So You Think You Can Sympathy Vote

Last night the finalists for "So You Think You Can Dance" were revealed, and I haven't hated Utah this much since my parents used to drag me there every summer and I would spend my days cycling through watching TV, crying, and masturbating. Sometimes I did all three at once.

First off, I am very happy for Kathryn, Jakob, Ellenore, and Russell. They all deserve to be there.

My sadness and anger stem from these two fucking axe wounds, the most perfect examples of why everyone in this country needs to watch his back when a Utahan is around.

Here's Ryan:

Ryan, 28, is a total piece of shit. He's actually not a terrible dancer, but he is such a fucking desperate one. Unlike most of his much younger competitors, he doesn't really seem to be that into dancing. He just really seems to be into being famous, which is to say, into himself. I'd be embarrassed if I were consistently outdanced by people who were 8-10 years younger; I'd be Ryan if I loved every second of it. This arrogant prick is so full of himself he's shitting his own head. He's actually gone so far up his own asshole that he's come back out again. Watching him react to the judges' compliments is like watching a mobius strip suck its own dick. But of course he doesn't have to suck his own dick because he's got his smoking hot wife

Ashleigh

This bitch. can. catch. a. brick. She proved herself to be a pretty good dancer, definitely better than her dipshit husband. I even felt sorry for her when I learned she was sidelined for years by a parasite. Underneath the horse face and parasites, though, there's something obviously cold and possibly malevolent. I do think she loves to dance, but I suspect she also might love to get you to punch her during sex just so she has dirt on you so she can call the cops when you inevitably disappoint or bore her. Her most cuntish qualities, though, became evident in her dislocated shoulder performance on Wednesday; she figuratively waltzed into the finale without having to do any literal dancing and took a spot from a more deserving dancer in the process. Which brings me to

Mollee

This poor girl was fucking robbed. I'm sure everyone in America hates her for all the obvious reasons--she's young, she's pretty, she's adorable when she talks, she has a sunny disposition and a stage mom, she's already had quite a bit of professional success as a dancer. I don't really care about those things. I love her because she looks like my friend Montse; because as freshly scrubbed and cute as she was, she always looked a little mangy and like she would sort of smell bad; because she can dance really, really well; and because she looked so heartbroken and confused when she was eliminated. This wasn't the anger and befuddlement of an arrogant bitch who wants you to fuck/punch her in the face so she can hold it over your head and who can't wrap her own head around the fact that not everyone loves her more than they love her competitors; it was the genuine sadness and panic of girl whose talent far outstrips her savvy and who has just had her dream abruptly cut short. She got beat by a shoulder in a sling and a whole bunch of assholes from Utah who felt sorry for one of their own.

I find it difficult to express how much I dislike smug couples. It is almost impossible for me to even understand how much I hated to see these two fucktards literally and figuratively shuck and jive their way into undeserved success. Their whole schtick is like Mormon minstrelsy. If, taken individually, both Ryan and Ashleigh are the boner shrinkingest boner shrinkers who ever shrunk boners, then taken together they are a boner black hole. They warp space and time so that you never even had a boner in the first place.

So good luck to the four contestants who deserve to be in the finale (and to Mollee and Legacy, though I'm sure they'll both be just fine)--here's hoping that, come next Thursday, Ryan and Ashleigh (I can't even believe I've given her the respect of spelling her stupid fucking name right) will be well on their way to fading into obscurity, and, more important, that we can all get boners again.