Leper Pop Contest of the Day!

Note: this contest is over. Read below for amusement purposes only.

We all want to win a brand spanking new Leper Pop t-shirt, don't we? Well, pretend that you do.

To enter our fabulous contest, examine the picture above for a while. Try not to puke. Then, in your best English, write a story about the picture and email it to leperpop@yahoo.com. Be as short or as long winded as you feel necessary. The important thing is that our television is broken, and we need entertainment.

The best story submitted, as judged by Sid F'er, Moist Rub and Captain Break-It, will win a brand spanking new Leper Pop t-shirt**, as made famous by Marty Casey of Marty Casey and the Lovehammers.



(Don't write about Marty unless you incorporate him into the story that goes along with the picture at the top of this post. Who knows, he may have been the patient right before this one.)

We reserve the right to post any story sent to us. If it's really good, we may even claim it as our own. However, we won't post your name unless you say it's cool to do so. If not, we'll make up a name for you, like Flippa Carover.

Contest deadline: sometime later in the future, or when we get tired of reading the millions of entries.

Be sure to read the other rules from our lawyers in the fine print below.











Lawyers suck










** We have a limited number of sizes. We'll try to give you one that fits, but you may have to either lose some weight or start lifting weights to fit into it.

Marty Casey & Lovehammers - CD Review by Moist Rub

Many of the reviews for the Marty Casey and Lovehammers cd were published shortly after the cd was released. I question the validity and the effort behind those reviews. It seems to me one must listen to a cd over and over and over and over, reflecting upon it in various moods, pretending it is the soundtrack to one’s life movie and imagining how it would change the plot, and inventing unique dance moves to the songs to get a true sense of the episode the band has provided to music history. Unlike those other hacks, I took my sweet time experiencing this cd, so I could provide a review that is engrained in my soul, rather than offering a translucent first impression overview of the material.

I don’t find first impressions, in general, very reliable. I usually make an indistinct first impression on people – horrible impressions at times. I find that this technique weeds out the contemptible folk that aren’t worth knowing me, and it also explains why I have only two friends. Accordingly, I don’t judge people or art or news or zoo animals or restaurants or hardcore facts based on fleeting first impressions. I’ll give them four or five subsequent impressions to prove their quality (about a hundred if they’re hot and/or rich). If I had reviewed the cd on the day it was released, when I had just eaten a rhubarb pie, I would have given it a horrible review since rhubarb makes my ears wilt, and I may have attributed that to the quality of this cd. As it turns out, wilted ears actually makes boy bands sound like zither orchestras. That knowledge may be useful to you someday.

Because most of the songs on this cd were available in prior recordings by the band, my first impression of was, “What the hell is this crap, I already know all these songs!” In fact, that is the review I submitted to Spin magazine. They sent it back to me smeared with used kitty litter (and I think it was used by something bigger than a house cat). Honestly, it did take me about a week of listening to the cd just to accept the changes they made to the old versions of the songs. I rejected them at first, just like my body rejected the butt cheek transplant I tried performing on myself, except this was not as painful or as bloody, nor did it affect my ability to sit on a toilet. Contrarily, listening to this cd makes sitting on the toilet very enjoyable. The acoustics are magnificent in there. I’ve never been so regular my whole life. Once I was able to overcome my preconceptions of these songs that were programmed into my brain, which involved some self-inflicted amnesia techniques, I was able to listen to them with a clear and bruised head.

Marty Casey and Lovehammers serves us, the gentle rockers, a sampler platter of what they’ve been about all these years while most of the country mistakenly ignored them, thanks to the weasel record companies not knowing what the public likes because they are too worried about selling acetonic apparitions rather than good music. Listening to this cd is like sampling a banquet hall’s entrees and appetizers when deciding where to have a wedding reception. I find this sampling exquisitely acceptable, garcon. I, Moist Rub, take thee, Lovehammers, to be my unlawfully amplified rock band, in sobriety and in drunk, for head banger, for ballad, for main set and for encore, in a club or in a concert hall, to rock and to roll until death do us part, at which time we will rock with Jimi and Janis and Duane and Bon and Randy and Bonzo and Elvis and Kurt and the rest.

Others have tried to categorize the Lovehammers as Neo-Grunge or some vapid term like that. That may be true, since I have no idea what Neo-Grunge means. Well, I understand that “neo” means “new” which would indicate that those people believe that the Lovehammers music is a new kind of Grunge, along with Nickelback and Puddle of Mud and others (from what I’ve read). But what does THAT mean? I don’t think they know, otherwise they would have coined a new term or applied an existing one instead of modifying an old one. The big difference I can tell is that, where Grunge was serious, despondent, reactionary and pessimistic, the Lovehammers remind us that rock and roll can be fun, while encompassing a larger range of emotions than Grunge did not do. Although, I enjoyed Grunge (and still do), it pissed me off that I was pissed off all the time. And that pissed me off. I thought I was pissed off during the nineties because my kids were babies, and I had no idea how to handle them. I still don’t know how to handle them, but I don’t let it bother me anymore, because I’ve grown emotionally, thanks, in part, to the Lovehammers. As it turns out, it was Grunge all along telling me to be pissed off. Angst can be a great diversion sometimes, especially when life is all rainbows and lollypops (and who wants that - certainly not Eddie Vedder). Eventually, you have to hop off the drudgery train and lick some roses. The Lovehammers use angst as a sauce, instead of a meat like Grunge did. Given this information, I guess Neo-Grunge means Grunge on Prozac, or maybe Rock Con Grunge Sauce. I think it was Dave Groehl who told Grunge to lighten up.

If any song on the cd is neo-grungish, it would be Casualty, the only new song. Initially, I thought it was a Nickelback cover, and I didn’t like it. After listening to it fifty-six times or so, I began to feel the Lovehammer vibe resonate to the surface. It may have been influenced by Nickelback, but Marty’s voice brings it to a different plane. This song has inspired me to make a difference in this world. From now on, I vow not to cut down any more rain forests, unless, of course, they hinder my real estate development projects.

The only other song that may fit into this nebulous neo-grunge category would be Clinic. Here is an example where mood comes into my review. Sometimes, I don’t want to listen to this song, because I may be feeling melancholy and vulnerable, like after a trip to the gynecologist. It hurts my feelings when they kick me out of there. On those days, this song scares me, especially Marty’s disturbed voicing of “coma”. Oooooh, somebody hold me. Other days, like when I just finished mowing the lawn and have inadvertently decapitated six bunnies with the mower, I want to crank up this song. Had I limited my review to my experience on gynecology day, I would not have given Clinic a second chance.

Call of Distress may have fit into the Neo-Grunge category if they had not modified it from its original recording. They “popped” it up, and I like it better that way. The song is about a suicide, which is a bad vibe. But the arrangement implies hope, or at least acceptance and contentment. Why does suicide have to be such a sad event? The Lovehammers tell us it doesn’t. This dichotomy works. If you’re going to bring everybody down by killing yourself, you may as well accompany it with some upbeat music. I especially like the emulation of sirens at the bridge. Everybody likes sirens.

The rest of the cd departs from this fascist neo-grunge label. It is chock full of variety, all within the rock realm, touching different parts of my brain. Songs like Hold On and The Riddle and Trees are up beat with important messages about love and life and loving life and living love and living to love and loving to live. Speaking of Trees, this song was inspired by Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit, when he climbed the trees in Mirkwood to give the dwarves a sense of where they were in the forest. He was then molested by butterflies. If that’s not an allegory for finding one’s soul mate and fighting for him/her, I don’t know what is. The Tunnel and Eyes Can’t See crank it up a little to remind us that sometimes you need to knock down some walls with a driving guitar and pounding rhythm section to figure out what the hell is going on in life. Then they tender it up with Rain on the Brain and Clouds to give us a break to reflect on the important things in life, like irritating precipitation inside the skull and metaphorical free falling. What makes Lovehammers’ mellow songs stand up is that they are not pussified. They have substance and are not merely wishy-washy, empty lamentations of passion in an insipid attempt to get flood gates flowing. They have guts, and I respect that. I’m sure the record company encouraged them to pussify those songs. That is what happened to REO Speedwagon and Journey. They used to rock in the seventies until they discovered eunuch love songs sell, and they gave us crap like Can’t Fight This Feeling and Open Arms (sorry, Karen). That’s when their careers peaked and the record companies rejoiced. That’s also when I left their work at the record store.

And then there's Maude, I mean, Straight as an Arrow - the best song on the cd. Simply put, this song is an ass kicker. The phallic implications of this song are obvious. You can read about them in entirety in my next book, Oedipus Lovehammer. My favorite line is “kiss is like a handshake”, which is a blatant reference to the human male’s attitude that sex means nothing. Add to that the line “What about me, so what, so what” and we learn how the Lovehammers feel about the women they’ve known who questioned their own lack of orgasms with the Lovehammers responding accordingly, “so what”. Not all of us men feel that way, ladies. Some of us would love to help you out with your orgasms, but I really don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to that, and frankly, I’m a little tired.

The cd successfully conveys how versatile the Lovehammers are. Sure, there are songs missing I had hoped they would include. But, like the tortuous water slide that is one of their shows, the cd provides the same emotional and rockin’ contortions. Having said that, there is one point of contention I must bring up. I understand that Epic tried to get LH to dumb down some songs to make them more pop friendly. I don’t mind that. Even with Epic’s influence, the Lovehammers were able to rock through unscathed. I’ve come to accept both versions of each duplicated song, and enjoy them both. But, the producers went over the line in one particular manipulation on Hold On, which didn’t destroy the song, luckily. They employed a pitch corrector to modify Marty’s voice in the first verse, when repeating “in one year”. For those of you not familiar with the pitch corrector, it is that effect Cher used in Life after Love, or whatever that horrible song was called, where it makes the voice sound computerized if employed to a maximum level. This effect was quite popular a few years ago. Cher’s producers were pretty liberal with the use of the pitch corrector, probably since they were already using it to fix her voice, in general. It is a cheap, boneheaded, parlor trick used by Epic to attract the lowest common denominators who wallow in pop fizz. I doubt that one instance of it is enough to attract the attention of pop radio lemmings, so why use it at all?

