Hersheys, Pancake Syrup and X Factor USA

X Factor USA 2012

Like I need any other imports to make me sick!


X Factor USA has started again and I’m really enjoying it. I really am. It gives me a chance to lounge back into the folds of my sofa, gripping a steaming hot Twinings in a mug placated with a celebratory Union Jack, and chortle patronisingly to myself. Because, in America, everyone is a winner. They cheer, they scream, they’d probably take out their own tongue and throw it at you if you were that amazing. But surely I’m not alone? The American philosophy is, in itself, a little queasy, one which all inhabitants of that godforsaken land seem to want to gloss across their torsos whilst spreading their arms like Jesus on the cross, demanding unrequited attention. Either this or Mariah Carey has been doing it wrong all these years.


Yes, X Factor USA is a country-mile from its British brother. Where a British act might climax a song to rapturous applause, the American audience might just climax, until they were all a sweating, panting, filthy naked horde of people, writhing around on cup-holders and demanding MORE. But that’s just what they do. It’s what makes everything televised and deemed ‘entertainment’ to be typically light, bright and Hollywood-fied. Take Wife Swap – in Wife Swap UK a wife on benefits gives her kids chicken nuggets for tea and we all gasp in nutritional backlash and call up Jamie Oliver’s PA, and that’s all the fun we are given. Wife Swap USA, the husband beats his wife for not cooking his pig hooves appropriately. It’s brilliant television. Anything that takes the piss out of the typical 2.4 family that all Americans aim to project with their shiny white teeth, glossy hair and beige mansions I will gladly watch, clapping excitedly whenever the kids say ‘MOM’ or ‘SIDEWALK’.


But it’s the glamorised reality of X Factor USA that really ticks my turkey twizzlers. You thought the sob stories were bad on our version? Try a whole bloody segment about a girl that got bullied. I DON’T CARE IF YOU GOT BULLIED. IF YOU’RE SHIT, I WILL PUSH YOU OVER TOO. NOW GET ON WITH IT. Turns out she was okay,  but I was still tempted to push her over purely for wasting my time and then continuing to do so afterward as Demi Lovato made a whole hoo-ha over her, before getting up and giving her an ingratiating hug. It was pretty pathetic, and resoundingly highlighted the question of ’why is Demi Lovato on the panel?’ So please, enlighten me you miserable lot.


She’s not a singer, she’s an actress. She’s released about two songs, but she has a ‘riveting’ back story, so X Factor bosses love itttttt. I walked into a plate glass door and my nose now has a dent on it… do I now get to be on the panel? My shoelaces are made of spaghetti, do I now get to sit next to Simon? It’s ridiculous. The back story isn’t even that riveting anyway. She got bullied, got sad, punched a backing dancer, ended up in rehab, wrote a song about it, panel. If anything, we should lock her up. This woman evidently has no idea about reality. That’s not even her natural hair colour. How can she judge us normys with a mane of pink hair, anyway?


So when we despair, sighing and grimacing at this fact, we turn our heads to the person sat to her right. And we suddenly realise Demi is only clinging on to the Crazy Train, whilst olde Britney is right up there in the front – she’s driving the bloody thing, enticing small children in with ice-cream before chasing after them with a scar-faced razor.


It seems the only legitimate judge on this panel is LA Reid. A man who, if he was your dad, you’d probably say that he was a terrible dancer (I am judging this entirely on the out-of-syncedness of his head bobs). Regardless of my criticisms, he is incredibly affluent in the music biz and deserves his spot there, even if does falsely believe that what he is sitting on is a throne crafted by Poseidon himself. And finally, Simon Cowell. The only thing he has going for him is his ability to superlativise everything he says, because he is probably one of the worst judges I have ever seen, but with the ability to shock the life out of us, because if he doesn’t like something, he’ll love it. How bemusing. Really, after hearing it eight times on the same show, I genuinely got progressively more and more shocked with every dramatic pause and drawn-out pen dwindling. Surely I should be making more money than this fool?


It pains me to know that, out of these bunch of lawful regulars, their imminent success is going to be crafted by these shit stains of American pop culture. They’ll put them in sparkly hats, make them lumber around the stage in those light-up shoes and get them to all sing ‘Walking in Memphis’. It is gonna’ be so so sickening. But I’ll be watching every bit of it. Because anything is more exciting than Gary Barlow.


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