How about that Sunday results show! Kicked off by an unknown boyband knowingly dubbed The Wanted – a fivesome made up of young men who are individually average looking, but seriously hot when huddled together holding their hearts, singing lyrics peppered with sex metaphors about what it would feel like if they took turns to make love to you at a fun fair.
They put so much into their performance that the one who looks like a young Dylan Thomas couldn’t find enough oxygen in his lungs to answer Dermot O’Really’s probing question about when their record is coming out. FYI – it’s out. You can actually buy it.
Next up, internet sensation Justin Beiber paid tribute to 1970s New York street gangs by wearing a Savage Skulls leather jacket, and occasionally lifting his t-shirt up to reveal the handle of a gun protruding from his trousers. After a note perfect performance of stratospheric proportions, he made some slutty comment about wanting to get off with Cheryl Cole, causing an outbreak of vicious grumbling from the mosh pit. Thankfully none of his fans had brought rocks along in their handbags else he’d probably have been stoned to death ON NATIONAL TELEVISION.
A victory for the great British public, declared Cowell, whilst a mob of Rage Against the Machine masked renegades were forced to abort their plans.
After that, Nicole Wotsit from Pussycat Dolls performed a song which she’d never done before. It totally blew everyone’s minds, and in a dark corner of the world somewhere, four former bandmates wearing tatty stained lingerie and eroding suspender belts angrily passed around a bottle of cooking sherry.
Then to the results.
Cher managed to make it through, after a RETURN TO FORM, which meant that she reinstated her hardcore raps into proceedings. If there’s one slight problem with Cher, it’s that she answers every single question in the defiant style of Pat from Eastenders explaining the importance of family to a misbehaving child. She may need to lighten up a touch.
All the favourites made it through. Leaving the nation bidding a fond farewell to Katie Waissel – who had a great time, despite spending two months fainting, weeping, and repeatedly changing her hairstyle to reveal “the real Katie” – and the judges were left to choose between Mary and Wagner. Bit of a no brainer, as Wagner stood smiling like he’d won Eurovision, even though his mentor Louis X had just told him to sod off. A victory for the great British public, declared Cowell, whilst a mob of Rage Against the Machine masked renegades were forced to abort their plans.
As for next week’s semi-final, here’s a few certainties:
Mary won’t make it through, but will be relieved to know that her face is already being emblazoned beneath the words “Blood Brothers” on posters in London’s glitzy West End.
Matt will strum his guitar to prove that he really knows how to strum a guitar, before allowing his voice to soar up the scales until he doesn’t sound like he’s actually singing any more, but he so is. Proof of that can be found by dogs going totally berserk, and horses running wildly around fields, screaming their heads off.
Cher will do the sing/rap/sing thing, One Direction will emerge with shaven heads and Rage against the Machine t-shirts as a plot-twisting fuck you to Simon Cowell (or not).
And Rebecca Ferguson will continue to sing like a really soulful Siamese cat.
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