American Idolatry

I auditioned for American Idol this past summer when the caravan rolled through Philadelphia, and unfortunately - most likely because I am grossly over the age limit, and not because my voice can't be likened to that of an angel, because it can - I did not get to go to Hollywood. Of course, I showed up anyway. And was arrested. Something about not wearing clothes and selling illegal substances to minors - I don't know, I let my lawyers handle anything related to "the man".

Well, none other than Simon Cowell showed up to bail me out. At first I thought it was because my talent was so obvious that he decided to rescue me from rock bottom and deliver me to tinseltown himself. Turns out it was just so his bodyguards could drag me into a nearby alley and hold me down while he spat on me and told me I'd never make it as a star. Those English folk are so brash! Good hair though. I will say that.

So I hitchhiked home and found love with Alexis Cohen, the Willem Dafoe look-a-like who also failed to score an invite to Hollywood. We shared many a story of woe and loss in the one bedroom apartment she shares in Allentown with her mother, amongst a good many other things. Like our love juices, for example. And a violent passion for colorfully-tinted circular sunglasses, zuba pants, and snap bracelets. Oh, and a talent for motivational speaking for the purposes of encouraging others to pursue their dreams despite oppression from everyone who knows better.

Long story short, I had to break things off with Alexis. She was too clingy. Hell of a butt, though. If you're into heroin chic...