Punishment Pool: 'American Idol' fairytale-style

Gather round children, for I will tell you a tale. A tale so bold and so eye-gougingly painful that it can only be told once SO PAY ATTENTION ... ahem.

(Editor's note: This is my attempt at a follow-up to Adam's memorable tale of torture in the form of a delightful conversation with the devil. Though it will not come close to the level of genius already shown, this is the only way I can retell the happenings of Tuesday's "American Idol" without vomiting all over my keyboard.)

Now, where was I? Oh yes. A long, long time ago (er, last night) in a deep, dark mysterious forest on the FOX network, there lived four trolls who guarded a bright, pyrotechnic-adaptable stage. Anyone who stepped foot on this stage had to show these trolls a talent. If they were unable, or didn't have a talent, the trolls would feed them to their dogs -- a pit of pre-pubescent 15-year-old girls with braces.

On a peaceful Tuesday, a metrosexual dwarf appeared on the stage, announcing to the trolls that he would help organize the so-called talent of the evening. He was 4-foot-9, with frosted tips and smelled of spray-on tan. The trolls feared this Seacrest dwarf because if he was angered, he would lash out by creating awful television like "Bromance" or "Denise Richards: It's Complicated." The dwarf seemed unusually happy tonight, could've been because he just received his latest round of botox, or it could've been because he knew the torture that awaited the trolls. For tonight, was disco night.

Just then, a young girl came skipping through the forest. Her name was Lil Rounds. The Seacrest dwarf asked the young woman if she had a talent to please the trolls.

"I believe I do," she said.

"Oh? Well what is it? And is it disco themed?" the dwarf asked.

"It is," she said. "My talent is that I can take the stage on national television and sing only slightly better than a drunk at a karaoke bar, all the while keeping it real and pointing at nothing in the audience."

"Wow," said the dwarf, in shock of such a talent. "You can do all of that ... at once?!"

"Watch me," she said.

As soon as Lil Rounds had completed her talent, while singing some disco-lovin' Chaka Khan, the trolls gasped in amazement. It appeared not only was she able to do this talent for the entire song, but her sad pleading to stay alive at the end of the performance reached a new level of desperation. The trolls said they thought it was even more karaoke-like than she had led on to. They were pleased and let the girl live ... however, it isn't clear if she fell into the pit of rabid dogs and will later be pronounced deceased. Sorry kids, this fairytale is not immune from horrifying tales of death.

Before the trolls had time to gulp their secret potion clearly displayed in product-placement Coca-Cola glasses, which made them witty and original, another young lad came skipping through the forest. His name was Kris, yes, spelled like a girl. The trolls noticed that Kris was calm and chill and wore a plain white T-shirt and a hemp necklace. Clearly, this guy must be talented, they thought, he's not even trying to impress us.

The dwarf emerged, ready to introduce the young man.

"So Kris, wait a minute ... are you a dwarf too? Are we related? Are you great Aunt Bertha's kid from Idaho?"

"Uh no .... I'm actually a centaur," he said, baring his horse's ass.

"Oh, well that upsets me," the dwarf said. "Maybe I should create a show where we follow Star Jones on her weekly grocery shopping escapades as she tries to hide the fact that she's still a fat girl."

As the dwarf left to call Star Jones, Kris took the stage.

"My talent is that I can take a classic song by Donna Summer and turn it into a whiny, melodramatic ballad while closing my eyes at certain parts and luring sexually confused teenage boys with my guitar," he said. "All while calling it brilliantly creative."

The trolls clapped with delight.

"Oh Kris Allen, I wish I were a 15-year-old boy so I could be lured by your sweet, sweet tunes," said the unknown troll, who is painfully annoying and has giant ears, made even bigger by the fact she wears her hair up with large earrings to draw your eyes to her freakshow ears.

Next up, the wretched, awful, despicable, soul-less being that made me tell this story: a fat guy trying waayyyy too hard with the trendy glasses named Danny. Ohhh Danny. How I loathe you. Ahem ... So Danny took the stage and told the trolls his talent.

"My talent," he said, "is that I can look like a complete douche bag, sing a really annoying version of 'September' by Earth, Wind and Fire, all the while making odd squealing noises and dancing like a drunk man stumbling down a hill."

The trolls seemed skeptical of this, but allowed it anyway. When the performance was over, the trolls actually seemed to like the monstrosity and lied to the young man's face, saying he was never "pitchy" and that they believed he would be back to perform for them for a long time. It's unclear why the trolls lied, but some believe it's because fat people need love too. This is a lie.

