I know that this is what the UNIVERSE is talking about today but by the time I had been at work for ten minutes this morning, the AI chat had already started. And of course, everyone knew Taylor, the guy who looks like he is 47, would win.
In previous years, I will admit (and I blame you, Spliffany), I have been enthralled. Tuesday nights always went the same way.
1. Get home from work.
2. Pop open a bottle of something.
3. Put pajamas on.
4. Plant our happy asses in front of the television.
5. Watch and then vote like madwomen. (Always for someone that you, America, didn’t like. You guys are bastards.)
But this season, it seems the show has lost its luster for me. I can’t tell whether it is the lack of Spliff and a bottle of something or if I am just bored of it. I’ve lost a guilty pleasure. It’s a day of mourning. It’s funny about that show though, because after they win, I disown them because their music will inevitably suck and I will inevitably want to scratch my eyes out at the sight of any of them.
Either way, as it turns out, our new Idol looks like he could be my father (and I think he is about the same age as me). And undoubtedly, his single will be horrible and by tomorrow at this time, I will hate him. Funny how that works. At least the show is over. Now I can come into work and not have anything to say to anyone again. Just as it should be.