I could not have been more bored by last night’s episode. I wrote a positive piece on Sarah Jessica Parker (!) instead of giving Idol my full attention. And without even looking at the screen the entire time, I was STILL rolling my eyes from the massive gratuitousness of the whole affair.

Simon inflating Syesha’s comments in the first set to get her past Archuleta, the entire judging panel dissapointed after Fever, when they realized a double David finale is inevitable; the machinations of the show have become transparent. They so desperately want Archuleta off the show, they banned his Shikaka Shit crazy Dad from rehearsals, and then Archuleta was STILL as blandly sincere and hollow as ever. I mean, could that grey shirt have BEEN more church pressed?

Top 3 week is usually fairly suspenseful. Can the underdog in the three spot overtake one of the big dogs? Will one of the leaders faulter? Will Simon be able to rein in his disgust that Taylor Hicks is still around? So many intriguing questions, surrounded by a triple song set that always invokes lunacy. Simon and Randy twiddling their Mr. Burns thumbs, trying to one-up each other. Paula seal-clapping her approval for anything and everything. But last night? The Season Seven Top 3? A heretofore unheard of amount of predictability, cabaret, cheeseball bullshit, violent apathetic coasting and random, unsatisfying Justin Guarini cameos.

I am so over this season.

Let me put it this way: Last Thursday I sat in front of my television and gave my undivided attention to Good Luck Chuck. Now understand, I hate Dane Cook so SO much. Flames… on the side of my face. Heaving… breathing… and yet I kept my eyes on the TV the entire time. The movie was a suckball of suckitude; Jessica Alba was only tolerable on mute and Dane needs a chemical peel worse than Bill Murray and needs to STFD about as bad as any person that has ever breathed air. But the movie was STILL more enjoyable that last night!

Ugh is the watchword.

As I do every elimination week, I recap the performances and grade the singers on a sliding scale of how much I wanted to, or did, TiVo-bloop through the song. At the end of each recap I’ll make my pick for who should (and hopefully will) get the axe on the mind-numbingly long results show. Let’s start the blooping!

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David Archuleta - All the things that come to mind when Archuleta sings: Snore. Bore. Blah. Consistent. Hollow. Yawn. What dash ever. Who effing cares? Fine, I guess. Really, another ballad? Oop, lost the words again. Deedle do, deedle dee. Suck it, fanatical Papa Archuleta. Inevitability. Predictability. Ringer. Lost. Precocious. Sincerity. Psychotherapy. Again? Imagine. Blink. Lick. Blink. Lick. Poor Syesha.

Grade: DOUBLE BLOOP

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Syesha Mercado - Did herself no favors singing Fever, only served to confuse the white people with that Rihanna number and did an admirable, but too reminiscent of earlier this season Syesha version of Alicia Keys. Despite coming on supes strong these last few weeks, just couldn’t seem to clear the Karaoke hurdle. She became a great performer, dressed like a superstar and presented a sweet, intoxicating personality (sans baby voice and attention-grabbing personal melodrama), but still sounds like an above average R&B jukebox. She can play the hits, but she can’t generate one on her own. I truly thought she could beat Archuleta, but with that set… I just don’t know.

Grade: DOUBLE BLOOP

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David Cook - Sat numbly watching the slow song, hoped for the best and got the blah with the Switchfoot number (a band and song that was tailor-made for him), and was confused by his weird phrasing on the Aerosmith performance. Why did he change speeds so often? Whatever, he’s making the finals, so it doesn’t matter. He could have blasted a snot rocket onto Ryan’s silk tie and we’d still vote him on. I’m not even offended anymore that he’s been coasting for five weeks. David Cook at rest is still more dynamic than David Archuleta at full lip lick.

Grade: DOUBLE BLOOP

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The Bottom Two: There won’t be one.

My prediction for who gets the axe: Syesha Mercado (also my attention span, and 18% of my love for American Idol)

Bangarang!