Another dwarf-like girl came hopping through the forest just then, with hair as flaming red as anything ever seen before. Her name was Allison, though this narrator insists on calling her Wannabe Ginger. She spoke softly and told the trolls her talent ... "I can also sing a Donna Summer song by ruining it with my smokes-a-lot vocals and disgust audiences far and wide with my abnormally large FUPA. I will also replace the second chorus of 'I need some hot stuff, baby' with 'I need some control spanx, baby.'"

The trolls couldn't have been more pleased. Even the grumpy troll, who most people don't like but I believe is scarily accurate, fell for this act.

Just then the clouds parted, the sun came out and a rainbow appeared. From the depths of the forest, a red carpet rolled out with young children sprinkling rose petals and playing harps. The trolls knew it could only mean one thing: Adam Lambert was approaching. The four trolls bowed their heads to the king and lined up to kiss his feet.

"Please good sir, please do not show us your talent -- it is too perfect, too wonderful, we cannot bear to hear it," the trolls begged.

"I must," Adam said. "The 15-year-old girls who don't understand that I'm a homosexual want to hear my music."

"Well, if you must, then please, sir ... don't wait for our response, you know your fate here," the drunk, drug-induced troll said as she welled up with tears anticipating the song he was about to sing.

Adam, whose head is large enough to wear one of those giant rubber cowboy hats as if it were normal-sized, sang his version of the hit "If I Can't Have You," in ballad form. The drunk troll began weeping uncontrollably, clasping her hands over her mouth like a young psychopath lusting after Sanjaya. Adam's giant head then opened up like a nutcracker, crashing down atop Seacrest dwarf's head, smashing it like a tiny peanut.

"Just because I can," he said, as he walked away, birds flying around him and deer following in his footsteps.

The trolls were in awe to have been in the presence of their one, true idol and nothing could stop the glee pasted on their little faces. That is, until a man approached them, dressed like a poor, wannabe Justin Timberlake. His name was Matt Giraud.

"I have a talent," he said, proudly.

"Oh yeah? You think you can follow the footsteps of the chosen one and have our attention?" laughed the trolls.

"I think I can do something no one else can," he said.

The trolls seemed intrigued.

"I can sing the most annoyingly cliched disco song, not change a thing, thoroughly embarrass the original artists with my performance and ... sing it with confidence, even though it's terribly ironic since I will soon die after singing, 'Staying Alive,'" he said. "On top of all this, I will dance next to backup singers that are more talented than I."

"I don't believe you can do all of that, dawg. Dawg, how dare you make a mockery of our job, dawg. Listen up, listen up, listen up, we saw you last week, dawg, and when you told us you had talent, dawg, we believed you, dawg, and saved your life, dawg," the heavy, talentless troll said. "And now you come back, dawg, and listen up, listen up, you want us to save you again?"

"Um, yes?" Matt said.

"Yeah, OK, dawg," the troll said.

So Matt went on his way. But as he told the trolls, his life would soon be over.

As the trolls were ready to call it a day and head home, a young brown boy wearing a pink sweater and toting black peach fuzz in the form of a sad mustache and goatee, approached the stage. The boy looked nervous, most likely facing near death, and slowly spoke to the trolls.

"Before you leave, can I show you my talent?" he asked.

"You? What are you doing here? Didn't we kill you weeks ago?" the trolls snickered.

"Um, no, I'm still here," he said. "My father says if I'm not going to be a doctor, he won't accept my music career unless I keep coming back here to eventually win it all."

The boy, named Anoop, or what this narrator refers to him as "Big Poona," then began singing Donna Summer's song, "Dim All the Lights." Apparently when the trolls asked for all talent to be disco themed, everyone thought they meant Donna Summer-themed. After all, she was the only one to ever sing a disco song.

The boy finished the song.

"Let me guess," said the troll. "Your talent was that you can sing a poor rendition of a song, while wearing pink, sprouting pathetic facial hair, all while making us believe you deserve a chance to stay in this competition?"

"That, and picking up the tempo in a song I rearranged, only to make it absolutely awful," he added.

"Marvelous. Just marvelous," the troll said.

The boy scampered off, having received good reviews from the trolls, and started looking for more pink attire.

With that, the trolls went home, having completed yet another day of ruining the lives of the American viewing public.

The End

The lesson of the story here, kids, is that no matter how awful you are, if you can work your way on to a reality television show without being too physically unattractive, you can do anything.

-- Sara Boyd, sboyd2@greenbaypressgazette.com