Marty Casey and Lovehammers cd cranks, consoles, inspires, caresses, harasses, cajoles, pokes, provokes, soothes and, most importantly, rocks. It is this flexibility that should allow the Lovehammers to remain in the public ear for years to come, while successfully overcoming the delusive Neo-Grunge label that has been impaled upon them. I don’t know if they’ll be able to achieve a unique term for their music, but what is wrong with plain old rock ‘n roll? I do know that in my own life’s movie, this cd has changed the plot dramatically. OK, not dramatically. OK, not at all, but it has given it a fabulous new soundtrack to aggrandize my major life events, like when I turn over my couch cushions to redecorate my living room. Look for that in a theater near you.

Lovehammers at Joe's, Feb 2, 2006. Recap by Moist Rub

I spent most of my workday the other Thursday checking my personal email box for a message from StivOO with the hopes of reading something like, “We’re blowing off Improv class tonight, I got us tickets to the show.” These were pretty high hopes, as StivOO has never been known to blow off his responsibilities. In college, he had the ability to attend class, actually do AND hand in his homework and study on his way to straight A’s, all the while being shitfaced with the best of them. The “best of them” being me, Sid and Captain Break-it, among others. I, on the other hand, had a reputation of being somewhat of a slacker. Classes, for me, were just somewhere to go to find some peace and quiet to work off a hangover. I wasn’t able to achieve the academic/drunken Karma that StivOO was able to do. The chances of him actually sending me a “blow off” email were slim, but since I was busy blowing off work, I had nothing better to do than check my email frequently.

The email never came, so I loaded up my shrunken Bill Murray head and made my way to class. Class proceeded as usual, but I could tell by the way StivOO spent the first half of it trying to figure out how to use his wife’s cell phone that he was a bit distracted. Eventually, after he had asked everybody in class what they thought his wife’s favorite color is and what bra size she wears (nobody in the class knows her), he figured out her voice mail password. There was a message from his brother that he had dropped off some Lovehammers tickets for us at the Second City front desk. Reminiscent of Dewey Finn at the end of his first day of substitute teaching in School of Rock, StivOO bolted out of Improv class as if the bell had just rung, telling us all he’d see us on the flip flop. I grabbed his coat and mine and politely excused myself to our instructor. She told me to get the hell out of there.

Joe’s is a mere two-minute cab ride down the street from The Second City, so we were able to get there in time to miss the first four songs.

The Lovehammers are notorious for starting out slow and boring, so we didn’t miss much. That is a lie, of course. I’m just trying to make myself feel better about it. Luckily, we got there in time to see the Lovehammers do their 90-minute xylophonic Peter, Paul and Mary medley. I fear that with their newfound fame, they may never perform it again. At the same time, I feel lucky to have seen it one last time.

Not surprisingly, the Lovehammers rocked the snot out of that place. StivOO and I had to stand in the back, because the place was packed to the rafters. And because every time we tried moving up, the mean Hammerheads pushed us down and kicked us in the head. As a favor to me, Marty talked the band into playing I'm Only Happy When It Rains by Garbage. Either that or he saw me standing in the back sweating my bag off and, from the looks of me, he thought it was raining outside which reminded him that they knew that song. (It was a little hot

inside Joe’s, and I’m an old lard ass.) For me, that was the highlight of the show, since that is my favorite cover they perform. They also played Here Comes the Rain Again, Rain (by Dragon), The Rain Song, Fool in the Rain, Purple Rain, A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall, Fire and Rain, Have You Ever Seen the Rain, Rainy Days and Mondays, Love Reign O’er Me, Rain Rain Go Away, Singing in the Rain, Rain It Black and Big Booty Hoes by Notorious B.I.G. It was a fabulous “rain” set.

They also played their standard songs off the new album, but let loose a little bit, since they were at Joe’s instead of warming up OBINXS fans and JDidiots. As expected, Marty took a tour of the ceiling to get a better view of the crowd. He baptized a few of us with his sweat as he hung by his legs from the rafters. Those people who received the sacrament were granted a continuous loop of the song Trees playing in their head until the day they die. And those standing next to those people received a voucher for a free crotch rub from one of the roadies.

As the main set diminished, StivOO suggested we try to get into the VIP section for the encore. The bouncer had other ideas. For some reason, he did not believe StivOO was the brother of the lead singer, so he pushed StivOO down the stairs. Even with the confirmation from Brandon, Jessica Robinson’s (from RockStar:INXS) husband, who was exiting when we were attempting to enter, he could not get in. So the bouncer pushed him down the stairs, again. He suggested StivOO check at the front counter to see if he was on “the list”. The bouncer looked at me and said, “Good evening, Mr. Rub,” and he let me in after I agreed to have dinner with him and his family next Sunday. We’re having a rib roast.

StivOO made his way to the front counter only to find that his name was nowhere near “the list”. Note to my brothers: if you ever become rock stars, put my damn name on any list for any show you do anywhere, just in case I show up. With Brandon’s help, and after spending about thirty minutes in Joe’s special pillow room with the bar manager, StivOO was given access to the VIP section. His hair was a little messed up and his glasses were crooked.

I waited for StivOO with the bouncer. He wanted to hear all about the magic of blogging. When we got upstairs, StivOO bee-lined to Jessica, who seemed genuinely happy to see him. And why wouldn’t she, he’s a great guy. It’s not his fault his rock star brother doesn’t want him at his shows. After standing there like a dumbshit watching StivOO and Jessica talk for about ten minutes, without StivOO introducing me (I think he thought the pillow room was my fault), I introduced myself to Jessica. She was very gracious and friendly. And she is much cuter in person than she is on that nasty television. She touched my left boob. We talked for a good twenty minutes. StivOO and I gave Jessica and Brandon parenting advice, although Jessica is not quite ready for a family. Brandon is, or maybe he’s just horny. Or both. Jessica made me promise that I’ll come out to one of her band’s shows (Covergurl). She agreed to send a limo for me. I agreed to pretend like we never met and to bring some young people with me, because potential record companies don’t like seeing codgers at their shows unless they’re dads of the real fans. That seems fair.

The Lovehammers finally finished up and made their way to their special room in the VIP section. Bobby tweaked my nipple. Yes, my left nipple, on the same boob Jessica touched. It was quite a night for my left breast. I haven’t washed it since (or prior to then, for that matter). StivOO scolded Bob for starting on time and causing us to miss the first four songs. In the past, the Lovehammers always started late. Bob claimed that they are no longer in charge and have to do what they’re told. So, I told him to get me a beer. I’m still waiting for it.

Marty turned invisible and slipped by us into the magic room. He never came out. Fearing that he was dead, and it probably was our fault, we returned to the main floor and tormented ourselves with the braying, heinous rap music that was playing loudly throughout Joe’s, while we talked to our friends Karen and Lisa. They eventually got bored with us and started doing that, “Okayyyyyy, it was nice to see you….” stuff, but I hadn’t yet finished my story of my recent pancreatic discomfort, and StivOO had just started spinning things on his elbow. They went to buy us beers and never came back.

Upon leaving, we met up with StivOO’s eldest brother, John, who was outside parking cars. He instructed us to go around the back to the tour bus and talk with Marty. Since he’s the oldest brother, we had to do what he said, even though we really wanted to go grab some soup.

As we approached the bus, we saw Marty surrounded by a few well wishers. Before we could interfere with his fans, StivOO’s aunt and cousin intercepted us. I stood there and watched them talk for a while. And then it happened. Out of the blue, who do you think grabbed my attention? That’s right, Heather Locklear, Pamela Anderson and Brooke Burke. They smothered me with kisses and hugs and apologies (just from Brooke for the way she had her bodyguards mutilate me out in LA). As it turns out, they can actually read and are big fans of Leper Pop. As they were rubbing parts of themselves on me, I could hear the faint sound of somebody say, “I’m one of the Snark girls” to StivOO’s aunt. I heard sounds of angelic horns as a white light blinded me. I threw the three hussies to the ground and slicked back my hair with some of their spit I scraped from my face. I approached the young woman that made the remark. I said, “Pleased to meet me, I am Moist Rub,” as I extended my hand. Then the girl screamed, “BLASPHEMER!” and jabbed me in the gut with her crutch and cracked me on the head with her elbow. After I showed her my ID, fingerprints and credit card, she believed me. So, we restarted the introduction, which was accompanied by screams of joy and hugs abound. That young lady was none other than Fabiansparkle. She now holds my Moist Rub introductory cherry, as I had never introduced myself as Moist Rub to anybody before. It was strange referring to myself by that name. But she hugged me and made me feel safe.

Fabiansparkle had a few Snark friends with her, and we had a very nice conversation as she showed me some pictures of her with INXS back in the eighties. I never realized Tim Farriss had such hair issues back then. Maybe it was because I was preoccupied measuring my own mullet at the time. Don’t worry, Fabian, I won’t bring up those huge eighties glasses and that chromatic threatening long sweater you were wearing in that one picture.

I learned something very important in my brief encounter with the Snark Girls. Something that will help remind me that, no matter how crazy and horrible the world can be at times, life is all good. And that is because Snark Girls like to rock and are cool, fun chicks. It’s one of those experiences I wish I could share with everybody I know, and I hope my loved ones can have the same opportunity someday.

Like I said, we had a nice, heart-felt chat, albeit shorter than expected. As we shared our thoughts, hopes and dreams, StivOO and I were accosted by a brazen hand on each of our shoulders, as we heard a rock star voice singing, “Alan, what has happened to Alan…”. It was Marty, of course. This is how StivOO and I had instructed Marty to approach us in public – singing our hit single, Alan. One time, at Cannes, he failed to do so while we were swapping gravy recipes with Roger Ebert. Marty is still ruing that day. He is a smart boy and has learned from that mistake.

