In a completely unsurprising turn of events, last night Hollie Cavanagh was shipped back to Wee Britain or wherever she was from, setting the stage for an all-growling, grunting and wailing American Idol Top 3.
In another completely unsurprising turn of events, J.Lo's much-ballyhooed performance was utterly hilarious. I don't know how the woman can sit in judgment of singers, then go on stage and lip-sync and/or semi-sing to an Auto-Tuned backing track. Apparently, her balls are as big as her butt.
I think the only thing I'd give a thumbs-up to from last night's results show is David Cook's performance. I dug his new song. The guy isn't making world-changing music or anything, but I tend to generally enjoy his brand of melodic arena rock. It helps that he doesn't have the douche factor of, say, Daughtry.
On to next week, where the judges' Chosen Ones will have to battle it out with the seemingly unstoppable (by anything other than kidney stones) fan favorite.
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I am a winsome muse who was sent to Earth to inspire an artist to turn a vacant building into the world's coolest disco roller rink. We fell in love along the way, and I foolishly gave up my immortality. When the disco craze ended and all the roller rinks were shut down, that lazy bum wouldn't get a job. We broke up and I was stuck on Earth with nothing to do and no one to inspire. So, now I write a blog.