Dear American Idol,
I have watched you for almost seven long years now. I have dealt with the ridicule of fellow friends my age. I have dealt with having to hear how much everyone just LOVES Clay Aiken. I have dealt with with Taylor "I'm You're Dad" Hicks winning over Katharine McPhee. I have dealt with haters talking ish about Kelly Clarkson. I have dealt with the moronic fans of the people I actually like (re:Carrie Underwood and Kelly Clarkson).
But, let's get something straight here between you and I, Idol. I understand that you gave me Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood to obsess over. I appreciate the stunning voices and flowing golden locks (mainly from C. Unds)...also cowboys hats. I know you also gave me Katharine McPhee to watch and grow as a person. And by grow as a person I mean become hotter each and every single week, but not speaking words. You made me question my sexuality and I WENT WITH IT. I blushed as Carrie Underwood arrived on the Sin Wagon and Katharine McPhee humped the ground and had wardrobe malfunctions. I thank you for that. I thanked you for that for days upon end with sacrifices to the lesbian gods (Ilene Chaiken and Betty).
I still weep when I see these moments or think about them. Here's the issue. Idol, you tend to disappoint me sometimes. And by that I mean always. You gave us Kelly Clarkson, but then ruined her life. (Thanks 19 Management. But not Ann Edelblute. Holla!) You produced Clay Aiken and Ruben Stuttard (IN ONE YEAR!). You gave us Fantasia, who couldn't even read. The Brittnum twins whose spirits had been brok-uhn, also shattered my soul. Why is Paula Abdul still a judge? Whose her drug dealer? Give me their number. Remember Lisa Tucker and how she sang Kelly Clarkson and thus ruined her life? She screwed over all sixteen years olds (Paris, ...uh Paris?) after that, minus Jordin Sparks, but still her. Selling twelve CDs (Taylor Hicks, Jordin Sparks, ...Constantine?) does not make you successful, obvs. Also, can we talk about Constantine and Corey Clark being the fucking creepiest people in all of history?
Um and let's not forget the mess of life that is Jessica Sierra. (Please catch her on Celeb Rehab on VH1. It's gold.) Thank god for pregnant crack whores everywhere. They have an idol to look up to.
I'm willing to try and overlook these faults if you do me a favor. Fuck all the dumb ass auditions. Fuck all the ugly people who can sing. Give me hot bitches. I mean, honestly, who takes you seriously anymore anyways? Just let me be shallow. Give ME a reason to tune in every week. Give me low cut dresses and no morals. Show me knee high boots and wild, curly sex hair. Give me bitches who don't talk, just look hot. Give me two girls "innocently" flirting, but actually make out backstage. Give me lesbians with flowing locks and who flaunt skin to get votes. Give me someone who will work to make me vote (less clothing, more cleavage). Give me Katharine McPhee before she spoke and had a fifty year old gay man fiance. Give me girls without eating disorders (just one). Give me hot bitches who just don't give a fuck. Give me something to make me believe in you again.
Give me a reason to be shallow again.
I know some parts of this letter may have been harsh, but you have to know it comes from a loving place. I want to believe in you again. I want to be excited that it's Tuesday night. I want to laugh at Ryan's corny jokes and fat Randy. I want ghetto stages and Justin Guarini. Make me love you again. It can be done.
I hope you take into consideration everything I've said.
From the bottom of my heart,
Jess, the littlest lesbian.
I have watched you for almost seven long years now. I have dealt with the ridicule of fellow friends my age. I have dealt with having to hear how much everyone just LOVES Clay Aiken. I have dealt with with Taylor "I'm You're Dad" Hicks winning over Katharine McPhee. I have dealt with haters talking ish about Kelly Clarkson. I have dealt with the moronic fans of the people I actually like (re:Carrie Underwood and Kelly Clarkson).
But, let's get something straight here between you and I, Idol. I understand that you gave me Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood to obsess over. I appreciate the stunning voices and flowing golden locks (mainly from C. Unds)...also cowboys hats. I know you also gave me Katharine McPhee to watch and grow as a person. And by grow as a person I mean become hotter each and every single week, but not speaking words. You made me question my sexuality and I WENT WITH IT. I blushed as Carrie Underwood arrived on the Sin Wagon and Katharine McPhee humped the ground and had wardrobe malfunctions. I thank you for that. I thanked you for that for days upon end with sacrifices to the lesbian gods (Ilene Chaiken and Betty).
I still weep when I see these moments or think about them. Here's the issue. Idol, you tend to disappoint me sometimes. And by that I mean always. You gave us Kelly Clarkson, but then ruined her life. (Thanks 19 Management. But not Ann Edelblute. Holla!) You produced Clay Aiken and Ruben Stuttard (IN ONE YEAR!). You gave us Fantasia, who couldn't even read. The Brittnum twins whose spirits had been brok-uhn, also shattered my soul. Why is Paula Abdul still a judge? Whose her drug dealer? Give me their number. Remember Lisa Tucker and how she sang Kelly Clarkson and thus ruined her life? She screwed over all sixteen years olds (Paris, ...uh Paris?) after that, minus Jordin Sparks, but still her. Selling twelve CDs (Taylor Hicks, Jordin Sparks, ...Constantine?) does not make you successful, obvs. Also, can we talk about Constantine and Corey Clark being the fucking creepiest people in all of history?
Um and let's not forget the mess of life that is Jessica Sierra. (Please catch her on Celeb Rehab on VH1. It's gold.) Thank god for pregnant crack whores everywhere. They have an idol to look up to.
I'm willing to try and overlook these faults if you do me a favor. Fuck all the dumb ass auditions. Fuck all the ugly people who can sing. Give me hot bitches. I mean, honestly, who takes you seriously anymore anyways? Just let me be shallow. Give ME a reason to tune in every week. Give me low cut dresses and no morals. Show me knee high boots and wild, curly sex hair. Give me bitches who don't talk, just look hot. Give me two girls "innocently" flirting, but actually make out backstage. Give me lesbians with flowing locks and who flaunt skin to get votes. Give me someone who will work to make me vote (less clothing, more cleavage). Give me Katharine McPhee before she spoke and had a fifty year old gay man fiance. Give me girls without eating disorders (just one). Give me hot bitches who just don't give a fuck. Give me something to make me believe in you again.
Give me a reason to be shallow again.
I know some parts of this letter may have been harsh, but you have to know it comes from a loving place. I want to believe in you again. I want to be excited that it's Tuesday night. I want to laugh at Ryan's corny jokes and fat Randy. I want ghetto stages and Justin Guarini. Make me love you again. It can be done.
I hope you take into consideration everything I've said.
From the bottom of my heart,
Jess, the littlest lesbian.
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