I let Marty catch up with StivOO while I went back to being dazzled by the Snark girls. Before too long, Marty demanded, “Let’s go on the bus”. So, StivOO and I went on the bus. Although, I wouldn’t jump off a cliff if Marty told me to, or play chicken with him, I will accept his invitation to go on a tour bus. I excused myself from the lovely and boobalicious Snark girls, dreaming of the day we can meet again, and I got on the bus.

The tour bus was more than I imagined it ever could be. As I walked up the stairs, I could hear the sweet sounds of Christopher Cross playing at a conservative level in the background. I was met by a group of rock and roll enthusiasts, including Jessica and her husband, who were sitting around on the bus having a civilized discussion about education fiscal issues. They welcomed StivOO and me into their conversation. Marty disappeared into the back of the bus. While we waited for his return, we enjoyed some lemonade and fresh baked cookies made by one of the roadies. Before too long, Marty returned shouting, “It’s Parcheesi time!” After our third game, of which I won one, and took second in another, I was pretty wiped out. I can’t imagine how those boys can manage this kind of partying every night. Marty pleaded with me to stay for the rest of the Parcheesi tournament. I declined. The entire group understood and sang For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow to me. I bowed to them all and exited the bus.

What a night. I chose to walk back to The Second City to pick up my car, instead of taking a cab. It was more like drifting in a dream than walking, as I reflected on the events of that night. As if brought about by the Lovehammers’ “rain” set, it began to drizzle, and I felt reborn as I floated to my car nestled safely in the parking garage. Those Lovehammers. What a show. What a group of Snark girls. What a bus. What a challenging Parcheesi match. What a crock of shit, fourteen dollars for parking!?!?! Reverie time is over, back to life in the real world.

Marty Casey: A Night Out

Through no fault of our own, most of us will never be able to spend an evening with a blossoming rock star and experience that kind of life. I guess I’m one of the lucky ones, because I was graced with the opportunity to hang out with Marty Casey, Rock God-In-Waiting. For all you little people who will never get a chance to flip the rid with the skid, I will share with you my experience so that you can all be jealous. If you choose to be the jealous type, that is.

Last Friday night was a typical weekend night for me. After I delivered meals to the elderly and helped the local homeless shelter clean their ovens, I went home to chill out with a relaxing evening of laundry. Lo and behold (yes, not just lo, nor just behold - both of them), the phone rang, which surprised me since most people that I know are aware of my Friday night schedule and are polite enough not to interrupt. I answered the phone. The voice at the other end of the line said, "Hey, Moist, it’s Marty. What’s going on, mutha f***a?" Oh good, I thought, my car must be ready at the shop. "Oh good, Marty," I said "I was afraid my car wouldn’t be ready until Monday." I had mistaken Marty Casey for Marty Trunbun at the body shop. Fortunately, although confused at first, Marty Casey understood the confusion and had a hardy laugh about it. Those Caseys are such good people. Not "good" in an arrogant manner that they make you feel crappy about yourself and how horrible your family is, but just solid good people that make you feel a lot better about yourself, no matter how many times you have been arrested or have wet yourself in public.

"Moist, old boy," he went on to say, "if you’re not busy tonight, I’m looking to party down." Of course, I accepted his invitation. Marty was back in town from his LA recording sessions to attend a family event on Saturday evening. I was curious why he was calling me. Sure, Marty and I are pals, but there are plenty of other people in the Chicagoland area that are closer to him than I am. Initially, he told me he missed hanging out with me at the establishments in my neighborhood (his youthful stomping grounds). But, I knew he was not being forthright with me. After a little friendly pressure, he admitted that I was the one thousand, four hundred and thirty-sixth person he called. The others were all busy trying on shoes. Hey, at least I made the list of a soon to be people’s rock poet. So, I invited him over.

Thirty seconds later, there was a knock at my door. He had been standing at the end of my driveway in the rain, having called me from his cell phone. It was good to see the young comer, and we shared a firm hand shake fully equipped with arm grasp. I was not quite yet prepared to head out for the evening, seeing as I had homeless oven crud incrusted all over me. I gave him full access to my refrigerator, which was stocked with beer and other beer and some other beer, while I excused myself to tend to my sootiness.

When I emerged from my scouring, I found Marty sitting on my couch strumming my guitar. I also found the kitchen was strewn with milk shake shrapnel. "Hey, dude, I helped myself to a milk shake," he explained. "Hey, where’s the lid to your blender?" I thought he would imbibe in one of the many brews I had chilling. Maybe he likes milk shakes. Maybe it runs in the family. You know - drinking milk shakes when you should be drinking beer? I think there is a gene for that.

Marty asked me to listen to him play some of the songs The Lovehammers had been working on in the studio, and he asked me to offer any help I could manage. I was more than happy to do so. I wasn’t just happy. I was more than that. Imagine "happy" and then add "more happy" onto that, and that is what I was. More than happy.

First, he played Trees. It is a good song, but frankly, I’m tired of it. I suggested we turn it into more of a blues boogie anthem. My plan was to keep the beginning and the end the same, but add a huge middle section beginning with the I7 and IV7 chords that would use condensed patterns derived from the E and A Dorian modes, adding a walking bass line of this ilk that is derived from the Mixolydian mode, featuring major 3rds as opposed to bluesy flat 3rds. He was intrigued. Being on a roll, I continued. Next, we would employ a jazzy 9th voicing (with the flat 7th on the bottom - how could we not, right?) and then move into an adequate, yet common, A9 cord for the IV chord, close-voiced A7 on the same four strings (obvious, I know, but it works so don’t mess with it). Then we would bring it home by descending, with confidence, down the root position of the relative C# minor scale to the root position of the E blues scale before implying the B7-C7-B7-E7-B7 progression. Using compound octaves derived from the E major scale (with C, the flat 6th, as a passing tone between C# and B, and G, the flat 3rd, as a passing tone between G# and F#) to scamper down to the IV chord. And the forest gave us the answer. It was beautiful. I decided to toast our effort with a beer. Marty partook, as well. Marty felt that there was no way they would keep this new anthem version of Trees off the album. If it’s not there when you by the CD, blame the record company weasels. That's what he said. Pop radio needs a fifteen minute super-hit, and we all know it.

That process took a while. We were only able to work on their next hit single, Leper Pop, for a little bit before Marty got tuckered out. Marty ensured me that Leper Pop will definitely be on the new cd, and I will receive royalties for it (sneak peak: "Going to a shop with my mop, dookle dookle toodle, Leper POP!"). I suggested we head out to the Roadhouse, where the Lovehammers had their first public gig, to celebrate. But he had a better idea. From out of nowhere, Marty produced the DVD set of the Gilmore Girls second season. I’ll admit, it wasn’t a better idea, but he was my guest, so I loaded up the DVD player. This is when I began drinking heavily. While I poured myself a Big Gulp of Jack ‘n Coke, Marty inquired as to the whereabouts of my family photo albums.

We sat on my couch, Gilmore girls having orgies and shooting guns* in the background, while Marty perused pictures of my children. "Hey, remember that?" he would say, pointing at a given picture. "Marty, you weren’t there," I would vainly retort. "Yeah, those were good times. Good times," he faux-reminisced.

By the end of third episode of Gilmore Girls, I had finished my fourth Jack ‘n Coke, depleting my supply of Jack Daniels. The clock gave me the good news that liquor stores were still open. I told Marty I had to step out to fix a flat tire. He was engrossed in the Gilmore mess: Rory had brought up the subject of Max, which irritated Lorelai, so they decided to scream at each other and have lesbian sex*.

I returned from the liquor store, fully loaded in more ways than one, to the sight of Marty folding my laundry, which happened to be a load of grundies. I told him I don’t fold my grundies, since it doesn’t matter if they are wrinkled because most people don’t see them. He expressed his belief of only allowing rippleless cloth to provide comfort to, as he called it, one’s monument and proximal reflecting pool region. I was drunk, and I still didn’t know what he was talking about.

"Look, Marty," I pleaded, "if we leave now, we can catch last call at the Roadhouse and finish out the night at the Valley, just like old times."

"Got any S’mores?"

I learned a valuable lesson that night. Marshmallows and a fifth of Jack Daniels do not mix well. Marty was kind enough to clean up the fruits of my gastric distress. Better yet, that experience soured his yen for the girls Gilmore. Finally, he agreed to go to the Valley to cap off our evening. I asked him to drive, since I was feeling less than chipper. He had no car. His RockStar Honda Civic was parked in Los Angeles. Since my car was in the shop, we had no ride. Even if we did have my car, he could not ride in it. He told me he could only drive in a Honda Civic. I inferred that there was a contractual reason forbidding him from traveling in a different kind of car, since he won the car as part of a Honda promotion with RockStar:INXS. "No," he said, "Rock Stars only roll in Civics." Right, I forgot.

We walked around my neighborhood until we found a Civic parked in a driveway. I asked him if he knew how to hot wire a car. Before I finished my question he had opened the door and started the engine with a key. "Where did you get that?" I asked. "It’s the key to MY Civic," he claimed. "But, that’s not the key to this Civic," I argued. "Rock Star key." Say no more.

The Valley was chock full of drunk people that weren’t quite drunk enough for their pleasure. There were two seats open at the bar. I nabbed them. Marty never made it to the bar. Fans swarmed him at the door like billiard balls to the corner pocket of a slanted pool table. But a lot faster, and with softer collisions, except for three or four unfortunate skulls. Kathy, the bartender, served up my Jack ‘n Coke as a matter of habit. "Does Marty need anything," she asked. "Do I have any regurgitated marshmallow on my face?" I replied.

