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American Idol. Season 7. Final Three. Three Songs. I’m so freakin excited, I think I might pop a vein. *Chill* Before the Show starts, Bitten would like a brief word with the Final Three, a pep talk of sorts. That’s right, let’s all huddle around now…
Squinty – Awright Archie, you know I like to make fun of your squinty-eyed Barry Manilow-singing McFetus ass, but I still think you’re talented and a good kid to boot. Because I like you (and because everything I say is important), I’m going to give you some sage advice, which I will condense into one simple word: Emancipation. You need to break free from Poppie Dearest now, or you are going to come home from school one day and find Jonah Crawford roasting the family jewels on wire hangers over an open fire. Oh, and if Cra-zee Dearest gives ya any crap, Bruiser Bitten would be happy to come over there and personally pop a jujitsu on his overbearing, cap-wearing ass. Or Palais will run him over with her Zamboni. Either way, ya really need to cut the cord, luv. That’s all.
Timex – Syesha, gurl, nobody in Season 7 knows the view from the stools quite like you, and yet you have somehow risen like a Phoenix from the ashes each and every week. So… let’s all give it up for Syesha, a standing O for the Energizer Bunny, the freakin Timex watch that takes a lickin and keeps on tickin. Yeah, Gurl, I’m going to let you in on a little secret… I want you in the Final Two. Granted, I want David Cook to douse your flame with a big ole bucket of wodka and then join me for a mud bath as we frolick about and do the Nasty in your ashes (…TMI?), but I still want you on the stage, which is truly saying something. After all, I think you’ve earned it.

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