Welcome to "Behind the Scenes at 'American Idol,' " where we managed to smuggle in a bee, position him on the wall and outfit him with a teensy video camera. There, he recorded the conversation at breakfast the morning after the egregiously mediocre Brooke White managed to survive for another week of competition. Let's pick up the thread:
Brooke: Guys, I'm so humbled and happy to be here with you still. You're all the best. It's a sunshiny day! Can you pass the Sunny Delight? I hope my sunny-side-up eggs arrive soon! I'm so famished after last night's elimination that I could eat Kristy Lee Cook's hidden stash of pork rinds that she forgot to take when she got booted out of here.
David Cook: Look, Brooke, it was a rough night. I don't know how much more of this passive-aggressive, husky-voiced, singer-songwriter cheer we can take this morning. I think we're all still a little stunned that Kristy Lee, who may or may not be my 164th cousin thrice removed, went home instead of you. Now will you excuse me while I restylize my mundane breakfast order into a mini-rock epic?
Carly Smithson: Yeah, Brooke, could we follow the no-speakie-till-the-second-cup-of-coffee rule this morning? I know we try to project a happy-family image in front of the cameras, but, frankly, I'm appalled that you're still here. I'm still not sure who's voting for you. Are there really that many people rooting for a singer who comes across as a bleached-out, washed-and-scrubbed Carole King?
Brooke: Sticks and stones, sticks and stones, my dear Carly. If I had a mean bone in my body, and if I'd ever seen an R-rated movie, I would hurl vicious insults at you and your tattoos -- not to mention that scary looking, ink-slathered boyfriend of yours -- but I'd rather sit back and muse on how astute the "American Idol" voters are.
David Cook: Oh, give me a break. Kristy Lee was getting better week after week. You, on the other hand, just keep getting whinier.
Jason Castro: Dudes! It is way too early in the morning for harshness. If you think my brain is addled at night, imagine what it's like when I first wake up. My synapses are twisted into big, spider-weblike clumps that severely limit my ability to process more than one visual or auditory stimulus at a time. Hey, look at that pretty jar of marmalade!
Syesha Mercado: I agree with Jason. What's done is done. This is a cutthroat competition, and anyone who pretends otherwise is engaging in wishful thinking, just like those who believe that Paula Abdul has never had her brain hijacked by space aliens. As for me, I'm just ecstatic that my carefully plotted career trajectory toward playing a soap-opera villainess is advancing unimpeded. That was a close call last night!
Brooke: Thank you, Syesha. Even if you did grind your thumb into my third vertebrae when we were huddled together last night in the Bottom Three, causing a momentary pained expression on my face that made me look like Glenn Close in "Fatal Attraction."
Jason: I like marmalade. Marmalade pretty.
Carly: Well, I guess the only thing to say is that we have to move on. We have a Ford commercial to film, and we have to figure out which Andrew Lloyd Webber songs we're going to sing this week. I've got dibs on "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina."
Syesha: No way, girl. That's my song. I will mud-wrestle you for the privilege.
Brooke: And we have to figure out a way to tarnish Little Dave's squeaky-clean image so the rest of us have a chance to win.
Carly: Brooke, I didn't think you had it in you.
Brooke: Oh, you have no idea.
David Archuleta: Mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm.
David Cook: Dude, how many times have we told you not to suck your thumb at the table?
http://www.fresnobee.com/columnists/munro/story/535974.html
Lol at David A and Jason.
