Let’s make this quick. I was already timeshifted before I got spoiled, and now that I have a second while everybody naps — Royal Wedding in like ten minutes — I want to make the most of it. Well, no. What I want is a nap. Especially since I already know who got sent home. On the other hand, Steven Tyler is finally just a regular transvestite now. Just your garden-variety crossdresser. He’s not shrouding it in mystery like before: He stands proud. A proud, crossdressing pirate. A proud, illiterate, crossdressing, solipsistic, technically retarded pirate.
Ryan’s hair is viciously parted. He looks like the sweetest and secretly scariest member of a Young Republican Bloodsport Fight Club. It’s hot. J. Lo is dressed as a Coke logo, which is almost too many thoughts at once, and out in the crowd somebody’s got a poster that says, and I am not s******* you, MARRY ME RANDY! If you ever wondered who those ladies are that write to the serial killers and/or want to marry them in prison, well, I still can’t explain those assholes but I can tell you that they are cooler than at least one person.
Ryan thinks tonight will be hard. I’m sure that it will be, for some of us. For others of us, who actually had shit to do on Thursday night and thus weren’t slavering at the screen live as it happened, it won’t be so hard, because there is zero suspense. It will be an empty exercise, but it won’t be particularly painful. Just stupid. And we were already doing just fine with how stupid this show is.