After about twenty minutes, a young female Marty admirer, who had witnessed me enter the room with him, abandoned the swarm and approached me. "You look kind of old, are you Marty’s accountant?" Yes, honey, I am. If that’ll make you happy. I wasn’t new to this experience. About seven years ago, Sid F’er, StivOO, Captain Break-it and I attended a Lovehammers show at a club at Illinois State University. StivOO and I joined the post show party at a college apartment, while Sid F’er and Captain Break-it waited in the van. The apartment was packed with cavorting collegers like molecules in a wad of gum at absolute zero. I was barely able to move. So I stood with my beer held up to my face for easy access. A young co-ed, not unlike the girl at the Valley, approached me and asked, "You look kind of old, are you Marty’s body guard?" Yes, my dear, I am. In the past seven years, my physical image has deteriorated from rough and tough body guard to a meek, unassuming, high-powered, and quite wealthy, I might add, Hollywood accountant. Yet I have consistently appeared old. The worst part is neither one of these alter-egos afforded me the opportunity of babe bagging. But at least I got to spend some time with a burgeoning rock star. And he got to spend time with me. And he cleaned up my puke.

When the lights went on at the Valley, I snuck out the side door, leaving Marty to his own wits. I’ve done all I can for that boy. He’ll be fine. It was a nice, dismal, rainy night, so I decided to walk home. As I walked by the side of the road, a Honda Civic, packed with scantily clad, screaming young women, sped by me, splashing gallons of puddle over me. I wonder if that was Marty.



* imagined by author to make it bearable

Rock Star - Finale Moist Rub

Tonight’s finale was the most amazing finale I’ve ever seen. It was so amazing, the only word I can think of to describe it is "amazing". Nothing could ever be more amazing than tonight’s amazing finale. The amazing amazingness was amazingly amazing. The word amazing must have been used at least 30 times tonight. I lost count after 10, as I was wearing my socks. I wondered why everybody was using the word amazing so much. Then, we broke for commercial - an Amazing Race commercial. It all became clear to me. This series was created for the specific purpose of promoting the Amazing Race show. Having figured that out, I turned off the TV since it no longer mattered who won - it’s all been a farce, just like Better Off Dead.

Brooke welcomed us wearing an elegant black dress thing (I’m not much into fashion so I don't know what it's called) with her hair done up ala Charlie’s Angels. Not a good look (the hair, not the dress thing) for her, but I put up with it the best I could. Sometimes, at night, when I'm all alone, I know she misses me. She introduced the ex-Rockers in order of disappearance: Dana, Will, Neal, Heather, Daphna, Brandon, Tara, Jessica, Dom Deluise, Deanna, Ty, Jordis and Suzie. My face actually eked a smile when I saw Brandon. I guess I missed the big lug. The ex-Rockers sequestered themselves in the choir den.

After a recap of this summer’s exhibition of the life of a rock star, they set the scene by summarizing the remaining rockers. JD transformed from a string of controversy into a dynamic performer. Marty brought himself from chaos to become a master of intensity. MiG went from a stage performer to a rock star (but not quite, as we’ll learn later). Dave was excited as hell and everything was awesome for him. I think he was hopped up on the goop. He beat Brooke to the raising hand punch and asked the guys who thought he would win. They all raised their hands, but JD was slow on the draw. Dave asked JD why he didn’t do the "rock star thing" and drive his new Civic into the pool. He answered, because rock stars don’t drive Civics. Do you have a Civic, Dave? I don’t think so. Actually, JD’s wit surprised me when he said he needed a place to live if the INXS thing didn’t work out. Nicely done, Jebediah. Since he took care of that, there is no need for me to spoof the living-in-the-car drama. Dave asked Marty about his leaving the mansion experience. Marty equated it with his metamorphosis (Franz Kafka?) and he was ready to move on, since they changed the locks and he was now a giant insect. Then, Dave addressed MiG, "Oh, are you still here? There’s an open seat next to Suzie."

MiG commenced the sing-off with Bohemian Rhapsody. He began with a tender, mournful vocal that reminded me to call my mother (but not until the show was over, and the blog was written, and the dogs were let out. By then it would be too late to call her, so I’ll call her the next time I hear MiG sing. I'm going to miss my Mommy.). MiG has made his own transformation with tonight’s performance. The MiGster extricated Donny Osmond, and replaced him with JIMMY OSMOND! It is truly sad. Not MiG - me. It is sad that I can decipher the essence of Jimmy Osmond from Donny Osmond. As penance, I will refrain from listening to my Shaun Cassidy albums for a whole week. MiG tried his best to rock out. Flailing air guitar wheels while standing back to back with Rafael, prancing resolutely on stage, crooning with death at his heels - he was quite valiant, the poor little rockeroid. To make matters worse, his voice cut out every now and then. I don’t know if it was due to bad mic-manship or if there were technical difficulties with the mic, itself. The bottom line is he couldn’t out-Bohemian-Rhapsody Suzie, and he’s been doing this for a living, and she’s been sent home and then brought back again for the ex-Rocker march of shame, so what does that tell you? I’m sorry to say that at that point, the crayon was back in the box. As a final insult to MiG, Nate didn’t even bother to tune the gong. I was a little bummed they did not conduct the post performance ridicule. I wanted to hear the INXS tell MiG he goofed on his song choice.

JD began his rendition of You Can’t Always Get What You Want with a hypnotizing a capella chant. Eventually, he channeled the spirit of John Cougar Mellonhead to help him with the first verse until he could chunka-chunka his way through the chorus. JD seems a little heavy on his Charlie Chaplin feet. They may want to consider some ballet lessons for him. It worked for Willie Gault. He borrowed some snake arm moves from Marty and then disrespected his stool (which is something he should keep behind closed doors) on his way to a pretty good performance. I finally got the results back from the vocal lab on JD. The quality of his vocal (and, subsequently, the reduction of my irritation) is inversely proportional to the number of instances of that guttural texture he paints onto notes. He limited that tonight, and I would like him to know I appreciate that.

Marty was last to take the oral exam. His thesis was Wish You Were Here. He chose this song to show the INXS that his initial performance of this song was no fluke and this is who he has become. I originally hoped he’d sing Pretty Vegas, but I’m glad he didn’t. He’s too upstanding to stoop to such devilry. Plus, I’m pretty sure he thinks that song blows. Or maybe that’s me. I get us confused, sometimes. During Marty’s performance they showed Jordis smiling like a proud sister. And Garry Beers sunk into deep introspection until he realized he left the water running in his bathtub. Marty wished we were there similarly to the way he sang it the first time. It may have been a little less intense, but that could be due to our familiarity with him and this song. He finished it off with a statuesque pose and threw a few hammer pound outs to his buddies, the ex-Rockers.

Time to get rid of MiG. This is where most of the amazings spewed forth. Tim thanked the final three for their time, effort, talent and the ride they gave him to the show. He portended that each would have a career of amazing caliber. Tim didn’t let the boys dangle very long before he lopped off MiG. JD started making out with MiG until Marty was able to separate them with Nate’s gong. MiG surprised everybody by taking the bad news warmly and respectfully. There were SWAT team members posted back stage and in the audience in the event that MiG lost it and began pelting everyone with rotting sushi he’s been collecting in his pockets from each meal at the mansion. They were unneeded (the SWAT team and the rotting portions of sushi). MiG thanked everyone around the world and he loves everybody. Then he took his seat in the ex-Rocker den, with hugs abound.

Tim announced that the INXS would perform with the final two Rockers, Marty and JD. Hearing that, the House Band rushed out to see if they could get there waiter jobs back. We returned from commercial to see a laser light show with the wistful sounds of Don’t Change brewing in the dark. They wouldn’t let us see who was to sing first. I kept screaming at the TV, TURN ON THE LIGHTS, TURN ON THE LIGHTS, TURN ON THE LIGHTS! To shut me up, my neighbor rode his Harley into my family room and flashed his headlight on me. So, I shot him in the face. Finally, we were allowed to see Marty standing on stage with the INXS. I couldn’t hear the guitar very well, similar to their DVD, Live Baby Live. Tim mustn’t be very confident in his guitar playing or they have a rotten sound guy. Marty was not engrossed in this song. About half way through I knew the INXS was not right for our pal, Marty Casey. It was as if Marty was holding back so the band could keep up with him. Marty executed a suave and reassured conductor move to culminate his final performance as a statement of his personal growth.

JD took the stage next to perform What You Need. JD is more Michael Hutchence than Marty, to be sure. He was much more into the song and into the band than Marty was. He sang the song well, limiting his guttural pitfalls, which, again, I appreciate. It was over.

The INXS had two choices: pick up where they left off with JD as MH, or have some balls and blaze new trails with Marty.

Before the final decision reared itself, Dave chimed in. He declared that this was the best summer of his life. I guess it’s not really that great being a rock star if being on this show is all it takes to top your summer charts. Tim grabbed the microphone from Dave, bonked him on the head with it and got down to business. He told JD that he sings with passion and is an amazing performer. He thinks Marty is adaptable and has become a riveting front person. Having seen many Lovehammers shows, I could have told Tim that Marty was already a riveting front person, but it never came up in any of our conversations. All we ever talked about were Tim's feet. Hmm. However, Marty has become a more versatile front person.

Finally, Tim told JD he was right for their band. JD dropped to the floor and prayed to Allah as Marty backed up to give him the spotlight. That whole Casey family is one class act. Better than the Osmonds. The INXS deemed JD a "rock stah" and toasted him with a shot of Australian Kangaroo Piss Moonshine. After he was done puking, Tim told Marty how impressed they were with him and suggested he opens for the INXS on tour. Marty grinned, "Or vice versa." Dave offered Marty his guitar services and alternating nights with Carmen (Dave’s been having a little trouble keeping up). Marty congratulated JD, stating JD got what he deserved - a soon to be failed tour and album and a one way ticket back to the car.

