I had decided to approach this week’s show with positivity but they decided to open the show with a bad animation of Buzz Aldrin blasting off like a rocket. It was his most graceful moment on the show. Thank God he won’t be disgracing America anymore.
Why do they insist on making the dancers walk down those stairs at the beginning of every show? Each week at least one person stumbles on the way down. This week it was Erin Andrews and the guy that dances with the über-hot Nicole Scherzinger.
This week’s attempt to make the show interesting is something they called the “Double Score Showdown.” Each dancer got two sets of scores. One score represents something and the other represents something else. Does anyone really care?
This week’s hot gossip: I’m not having sex with any of the hot women of the show.
Another week, another injury. Erin has suffered some sort of back strain that the show decided to spend several minutes covering followed by her saying that she doesn’t want to be the kind of person that talks about her injuries. But. You. Just. Did. Let’s hope her back holds up through the Tango.
Good strategy to start by molesting the old, creepy judge. Bad strategy by not wearing a sexier dress. Good strategy by having an injury that shows your midsection off the the world.
My technical score: Why aren’t I a wardrobe consultant for this show?
My performance score: Rooting for a pulled gluteus maximus muscle.
Evan decided to dress like a cat burglar for his rehearsals. How did the producers resist making a joke about him stealing the show? I hate myself for even thinking that.
I’m beginning to think that Tango is Spanish for whiplash. The two dancers spend the entire time whipping their heads back and forth and jamming their groins together. That’s how you get whiplash, right? By jamming your groins together?
My technical score: I don’t speak dancing.
My performance score: Groin Jam!
Damn. She’s dedicating this dance to her dead brother. Actually, she didn’t dedicate it to her brother, her partner dedicated it to her brother for her. I’m not sure that’s allowed, but whatever. Either way the dedication poops all over my jokes.
Niecy was given the Rhumba which is a super sexy dance based on the pros that came out and effed each other on the dance floor during the demonstration. She decided to dance to a Celine Dion song performed by the band Chicago. At least that’s what it sounded like. The Rhumba isn’t nearly as fun when the woman isn’t wearing underwear. Bring back the pros.
My technical score: Rhumba didn’t seem sexy on my Casio keyboard.
My performance score: Work the sympathy vote, girl.
His partner had to beg him to feel her up. You wouldn’t have to ask me twice. She decided that the cure for his nerves would be for him to dance shirtless in front of a bunch of middle-aged women. I’m sure the middle-aged women in the audience enjoyed it.
I still don’t know who the hell this guy is and I don’t who is voting for him. Wait. Middle-aged women. This show makes me dumb.
My technical score: Is there something below D-list?
My performance score: I went to the bathroom so I wouldn’t miss the commercials.
The dress she wore put me in a sexy mood. Where did I put my love hand?
My technical score: I’ll be right back.
My performance score: Did I miss anything?
Does he know he’s not on The Bachelor anymore? Someone tell him he can stop with all the sappy crap. It’s like they just pull the cord and he spews lame.
It’s fun to watch him try to dance like he thinks a real man should dance. It’s nearly as fun as watching him act like he thinks a real man should act.
My technical score: Not a man.
My performance score: More like a doll.
Do we have to keep hearing about how hard this lady’s life is? If I was a single mother I would be pissed that this is the woman that has now become our representative. Every week it’s tears and bitching and “I can’t do it.” You know what? She right. She can’t do it.
My technical score: Misery, thy name is Kate.
My performance score: She wore a dress.
Is there any doubt that these two are hittin’ it? My wife just confirmed that they are, in fact, “hittin’ it.” Or at least “kissin’ it.” Wait. That reads more disgusting than I meant.
In case you were wondering, my wife is my official Pop Culture Consultant. As far as I know, she hasn’t been wrong yet. As far as I know, I haven’t checked yet.
My technical score: I’m not a reporter.
My performance score: I’m way off topic here.
Pamela spent her entire time on-screen throwing herself at her partner or talking about how she’s lonely and needs someone right now. Unfortunately, my wife cannot confirm that they are hittin’ it. My eyes can confirm that something sexy is happening, however.
Is it possible to be so sexy that you aren’t sexy anymore? Are our sexy expectations so high for her that anything aside from her having sex on a boat is a letdown? I think so.
My technical score: The world is a confusing place.
My performance score: Jammed groin.