Run-on sentences regarding Chris Daughtry

The past couple of weeks, I've been a little wary of Chris Daughtry, my former American Idol flame, kind of like when you have a boyfriend who you suspect is cheating on you, but you don't yet have any evidence except for that one night when he came home and immediately took a shower and he claimed he went to the gym but you don't think he actually did, you think he was probably fucking that girl he works with but you'll never say it because you'll sound paranoid and crazy. Yeah, it's like that. See, when he sang Wanted: Dead or Alive, he knocked my socks off. It was just the perfect song for him. Then he did a Fuel or Audioslave song and whatever because I so don't care about either of those bands but he, as Randy Jackson would say, "worked it out," and by "worked it out" I mean he was completely awesome, and if I were in the audience I so would have showed him my breasts. Then the week after, he did another Fuel or Audioslave song and I was kind of like, "snore" but his voice was still great and he's so ridiculously hot in a way that makes me a little uncomfortable because he looks like The Ex, but The Roommate assures me he's like 10 times hotter and really, anyone would love him so that made me feel better.

And then it was Stevie Wonder week. Stevie Wonder week was the week that made me think that, while Chris Daughtry should have been at the gym, he was fucking that girl he works with. He claimed he was really worried about having to sing a Stevie Wonder song. Why? Because he's a one-trick pony, but still a one-trick pony I would have been more than happy to uh, mount at that point. Then he realized that Higher Ground was a Stevie song, and so he decided to do an arrangement that would "blend the sounds of the Red Hot Chili Peppers with the sounds of Stevie Wonder" and really, it was RHCP karaoke night at American Idol, complete with a light show. And the judges collectively wet themselves and wept with joy while I thought one thing and one thing only: Chris Daughtry is cheating.

Which brings us to last night. Barry Manilow night. Now, I've been known to loudly sing Mandy to Mrs. F, because it's like, her name, but I'm no Barry Manilow fan by any means. That said, he was pretty likeable, but not likeable enough that I won't fast-forward him when he performs tonight. He too, was awed by Chris Daughtry's talent. I was wondering if, at that very moment, Chris Daughtry was buying his coworker, the pretty one who wears skirts that are too short, a drink before bending her over in a bathroom stall. But then I heard he'd be singing Walk the Line, and I thought maybe I was just being paranoid. He's a good old Southern boy, after all, and maybe we'd get to see a different side of him. And then he turned it into a Fuel or Audioslave song and that was it for me. It's one thing to, as Paula said over and over and over and over and over regarding Chris, "stay true to who you are" but it's another entirely to bastardize the music of one Johnny Cash and get praised for it. I am officially declaring Paula, Randy and Simon (who I'm most disappointed in) mad, and I'm also declaring Chris Daughtry someone who I no longer want to show my tits to. It was fun while it lasted, and now I'll just be content with my embarrassing crush on Bucky Covington.

Oh, and my prediction for tonight? Lisa Tucker's going home.