I will admit it; I’m hooked on American Idol. Not in the way millions of others are though. I have no bleeping clue who won last year. In fact, I don’t even remember who won two years ago. It was either the big fat brother or the little gay dude with the Kevin Bacon hair. I am an AI junkie, but only until they weed out the freaks. Once it’s down to ten people who can sing it’s boring as watching the paint dry. What do I care about the next popstar? If she isn’t barely legal, covered in sweat and hitting me one more time, who cares? They say that AI contestants have had 23 number one hits. Quick, name one? OK fine, name 3? It just proves that they can package anyone and turn them into a pop star. On the other hand, these first few episodes are nothing short of television gold. You’ve got thousands of people waiting in line to sing badly, get abused by judges and maybe, just maybe be bad enough to make it onto the early shows.

I really love the way so many of these people take this so seriously. It’s as if none of them have ever dealt with reality. Look, I can’t sing. Not even a little bit. I suck, period. My voice is horrible. I can’t carry a tune to save my life. I know this though so if I sang for a record executive and he told me that my voice made his short and curlies crawl up his bum and hide, I wouldn’t be at all shocked. I certainly wouldn’t burst out crying. Who are these people kidding? Have they never had anyone care enough to tell them the truth? I know that a lot of people are tempted to feel sorry for some of these rejects when they get slammed? Why? Do you feel sorry for the jackasses who ride their bikes off of a roof and then slam their nads onto the bar? Do you feel sorry for the redneck who shoots himself in the foot when he’s out hunting with a blood alcohol level higher than his IQ? You might as well feel sorry for the damned coyote. He has to know that ACME products suck. So when these people put themselves in front of the tractor and get run over, I am going to get one hell of a good laugh at their expense.

Of course if you are really bad, you get to be a bigger star than the “winner” of this freakshow. Don’t believe me? Who won the first one? Yeah, most of you at least had to think. But I promise you this. If I throw that William Hung freak on your TV, you are going to know who he is, start humming “She Bangs” and think “this guy has guts.” No he doesn’t. He just doesn’t know any better. We are all making fun of the handicapped and no one seems to mind. I cringe at the thought of what someone will do to top William this year. (And not for nothing, but you know that as soon as some of these morons are done, they are going right over to the multi-plex to wait in line for 4 months to be third in line for the new Star Wars movie.)

What makes it extra special is the people who help fill the time in between breathy versions of Whitney Houston tunes or badly belted Josh whatshisname songs. In case some of you haven’t been bitten by the AI bug, let’s run down the cast of characters.

Ryan Seacrest is the host of the show and he is more annoying that everyone else put together. He is a cheesy DJ with nothing to add to the mix other than a pretty face, colorful clothes and pearly whites. This is a guy who is so freaking gay that he makes Nathan Lane look like John Wayne.

Randy Jackson is terminally cool, saying “dog” more often in a given hour than the entire graduating class at veterinary school. He tries to be “fair” as a way to balance Simon’s bile and Paula’s repulsive fawning, but he just comes off like a guy too soft to make a good business decision who tries too hard to ghettoize himself. (And what’s wrong with your head dog? Now that you’ve lost all that weight, your head looks freaky. Brother is a human bobble-head in a bad shirt.)

Paula Abdul was a star for a blink about a decade ago. (And for less time than that cartoon cat she did a video with) AI brought her back from the land of the terminally obscure and for that alone the producers should be shot. She is sticky sweet, ultra-shallow and apparently incapable of completing a sentence. If you can get your hands on the transcripts of the shows, read them. I think she may have some disorder that cuts her off in mid-sentence whenever she utters a lame cliché or a vapid thought.

Simon is the only guy on the show who doesn’t make me want to puke. He’s mean as hell and is capable of saying some truly horrible things. That’s the point. He’s honest and that is the key to my addiction. I sit on the edge of my seat waiting to hear him let loose on one of these people who take themselves so very seriously. Those people who really do think they are the next “big thing” just step up there and get kicked in the teeth. It’s really quite wonderful. It is the same feeling you would get watching that annoying jerk at the gym get schooled by Michael Jordan on the court. The only bad part about Simon is that the contestants and the lame-ass host seem to think that it’s OK to talk back to him. Frankly I think anyone who trash talks back should be kicked off the show. He is the boss after all? Would these would-be has-beens talk that way at a job interview? (Yeah, some of them would, that’s why they are all still living at home and chasing after their dream to be the next 250 lb. Britney.)

So why do I watch? Because I’m addicted, I already told you that. It’s like bad karaoke in prime time. It is people who actually think they can sing falling flat on their faces. It is the childhood dream we all held of fortune and fame that comes crashing down around their heads while the cameras roll. What could be better than that? Well, watching it in the comfort of my living room with all the whistles and bells of course.