So, anyway, the spitting thing has returned, season 8 of American Idol started last night, ergo…you probably can figure out the rest of the story. Yes. Gary and I watch American Idol. Just ‘cuz. Actually, I enjoy any show where there is some form of talent selection, no matter how warped. Call it my inner talent management geek.
It started as cute and funny when Remy raspberried his way through the obligatory non-talented clueless types, but got to be a little too much when I wanted to hear someone actually sing. He didn’t even like the chick in the bikini and platform high heels whose desperate ploy for attention won her a golden ticket to Hollywood and an enemy in the new judge Kara whatever her name is. Remster was positively racous. Where’s his mute button? Aha. Insert pacifier.