The brand new INXS congregated on stage, while Marty leaped over to the ex-Rocker den to be with his real friends. The JD imbued INXS performed their new song, Easy Easy, which is a blatant rip off of INXS’s I Need You Tonight, with a little bit of Pretty Vegas mixed into the chorus. If I was the INXS, I’d sue those bastards. They cut to Marty who seemed to be enjoying the tune, with Tara looming in the background wallowing in bitchdom. The crowd didn’t look too enthused with the new single. I wasn’t impressed with it, either, but sometimes it takes me a while to feel a song/album. It took me about a month to get into Bad Religion’s The Gray Race, so I’ll give this song a chance. I’ll even give JD a chance, because I’m not into negative vibes, man. Congrats to ya, Mate JD. And Congrats to Marty and the rest of the Lovehammers and to me, because I didn’t really want Marty to win, knowing that all he needed was the exposure. Marty, if you’re reading this, meet me at the Valley Friday night - I’m sure you'll have nothing better to do.

Rock Star - Sept 18 Moist Rub

Cheers to the final 3! The final mansion show began with the three rockseteers appreciating themselves with a toast. I wonder what they toasted with. Probably wine. But if they were really cool, it was Absinthe, which, I hear is making a comeback with the young ‘uns in the know. If you’ve never tried Absinthe, check out this painting by Degas. This is what you’ll look like after a few belts. It is one of my favorite paintings. Good for me, but what about the Rockers? I think they prefer the Picasso.

They provided us some insight to the Rockers’ thoughts and feelings about being in the final three during dinner. Their discussion seemed forced, as if a producer told them to talk about it (would that really happen on a reality show?). Somehow, I get the feeling this is not how they would have interacted had the cameras not been there, and they were sitting in JD’s basement shooting the shit. Yes, I mean lying down underneath his car. I think it would have gone more like this:

Marty: I can’t believe you live here.
JD: It’s not so bad.
MiG: Why can’t we go upstairs into the front seat?
JD: My mom is entertaining a friend.
Marty: I thought being in the final three would be a little more glamorous than lying here in the street underneath your car.
MiG: There is a rat gnawing on my foot. But, it’s OK, he must be hungry.
JD: You guys want to try to make sparks with rocks on the gas tank?
MiG: Somebody is peeing down the curb.
JD: My mom must be finished. Let’s go upstairs.

Marty declared that this is a big deal, but he was more concerned with the fact that there were no more chicks in the house. This man has priorities. MiG feels he cheated the system to have survived this long. No, MiG, you played right into the system - the system of garnering foreign ratings. You are nothing but a marble in the Ker-Plunk of international marketing. JD is lying like a lamb in the weeds hoping to pounce on the lion that is INXS (he’s never been very good at metaphors). Marty feigns concern that MiG might actually pose a threat. Maybe in a pose off, but not in this competition.

OK, who left the front door unlocked? How the hell did Dave get in here again? "I’ve been living in Deanna’s room sniffing her sheets since she left." Dave announced to them that they will be challenged in a new clinic - the Infomercial Clinic, in which the goal would be for them to sell as many Honda Civics, Gibson and Baldwin musical instruments, Levi’s clothing and Dell DJ Dipshits as possible. After that, the three wise Rockers would help Andrew write a song. Dave gave them each a DJ Diddley-Doo containing the music Andrew had created. Immediately, Marty and MiG began to prepare. JD decided to coordinate his underwear drawer. He’s been meaning to do this since the third week. MiG reprimanded him, because he wants JD to be the best Marine he can be. JD retorted, "Dude, rock lives in the holes, dude." "Dude." "Duuuude!" You can’t prepare for holes, just like you can’t prepare for the stuff missing from those holes, nor potentially what may yet again reside in those holes. I don’t know what he, nor I, was talking about.

The next morning, the site of three brand new black Honda Civics flabbergasted the three adversaries as if nobody (Dave) had told them they’d be driving their new cars to Gibson-Baldwin warehouse. Before JD got into his car, he scratched his name with his key into the paint so that he would know which one was his. He misspelled it. A musical warehouse seems like an odd place to have a collaboration session. They probably didn’t have enough room left at the mansion now that only three people are living there. It’s not easy for struggling musicians - you have to take any kind of rehearsal/collaboration space you can get. Those Gibson people are so generous.

Marty sat with Andrew first. He didn’t want to be unprepared. Andrew beamed that Marty "virtually" paralleled his own thoughts on how the song should be. It’s a good thing Marty used those holographic lyrics. The session went well as it seemed these two had been writing together for nearly an hour, until Marty questioned why all of Andrew’s new songs are about Twinkies. Andrew screamed, "GET OUT! Get out right now and get me another box!" Marty followed orders, returned with not one, but two boxes of Twinkies, and they finished the song. Andrew was stunned and praised Marty for both his preparation and delivery skills.

MiG joined Andrew next and gave him a taste of his efforts. Andrew was pleasantly surprised. He said, "I didn’t know you were James Taylor. You look taller on TV. Is that a wig?" Although Andrew gave kudos to MiG’s work, he did say that MiG likes to take the sweet road in the melodies and harmonies. To help MiG get over this hurdle, Andrew suggested he try to mix in the word "whore" into the lyrics, as "whore" has a lot of corresponding rhyming words: bore, boar, core, door, Eeyore, floor...Zorro (almost) and Twinkie. (OK, no more Twinkies, I promise). Andrew ended by lauding MiG’s strong sense of song writing identity, which is a MiG way (as irony would have it) of saying he’s good at writing shit for himself, but not us, the INXS.

Finally, an intern woke JD, who was sleeping on a Les Paul. JD entered the room and started flapping his wings. I can’t bust him for his improvisational style of preparation. I conduct my life in a similar manner. Why prepare when you can wing it? JD presented a revolutionary concept to Andrew; let’s write about love and war - it’s never been done. Beyond that, JD showed Andrew his notebook where he detailed which articles would be used in the lyrics, but demanded that "an" would only be used before a vowel and not before any "h" words, because that’s pretentious. He asked Andrew what "pretentious" means. Andrew said it means TWINKIE! (I lied.) Then he told JD that was a good start and asked what else he had. What do you mean "what else", what do you have? Me? This was your task, not mine. Why is Marty allowed to meet you half way and I have to do ALL the work? Even though Andrew was frustrated with JD, he did admit he likes the way JD works outside the square (they’re only two dimensional in Australia, we work outside the three dimensional box here in America). But, he needs some of Marty’s discipline and a breath mint.

The Rockers returned to the mansion for their last supper, which consisted of salad, bread and wine (being the last night in the house, the "help" took most of the food home). They longed for the hot women that used to live with them. Too bad their new found fame will preclude them from having any other women ever showing interest. On to the billiard room for their final challenge. There was a single envelope hanging on the wall. Marty read the letter from the INXS, since JD has difficulty with the big words and MiG only speaks Australian. "Dear Fellas, We cannot decide who to choose. Please remove your shirts and fight to the death. The survivor will be our new singer." JD, quick as a frog, pulled out a sharpened screwdriver from the back of his collar and promptly pierced the jugular veins of the other two. He picked up the letter, which continued, "Just kidding, mates!" Oops. The INXS asked each remaining Rocker to choose one of the songs from the library of songs that had already been performed on the show. Marty proclaimed it the real test, since the song they choose will reveal their true identity to the INXS. JD asked the others for permission to perform You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Nobody gives a rat’s ass, JD. As it turns out, JD has it in his will that this song should be played at his funeral. Is he drawing a connection between the finale and his funeral? The bigger question is, do you need a will to junk your car after you die? What the hell else did he have to bequeath (prior to this show)?

MiG swayed on whether or not to perform Bohemian Rhapsody. His rationalization was that, even though he has made his living as a performer in a Queen musical, doing this song will show the INXS that he has moved on. Marty agreed, "Yeah, that’s what they’ll think, dumb shit." MiG obliviously sunk into mental grandeur at the thought of him winning the hearts of the INXS with this song. Marty snickered to himself. JD ate a Snicker’s.

I believe Marty chose Pretty Vegas as one of his possible songs. I wasn’t sure - it happened quickly and they didn’t dwell on it. They didn’t reveal which song Marty ultimately chose. I hope he does sing that song. He could use it to make a mockery of this entire show. Although, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t do that. But if he did, he would win me over as a fan for sure, and I’d put another poster of him in my room. He could also use it, by whaling on it and making everybody forget about the JD versions of it, to impart his dominance as Alpha Rocker. Willow - pick your own finger. That’s what Billy Barty wants you to do. Then, do the disappearing pig trick.

They ended the last mansion show by showing the boys packing their bags in preparation to depart. Marty dumped his drawers into his bag. JD packed up his guitar. MiG had nothing to pack since he had ripped apart all of his clothes on stage. The three amigos stood at the deep end in the pool, reflecting upon their journey together. I was disappointed, expecting some cross-streams of micturition to froth the pool. Instead, they cut to the guys dumping the patio furniture into the pool. I guess that’s rock ‘n roll enough for the INXS. But, not for me.

Rock Star - Sept 14 Moist Rub

Tonight was the final elimination episode. Next week, nobody will be eliminated. One will be crowned the new INXS. The other two will be eliminated.

Standard operating show procedures of late dictate two encores. The popular vote chose Marty. When announced, Marty had to be corralled, just like everybody else who has been chosen to encore first in the two-encore world - you’d think they’d all have it figured out by now - as he started for the stage. To his, and the others’ defense, I know they’re hopped up with adrenaline up there, so it’s understandable. But I still have to roast them for it. It’s my dooty. To no one’s surprise, there was to be another pre-encore. But who would pick the performer? That was our surprise tonight. Sage Dave would show us the way. He recapped: the encore performer picked one week, the INXS picked one week, Dave picked one week, the Bat-puter picked one week and Anson Williams picked one week. Could there possibly be any pickers left? I mean, Anson "Potsie" Williams is pretty much bottom of the barrel. Who could be left? That’s right, the fat old guy in the plaid shirt. And the people around him - the audience! They’ve worked so hard cheering on cue this summer, clapping to the bone. It was a salty revenge. By applause, the crowed chose JD, because the world has not heard Pretty Vegas enough. Are there any other worlds I can go to?

