And the executions begin!

Off with their heads!

What pure sadistic joy I felt tonight. AI back to what it should be. Tears of sadness, smiles of glee and bad group numbers. Seriously, did you see them singing that song? The off-beat side to side sway they did? The over-rehearsed walk to the beat across the stage moves? The cheesiness. The tackiness. The stupidity. It was very Brady Bunch, very fabulous.

I loved every minute of it.

A shout out to Ruben Studdard who perched like a giant Buddha in the audience tonight. Seeing him was like seeing your old junior high crush. You remember the devotion, the time spent scrawling I Heart Ruben and Ruben-n-Shonda 4Ever on your notebook, the deep love you held onto even as he disappointed you time and time again...

Ah, Ruben.

Remember when you sang "A Whole New World?" Remember how I threw my panties at the TV and screamed "I luv you, Ruben!!!?" Remember?

People, Ruben sang "A House is Not A Home". The song that I said should only be sung by Tamyra according to the AI rule book. Ruben sang it. And it was goo-ood. Not just good. Two syllables. Goo-ood. The very song that was massacred by Anwar last night. Ruben did it. Now he sings gospel. I don't listen to gospel.

WE MISS YOU RUBEN!!!!!

(insert tears here...)

Okay, back to the matter at hand. Who got voted off tonight? Whose dreams were crushed under the heels of America's ability to hit the redial button on the telephone?

The bottom three were Mikalah, No Neck and Hairdresser The Sequel. Which was good. I would have been happier had the bottom three included Trach Boy but...

...one can't have everything, can one?

I had no problems with any one of the three girls going. None of them were any good last night. But when I looked deep down in places I don't like to talk about at cocktail parties or on this blog, I have to admit that No Neck has talent. And poor Mikalah looked properly regretful for both almost giving us a gynecologist's view of her body and for ruining a perfectly good song that never hurt anyone. So I can stomach giving them another chance.

Hairdresser The Sequel? Oh, you know she had to go. You KNOW it.

And then she cried and cried and cried. And her poor grandmama almost had a stroke (at least I HOPE that was her grandmama -- otherwise, her Mama is a miracle of science what with giving birth at 65) when Ryan booted off her baby. Has anyone else noticed that this year, Ryan is almost gleeful when kicking a contestant to the curb? That he's icy cold and unsympathetic when telling a hopeful to let the doorknob hit 'em where the good lord split 'em? It's like he's SO over this show. It's like he's sick of watching year after year as someone becomes a superstar while he remains a virtual Ed McMahon sidekick to Simon's flawless Johnny.

I'm down with his cruelty. It makes things interesting. But I'm a little worried about him. His mental state has me atwitter. I mean, Ryan is a bitter, bitter boy these days. I hope his therapist gets paid A LOT. That's all I'm saying. Cause I don't want to hear that Constantine is trapped in a hole in Ryan's basement while Ryan says "It puts the lotion on its skin; it does this whenever it's told."

(People, go rent Silence of the Lambs and watch it again -- it possesses what may quite possibly be the single greatest compilation of quotable lines in the past 30 years.)

So now we're down to eleven. Six mediocre singers, one total babe, three potential winners and a boy apparently still recovering from the tracheotomy he had as a child whose voice and face make me want to scratch my own eyes right out of their sockets.

How much do I LOVE this show?!

This is Shonda, reporting gleeful from my sofa.