not there were any establishments in the whole of London that might be showing the program via sattelite. We couldn't find one and I was forced to take drastic measures. You don't know rock bottom until you've sat in a home office in London refreshing CNN.com every 5 minutes until they finally report who won. It was the lowest point of my life. Until this summer, when I watched Rock Star: INXS and to my despair developed a huge crush on one of the contestants.

I am a loser.

Oh well.

Gina

12 Days left and a look at AI Season One

In the Wink of Justin:

It was the hair, I tell you, the hair. The hair made me hate Justin Guarini and everything this talentless tyrant stood for. Why, in the Age of Hair Product and Scissors, does one chose to wear their hair like the Holy orb on Christ's head? There are few mortal men who can wear their tresses so absurdly, and for the love of God, if your name does not start with "Lenny" and end in "Kravitz" I do not need to see poodle poof.




He could have stopped at the hair. He could have left me, and the rest of the American television viewing public, alone, but he continuted with his abuse and introduced every young adult under the age of 500 to the Wink/Head Nod Gesture(W/N, for short). That Bastard. With every W/N I wanted to take his tiny nuts and squeeze with my abnormally strong girl hands. I always liked to imagine that some ghostly presence was smacking the back of his head, twenty, thirty times a song, causing an involuntary nod and eye spasm but it was too hard to get the truth out of my mind. Here he was, in the flesh, that annoying guy from your choir class who had not yet decided to "come out" and tried to faux seduce the girls with his bland brand of neo-Sinatraism. No one could get him off the TV. Fuck Him.

My friend, Amanda, was working at a local TV station in Philadelphia the autumn after the first Idol. She had the distinguished honor of meeting and interviewing Justin (albeit for her own personal home video for family and friends). She revealed to me that in person he was much less attractive (Was this possible? Uglier? Who knows, this is second hand knowledge, folks.) According to my friend, in real life, Justin was awkward, skinny, gaunt and had acne. Sure this was about five years ago, but I can still hope that its true...and he was making up for his lack of genetically superior qualities by playing a false bravado with minimal singing ability.

Last I heard of Justin was the shocking news that his label dumped him like a heavy load after Thanksgiving dinner. I would love to wish Justin good luck in his future endeavors, but, all that is swimming around in my mind's eye right now is a barely twenty year old gay boy winking at me trying to make me fall in love with him. I can't wish that good luck.

Crystal

13 Days and 4 Haikus til Idol

And while Crystal has done cracking good job of describing the significance of Paula, Randy, the contestants, and most importantly, the smug bastard to end smug bastards, Simon Cowell. (Who, by the by, I am incredibly attracted to and I think that speaks leaps and bounds for the fact that I am going to wind up marrying a HUGE asshole because I find brutal honesty to be a total turn on even if it makes you a giant dick.) But there is one important element that you missed, Crystal. Ryan Seacrest and his frosted blonde tips.

Haikus for Ryan

Seacrest out, Ryan
I've wondered, what with the hair
Moisturizier, dude?


Ryan as puppy
Annoying and most loyal
Drink Coca-Cola


Hair blonder at tips
T-shirt making me dizzy
Why wear distressed jeans?


I don't get Paula
Ryan will translate for me
You don't know, either?

14 Days Until Nirvana

A Show for the Ignorant Masses...and everyone else.

Anticipation builds with each tease of a brief 30 second commercial. A tidal wave of catacalysmic porportions begins to churn your tummy and turns your otherwise agile mind to malleable goo. This is is folks, strap in, grab your vomit bag and snacks, the ride of the ages has commenced.

Just the promise of the face of that Madman of Mean, Simon Cowell, and his smarmy yet beautiful smile is enough to hold any hormone driven woman to watch AI, but wait! There is more to this iconic show than simple Mr. Cowell.

We are heaved into the bosom of a glassy-eyed, brain-dead refried 80s pop wonder Paula Abdul. Her non-coherant string of words that she has remarkably convinced herself might actually be an real sentence is enough to make you want to pull out each hair on her pint sized head with a pair of Tweezerman Tweezers (the best there is!). And, oh no, that is not all, we get Christmas reprised every week with our Signature "Urban" Guy, Randy "I overuse simple words" Jackson. I say "urban" but its really just a asethetic thing because I am now convinced, after seeing him in all his tie-dyed, spandexed glory of his Journey days, that he is as white as the day is long.

And, of course, there are The Contestants. The starry eyed dreamers of future bright lights enveloped in delusional grandure make us take a couple steps back, enhale deeply, and thank the ever loving Lord that we can laugh at them and not with them. I don't think anyone will argue with me when I say that the Crazy Contestants are the best. Those whom you may get an eery suspicion that they will immediatley leave their failed audition, seek out the next homeless person they see on they street, and kill him.

I began to watch this show four years ago because I quietly thought to myself I might want to be one of these fifteen minute of fame attention whores. "Maybe I could do this?" I wondered. I realized quickly, as I watched one flailing contestant after another, there is no way that my coolness would allow me to be one of these losers. I no longer crave the attention of my shallow teenage life. Well, perhaps it just dilluted a bit. I watch the car accident that is American Idol now to simply appreciate the gore.

Thus begins another season of my life, err, I mean American Idol. The show that reunites lost lovers after decades spent apart. The show that cures cancer. The show that climbed moutains just to see if it could make it to the top. The show that makes people happy, pure and simple. The show that my friend, Gina, and I plan to ruthlessly and without mercy shread with all our "our parents didn't love us enough" bitterness until we hit bone and then, still, scape that bone to dust. Please join us for laughter and persecution for the Best Worst Show Ever created.

Crystal