JD subjected his song to the acoustic litmus test. It didn’t pass. With only Rafael and the other guitar guy to support him, JD resorted to crunching his nuts in a waffle iron to dab his performance with moments of castrato. I noticed JD has a little Charlie Chaplin in him on stage. Maybe it’s the duck feet. Sadly, this song may be on the promotional train to hitsville, so this won’t be the last time I’ll have to suffer it. It ain’t pretty after the show. Nor during.

Marty followed JD by extending the audience more influence with the direction of the show. He could sing Trees acoustically or sing it electrifyingly. If they chose electric, he would also sacrifice his blue Gibson cut out geetar. Naturally, the audience chose destruction, and Marty obliged. By "natrually" I mean "no shit". After the taping, Mark Burnett fired the director and hired the audience, since they’ve done such a fine job. And, they work for free. Eventually, Marty did Trees again, and everybody rejoiced. He hugged Brooke and told her it was from me.

I like to people watch. More specifically, I like to see if I can spot rock ‘n rollers driving on the highway. It used to be very difficult. Rockers would drive all different kinds of cars; from high end makes like Ferrari and Lamborghini to refabbed classics like T-Birds and Mustangs and all sorts of rad rides in between. Nowadays, it’s no fun, since all I have to do is look for a Honda Civic to know that a famous rock star is in my midst. Nothing says ROCK AND ROLL like the enigmatic and chic Honda Civic. This is the car the final three Rockers will be given after tonight’s show as a reward. What’s the matter - they could find any deals on some used Vegas? How about a nice family truckster? They could have at least given them each a Ridgeline. The Honda Civic suggests reliability and responsibility, not the hard driving edge we want to feel from our rock heros. If nothing else, they shouldn’t have any car trouble on the way to the gig.

Back at the mansion, the remaining rockers reveled with a rightful repast of beer nuts, brisket and borsht after the performance show. Or maybe it was sushi. Nothing fun happened there. MiG babbled about god knows what. Suzie beat MiG to the punch to request a group hug. Then they all cuddled up on the couch to watch the third season of Laverne and Shirley on dvd.

After some uninformative and banal discussion between the Rockers and the Dave/INXS, we found out that Suzie was the first elimatee. Her INXS challenge was Suicide Blonde. Yeah, the ominous implication in the title is obvious. Say no more. As usual, she gave a solid performance - even sassed it up a bit. Although, I saw glimpses of Joan Rivers in her face at times. Maybe it was her hair do that did it. My therapist will hear about this tomorrow. He won’t like it. I’ve come so far. Garry asked her what this experience has taught her. She replied, "Calculus and some ancient Peruvian customs". Andrew questioned whether Peru has been around long enough to have "ancient" customs, proposing they may merely be "historical". Suzie qualified her statement by claiming relevance to the life of fruit fly. Kirk said, "Why is everybody looking at me?" Suzie also claimed that she now has belief in her talent. And she believes that children are our future. And she believes in Father Christmas.

Next, the INXS threw JD to the lions arming him only with By My Side. He sang it well, except his guttural extensions on some syllables were annoying. If he could learn to rid our lives of that, he might not be so bad. He brought out the waffle iron again at the end of the song. I guess he had one shard of nut that wasn’t crushed yet. JD told us he learned that he was focused on becoming a member of the INXS but that it’s important to play well with others, too. He used the word peripheral. I think it was left on Brooke’s Teleprompter and he said it by mistake. Eddie Vedder sang he can’t find a better man.

Finally, we had some suspense swill to sit in for a moment. Who was the last member of the bottom three, Brooke? She said Marty’s name first, and he fell for it. Silly, rabbit, the bottom three is for MiG. Of course it was MiG. When he realized he was guaranteed a spot in the finale, Marty flipped the bird to everyone, jumped in his brand new Civic, drove off the stage and crashed onto the audience floor. Embarrassed, he slouched in his seat and hid in the car until the end of the show. Either that or he had a brain hemorrhage.

What You Need is what MiG needed to perform. Did you see the microphone flip he did between hands tonight? I referred to it yesterday. He did it a number of times tonight. I do that with my beer bottles while I'm sitting at the bar. MiG and I are cut from the same mold. Except, he got the inside of the mold and I got the outside. MiG seemed like he was pushing too hard to keep up with the funk. That’s how you get hemorrhoids. Don’t ever push too hard. This caused his voice to crack multiple times. The INXS praised him, but I thought he fell short. There was energy in the performance, but the House Band generated it, not MiGgy-Poo. Toward the end of the song, MiG struggled to rip his shirt. I’m sure he intended to rip it straight through, but he couldn’t do it. It reminded me of PeeWee Herman trying to lift the five pound weights over his head in PeeWee’s Big Adventure (everybody I know has a big but). The INXS asked MiG to compare and contrast the Mongolian invasion of China of 1279 with the increased use of weathervanes by Nebraskan farmers in the 1950's. MiG said after faking his way for weeks through trial and error and glazing the voters with putrid sugary man goo, he stopped doubting himself. "What about the Mongolians?" Tim asked him. "What about the Nebraskan farmers?" MiG replied. Quite right, mate. Good on ya.

Drizzle, Drazzle, Drozzle, Drome, Time for this one to come home. They’re talking about you, Suzie. You’re the only one that comes close to resembling Tooter Turtle. Funny, she didn’t cry as much as she did when others bit it. Maybe her tear ducts had dried up from over use. I think she knew it was imminent. Forty times in the bottom three is not a good track record. What could the INXS do? They are too polite to shower with a woman. MiG, JD and Marty weeped at the thought of the exodus of the last remnants of poon-tang in the mansion. I wonder which one of them will get to be the Lucky Pierre in the party train. Suzie was gracious and full of love for everybody. I will miss her. Dave didn’t say anything about him performing with Suzie in the future, but to show her how upset he was, he super glued his hand to the top of his head.

Rock Star - Sept 13 Moist Rub

Brooke had to work late at the nude barber shop, so she wrapped a razor strap around her waist and grabbed the linen curtains from the bathroom to cover up her gazebos and raced to the studio to make it to the show on time. She is a dedicated woman of the two thousand naughts.

I figured out why JD keeps with him a picture of himself as a five year old (with his baby sister). That is where he is mentally. It is the last time he has felt safe in this world. Don’t worry, JD, the INXS will make it all better. The effects of your rotten parents will torment you no more. Damn parents! All parents should not be allowed to have children. Who do they think they are? The INXS will save you. You will soon be able to rip apart that photograph and liberate yourself. The INXS will be your new parents. They will never break up and leave you fending for yourself. Or they will kick you to the curb, copyright your life and make you a slave. That's the wonderful part of life, nobody ever knows.

Since the INXS used up all of their questions for the Rockers in the Interview Clinic, Dave conducted the chat session tonight. He badgered Marty first, stating that Marty has made it pretty clear that he has control of his bowels. Marty responded by confirming his objective to cross the road halfway, being careful not to trip over the chicken with the dead baby stapled to it. "My aim is true, Elvis Costello," professed Marty. This impressed the young INXS grasshopper greatly, and they stated they have learned very much from Marty, although they have not yet been able to snatch that durned pebble from his hand. They dared not disagree, fearing Marty may eventually kick them out of their own band.

Next, Dave questioned MiG about his fortuity of having never been in the bottom three. Was it a curse or a gift? MiG suggested that it is a strong message from the voting public that Donnie Osmond is still loved and appreciated worldwide. Then, Dave toed the sexism line by asking Suzie why she is a woman. Since Suzie never had a biology class, she glossed over the subject, bringing the conversation back to the middle, affording us all the option to be people instead of chromosomal after effects.

Finally, Dave accused JD of being a big, giant pussy when his mom and sister were around. JD vehemently denied with a brusque, "Uh-uh", to which Dave replied, "You totally did, dude. You pussed out royal." I love my mommy. Kirk wished him good luck.

Dave joined the House Band on one of each of the rockers two songs. Unlike Jeremy, he was actually plugged in.

Suzie - Interstate Love Song. Interesting. During the pre-performance discussion, Suzie didn’t want to talk about gender being a factor, yet that’s all she could talk about in the taped prequel short. So, which is it, Suzie? Do you think the INXS wants to take post-show showers with a woman or not? She has no idea if donning a rod is an INXS singing requirement. No sense worrying about things you can’t control. Just to be sure, she wore a strap-on inside her pants. Suzie sang well, but didn’t have a lot of rock vibe in her voice. It didn’t work for me. Plus, this song is a boring STP song. I would rather have heard her sing Sex Type Thing (surprisingly, they didn’t ask my opinion). To help the song along, Suzie strolled the crowd. Did you see that old fat guy in the plaid shirt? I thought it was a reincarnation of my dad. How the hell did he get in there? They must be hurting for audience members. Dave had a cigarette jammed in the head of his guitar. I can’t believe he did that on national TV. Now, everybody’s gonna be doing it.

Suzie finished with What’s Up, by 4 Non Blondes. This song makes me feel warm and mushy inside and gives me hope for a peaceful and loving society. And then my neighbor tears over my lawn with his Harley, and I come crashing back into an undescribable pit of the nastiest depression you’d ever want to wallow in. This is a good song for her, and she mushified me with it. To ensure my neighbor wouldn’t ruin it for me, I shot him in the face before she started singing. Garry told Suzie she gave a world class performance and said it is too bad she is a woman. Tim commented that the two songs were stylistically contrary and she did a great job making them cohesive and he loved the way she worked the crowd and it is too bad she is a woman.

JD - Pretty Vegas. I pose, JD, what is the purpose of the megaphone? Are you using it to give the listener a sense of detachment those specific lyrics depict? Or are you emphasizing the illusion of solitude and desperation one has when sitting in the bottom of a sewer being dripped on by water too foul to entertain sunlight? Could it possibly be that you are making a statement about the multiple transformations one must go through when searching for something by using the megaphone to alter your voice during different stages of the journey of this song? Or, do you think it sounds cool and Green Day used it, too? I don’t think he knows. If you don’t know why you’re doing something, then you shouldn’t do it. Unless you’re drunk. Dave helped this song progress with some of his licks between verses, although he got in JD’s way one or two times.

JD then performed Money by Pink Floyd. I hope you are all sitting down. For, what I am about to say may stun some of you, causing your knees to buckle, dropping your head right through your glass statue of Betty White. Please, for your safety (as if anybody actually reads this crap), sit down before you read on. I think JD did well with this song. Strewing the big sack of money was a nice touch. (I said "big sack".) Yes, kissing Dave on the cheek during the song does make you gay (but not as much as the cocksucking). I’m going to leave it at that.

Marty - Trees. Unplugged with Dave Navarro. Dave looked a little bored playing this song. Marty should have let him gritch out a solo. What’s with me and solos? I like solos. Get off my back. I agree with Garry that it’s a boon if a song can sustain itself in both the acoustic and the electric worlds. This song does. After seeing two shots of Kirk singing along with the song, I can see why they didn’t give him the lead singing gig, unless they wanted to open up for The Wiggles. I liked this version better than the electric version last week, but not as much as the Lovehammers version.

After Marty's bailiff told Dave he was allowed to sit back down, Marty performed Creep by Radiohead. All I could think about during the beginning of this song is, "Holy shit, Marty’s on the TV!" It just kinda hit me. When I composed myself, I sat back an enjoyed. Marty’s voice has grown so much in the past few months. The vocal coach workouts are paying off. His vocals captivated me with frailty, power, tenderness, pain, desperation, rage, remorse, indifference and just a tad of ennui. My son thought the muted guitar shanks during the verse were cool. Yeah, Beave, they were. If the INXS had asked Marty to sing this 6 weeks ago, I don’t think he would have pulled it off the way he did tonight, and they would have brought out the reamer pole in their critique. Instead, the INXS praised his dynamic set and asked if they could have a sleep over in his mansion room tonight.

MiG - Paint It Black. MiG strategically began the song with a quiet, slow tempo to allow the progression of his arrangement illustrate his transformation from sweet, fluff-ridden, gush-bag to the dark lord of rock. He didn’t quite get there, as he meandered in the dark realms with the lantern partially lit, but I enjoyed it anyway. I’ve heard this song so much, his performance actually reminded me what a cool song it is. And it didn’t help that he skipped a bit on stage. There is no skipping in rock ‘n roll. It’s one of the first things they teach you. MiG’s voice failed him at the end with a misshaped screech, but it didn’t bother me too much. It was like a holding penalty in football. It can be called on every play, but it’s not. Actually, it’s not like that at all.

MiG finished us off with A Kiss From a Rose by Seal. MiG should see if Seal needs a new lead singer. But, what will I do? You can be the tambourine guy, Seal. The INXS enjoyed MiG’s show, as well. Garry Beers was giving MiG the death ray (zzzz zzzz) during his songs so he would end up in the bottom three, but it didn’t work. Garry’s intentions were good, hoping to see MiG sing an INXS tune. Kirk was happy with MiG’s arrangements. Overall, Kirk seemed especially giddy tonight. Maybe he found out that another meaning for "gay" was happy. One nuance - MiG did a quick little flip of the microphone from his left hand to his right. You can’t teach that kind of dexterity. Then, Dave wrecked everything by asking MiG to get naked again.

The early voting told us that Marty’s fans have faster computers than the rest of the Rockers’ fans. JD was next, with Suzie trailing him and MiG sitting content waiting for the voting to start in the far east and Australia. Who will end up in the bottom three? Who will remain as the sole survivor, guaranteed a chance at next week’s finale? Will we have to be tortured with a mortifying fourth presentation of Pretty Vegas? Will Suzie sport a moustache to try to fool the INXS? Will Brooke wear only pieces of electrical tape over her naughties tomorrow? Will that fat old guy in plaid be in the audience again? Who will be sent packing tomorrow? What the hell are we gonna watch when this show is over? Will I finally have time to clean my house and feed the kids? Are they even still alive? What were their names again? Are you sure they’re mine, I thought they’d be taller by now? So many questions will be answered tomorrow.

Rock Star - Sept 11 Moist Rub

Why don’t they ever show what kind of food the Rockers get to eat? The camera moves around so much, I never get a good look at the food. I think MiG had some sort of torte on his plate. Marty wolfs his food so fast, it’s impossible to see what he eats. JD probably picks through the garbage, since that’s what he’s used to doing. I have no idea about Suzie, but if I had to make a guess - back bacon. The least they can do is post the daily menu on the web site. I want to know what it’s like to eat like a Rock Star. Can’t they put together a clinic for that? Andrew could conduct the clinic. In case you’re wondering what a loser blog writer feasts upon, I’m eating potato chips with French onion dip right now. And a Coke.

Instead of giving us a good gander at the grub, the show begins with the remaining Rockers back at the mansion lamenting the loss of Jordis. Marty is bummed out somethin’ fierce since Jordis was his soul mate. MiG claims to feel guilty for still being there. Maybe he should have tanked some of his performances to protect the others from getting nixed. OK, he doesn’t feel THAT guilty. Suzie weeps at the honor of being the only woman left. The others, besides JD jumped to console her, which is a mistake. She’s only looking for attention. They should ignore her whenever she cries so they don’t reinforce the sobbing behavior. She’ll never stop crying with that kind of support. This is the advice I give my kids: Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Cry, and the world laughs at you. I truly believe that.

Hey look, Dave stopped by for a visit. Quick, make some Kool-Aid. He comments on how quiet the house is, which brings up a serious question. Why aren’t the tunes cranked up? Didn’t some of them win a boss new stereo system? What kind of lame-ass rockers are these people?

Dave presents the new clinic. Being in a rock band is all about chemistry. This week’s clinic will be in the lab to see how well they can work with such topics as beaker washing techniques, the Aufbau Principle, limiting reactants and which orbital is right for The INXS, being sure to keep their safety goggles on at all times. Following the lab each rocker would be asked to sit with The INXS for a debriefing interview.

JD entered the interview room first. Prior to entering, he declared to be 100% honest. Too late, JD. As the boy who cried wolf learned, once you start flinging the bullshit, the only way to get out of it is to be eaten by a mountain goat (I don’t remember exactly how the story goes). Speaking of carnivorous bovines, JD’s mother and sister popped over to the mansion. They were in the neighborhood for a Tupperware party. JD was overjoyed. He gushed from all orifices. We learned that JD came from a broken home, which is why he was living in his car, and that he had to de-fragment his computer sometime soon. They didn’t show very much of JD’s interaction with his family, which leads me to believe that the producers don’t care too much about it, which further leads me to believe that I don’t, either. In the interview, The INXS asked JD if he had any naked pictures of his sister, to which they expected him to say "no", so they could finish off the joke by asking if he’d like to buy some. However, JD foiled their attempt since he already had some with him. These weren’t wallet sized photos. The photos he had were normal snap shots. Who carries around snap shots of their sister in their pocket? Somethin’ just ain’t right with that boy. The INXS confronted JD regarding his cockiness and bravado. JD pleaded for mercy since it was due to his insecurity and asked for sympathy and a pat on the head and a dog bone. They continued by asking some useless questions about his controversial behavior and disrupting the mojo of the band. How do they expect him to answer these questions? "Yes, INXS, I’m looking to fuck with you guys, screw your wives and detune your guitars. Can I still be in your band?" Before they released him, The INXS gave JD an envelope containing this week’s songs. They were Money by Pink Floyd and Pretty Vegas. I think The INXS hates me. Why the hell do we need to see that song again? Are they hoping it will finally be entertaining on the third time?

MiG went in next. The INXS’ issue with him was his sappy niceness for all things carbon-based. MiG appreciated their questions and suggested they have a group hug. They addressed his theatric career, which consisted of, among others, Rent, West Side Story, Grease and some live sex shows in Amsterdam. If I were him, I would have withheld everything but the live porn. They also asked him if he’d ever been in a band. He named a few band names such as Blaine and the Beaters (he was Blaine), The Sniveling Bores, Ass Krack and McCutcheon (he was Ass Krack) and a power trio called Mignition (another piece of information I would have withheld if I hadn’t already killed myself for having any association with it). MiG also had to answer to his unbearable knack of cooperating instead of asserting himself. His answer was that he asserts cooperation. When you don’t have a good answer, try to confuse the interviewer so they move on. It worked. The INXS gave MiG his songs: Kiss From A Rose (?) And Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones (which is a song frequently covered by the Lovehammers - and they do it beauty). The expectation is that MiG will be able to use PIB to demonstrate his hardcore edge, sugar-coated with assertive cooperation. The INXS mentioned in their internal discussion about MiG that if they chose the MiGnition path, they would have some work to do to dilute his theatric pansiness. It would be easier if they transformed their show into Mama Mia:INXS to accommodate MiG.

Enter Marty. I’m not sure what happened here. Marty turned the interview around. They discussed Marty’s growth through the show and tried to coerce him into cowering, but Marty didn’t take the bait. "Look," he said, "this is where I’m going. Are you going to follow or would you rather baby sit JD for a year. I’m done with you douchebags. If you need me, I’ll be out way paving." They answered with a simple "yes, sir" and asked him if he needed an extra pillow. His songs are Creep by Radiohead and Trees. I have two issues with these choices. First, Radiohead and Live are the same band. This song is not going to show us anything new from Marty, seeing that he’s already learned from his mistakes on the Live song (mistakes from the INXS perspective, not his own). Second, while I like Trees a lot, what is the point of doing it again? How about another original? He’s got others ya know. I don't think the INXS knows what they are doing, or they don't care, and the reperformance of this song, and JD's song, is a silly marketing ploy.

Finally, Suzie entered the grill room. She went in fretting and blathering. That’s how I go into all of my job interviews. Explains why I’m still working at the same place for 16 years. SOMEBODY GET ME OUT OF HERE!!! Oops, sorry about that. Sometimes the monotony gets to me. The INXS admires her strength and her tenacity, but questioned her ability to maintain her composure under pressure, specifically media pressure. Blather, stammer and yammer, excuse me, Suzie, did you say somethin?. "That’s our point, exactly." True, she is not adept at expressing herself verbally. It doesn’t mean she can’t sing. What are they looking for, a lead singer or a PR mouthpiece? If that's the case, I think Tony Danza is available. They then asked her about her vision of the band’s musical future. She told them that since it’s not broken, there’s no need to fix it so they should continue from where they left off, which is another way of saying that she has absolutely no thoughts on where the band should go. Just tell me what to sing and when I can work a good cry into a song. At this point, I dozed off a little, so I don’t know if they informed us of Suzie’s songs. So, I'll take a guess: Mr. Roboto and the Theme From Eight Is Enough.

When I woke up, the band, INXS, was deliberating. Between the accents and the mumbling, I couldn’t understand half of what the fuzzy foreigners were saying. As far as I could tell, they think Suzie needs help in the media big top but has a super strong voice. JD is full of crap, but has vulnerability in his eyes and could be misunderstood. Plus, he’s a fun guy to have around, so they could make him a roadie. MiG and Marty are focused. MiG doesn’t seem natural, but he does look like a rock star, so maybe they can hire him out for the photo shoots. Marty has a spine. That’s probably a good thing.

During this quiet time of deliberation, they intertwined scenes of the Rockers living the mansion life. JD surprised everyone with a cake that looked like a pair of butt cheeks. Suzie jumped in and took a big bite out of it. Seems like she’s had experience with this. Give me a call sometime, Suze. This is one nourishment nugget we do know about Rock Stars. Apparently, they are really into cake.

Rock Star - Sept 7 Moist Rub

It was a hell of a week, Dave.

Speaking of hell, we were obligated to witness the discussion of this week’s events. Here is what we learned:

• Dave wants Jordis to mow his lawn after the photo shoot. How about a Fresca?
• Suzie is a transformer. She can turn herself into a giant robot mini-van that shoots plastic laser beams out of her finger tips. Choking Hazard - Not recommended for children under the age of three.
• Dave is hot for JD. I’m not one to judge. My rule is, you don’t tell me what you do what your tallywacker, and I won’t tell you what I do with mine (unless it’s something really cool or really gross).
• JD is fun to have at a birthday party. I’m going to hire him out for my daughter’s 10th birthday.

Wouldn’t it be refreshing if Brooke asked the Rockers who thought she/he deserved the encore to slap the person to her/his right in the face? Or maybe they could stand up and do the Karate Kid pelican stance. The raising of the hands was fun for the first 8 weeks, but it’s getting kind of stale. Marty and JD professed faith in themselves for the encore by exposing their armpits. JD proved correct. Supposedly, the encore was determined by the online votes for the original songs. And JD won. Yeah, OK. As JD barreled towards the stage, Dave recommended he return to the trousered position. There was to be an opening encore. Dave requested permission from the Rockers to choose the opening act performer. What would have happened if they said no? I’ll tell you what, Dave would have pouted, that’s what. Dave decided it would be wise to ask the INXS to perform their new tune, Us, with the Fab Five singing. Tim asked Dave to play along with them. It was just like Woodstock!

JD began the vocals in a forgettable manner. Then MiG chimed in to preserve the banality. He’s a team player. They flew in USA for Africa to help out with the chorus. Eventually, they gave us the second verse, which Jordis began. What’s that I smell? Yes, there is some life in this desert of a song. Thank you, Jordis. Marty and Suzie finished off the second verse in no part harmony. I don’t think Marty likes singing with other people. It’s a damn good thing it’s not Christmas and Bing Crosby is dead. Cue USA for Africa (not as good as Band Aid, in my opinion) for the chorus again. Dave provided some life support with a fat nasty blues riff, and Suzie carried us through to the end with some heart-felt belts. Without the Suzie, the Jordis and the Dave parts, that song suffers up some cruel blandness.

On to the encore we’ve all been waiting for. JD and Pretty Vegas. Pretty boring, really, especially the second time around. Hop, hop, point, point, shimmy-hop, shimmy-hop, shimmy, hop, hop. OK, I get it. As soon as the song was over, my phone rang. It was Kevin Cronin. He said, "Dwip dwip, deee diddly dip; dwip, dwip, deee diddly dip; dwip, dwip, deee diddly dip, diddly dip, diddly dip, diddly dip dip dip dip." To which I responded, "Kev, my axe ain’t plugged in, I got another call." The other call was my sister. She sings, "...after the showawawawoh. That’s Ethel Merman. That’s all I gotta say." She hit it right on the head. Yesterday, I thought JD’s vocalization sounded familiar, but I just couldn’t put my finger in it. My sister did. The spirit of Ethel Merman got tired of hanging out with Donny Osmond inside of MiG and chose to rummage through JD’s cupboards for a stay. "...after the showawawawoh". Top ten hit if I ever heard one. Actually, I haven’t heard one lately. I have no idea what’s in the top ten nowadays. I must be cootish. Maybe that’s why I can’t comprehend the JD appeal. I can live with that, but not for long since I will probably be dead soon, being cootish, and all.

Back at the mansion and the subsequent questioning by Dave. Here is what we learned:

• JD has good interviewing skills and will be the new elevator killer someday.
• Marty likes to give curt responses when he’s mawgin’ on free food.
• Suzie mopes about not having Bonnie Raitt’s gray spot in her hair.
• MiG has nerves of nerf.
• MiG cowers to JD. JD lets MiG pick bugs out of his fur.
• Jordis joins in the JD bug grooming.
• Jordis basically tells the INXS that she can’t do it. Not in those words, but she may as well have. Just because they put a camera on you, it doesn’t mean you have to be blatantly truthful. The INXS watches these clips. Don’t talk about how bad you suck. Unless you’re trying to get yourself kicked off the show. That’s it. Jordis must have gotten a nice deal from the record company slag who snuck backstage and gave her his card. It’s all coming together now. I have seen the bic lighter. She’s a genius.
• Jordis admits that she hasn’t been doing her best because she has a million dollars stashed in her secret hide out waiting there for her when she gets paroled.
• JD tells us he has stopped playing games because he finally figured out, with two weeks to go on the show, that he wants to be a member of the INXS. Until now, he had thought he was trying out for Name That Tune.
• MiG explains to us why JD is so wonderful. It’s because his breath smells like sausage.

Hand raising time. Air out those pits. Suzie, MiG and, eventually, Jordis admit to inconveniencing the voters with their performances last night. Brooke announces the early returns and then throws a lawn dart at Jordis to let her know the voters didn’t help her out. The lawn dart stung a little, so Jordis didn’t put too much effort into her hug with Brooke.

Jordis sang Need You Tonight. She was tentative and self-conscious. And then she messed up a lyric. Given that I have a degree in Psychology, which gives me license to make shit up and have it be true, I have determined Jordis’ problem. With songs not of her choosing, she has been unable to express her true self through the song. Her unfamiliarity with it imprisons her in a cage of self doubt and indecision. We saw evidence of this with her photo shoot. This world of the unknown, whether it be a new situation (photo shoot) or an aloof song, sets her defenses in motion, which is a momentum her talent is not yet refined enough to overcome.

Brooke cursed Suzie to the center stage. Her challenge was Never Tear Us Apart. Not only have we heard this song too often on soot Wednesday, we’ve already heard Suzie sing it in the first elimination episode. Enough with this song. During her performance, Suzie entered the audience to connect with the crowd. She also had to fart and hoped everybody would think it was the fat guy in the third row. She did fine (with the song and the fart). And they new she would, those INXS.

Marty, MiG and JD stood together like Lucky Day, Ned Nederlander and Dusty Bottoms hoping El Guapo would decide to shoot none of them with an invite to the elimination stage. Brooke let Marty go free first. JD was the chosen one. MiG did his best to look stunned. Let me get this straight - the voters voted enough for JD's song to get him the encore, but not enough to keep him out of the bottom three. That sounds right. It makes sense to learn that the JDidiots are a confused lot. Not to worry, because the INXS had a grand challenge in store for JD. JD, could you please sing the song everybody, including ourselves, has already heard you sing on the LA radio station. We know you’ve shown you can sing it pretty well, but we want to double check, just to make sure. Heard from off camera, Jordis, "Those fuckers." He sang Mystify similarly to the way he sang it on the radio, although with less heart. The INXS asked him where he would take their band musically. JD’s response was surprisingly vague, obtuse and groveling. I wouldn’t have expected that from JD. He said he would take the band into his heart and give them back everything they gave to him. That’s exactly what the record company told the INXS to look for when searching for a new lead singer! They found their man. What a relief.

Let’s recap. Jordis has been having some trouble, so they bring it up in conversation and make her feel worse about herself right before they tell her the voters hate her. They give Suzie a song she’s already sung. They give JD a song he’s already sung. They launch Jordis. I’m not saying Jordis shouldn’t have been let go, but this reeks of a set up to me. And, I would be offended and appalled if not for the fact that I really don’t give a movement.

To make Jordis feel better Tim offers to buy the first record she ever sells. Dave just about rubs one off in her face and Andrew, without announcing himself, I don’t know, blew her a kiss or something. Everything was so sad. I said, above the canyon wall...strong eyes did glow. It was the leader of the land, baby. OH MY GOD, The GREAT WHITE BUFFALO.....