Scene 1: A modestly appointed theatre in Los Angeles, California.
Seacrest: “Jennifer Lopez, given that each step in the journey to this stage has been marked by your self-dramatizing emotional undoing, my question is threefold…”
Tyler: “Wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?”
Seacrest: “…Threefold. First, are you going to make it. Secondly, are you suffering from the loss of control over this process now that America Decides. And third, what has happened to Carla Gugino. Nobody can tell me.”
Tyler: “Why are you hitting yourself? Stop hitting yourself, America!”
Jackson: “Yeah, America! Why are you hitting yourself?”
Seacrest: “…The question stands.”
Lopez: “I want to go home.”
Scene 2: Pointless Badgering.
Seacrest: “How much did your earrings cost?”
Lopez: “Let me put it this way: My husband has not eaten in six years.”
Seacrest: “Steven Tyler, you look like you’re in need of some attention.”
Tyler: “I just pretend they’re clapping for me.”
Seacrest: “You are just the worst, aren’t you?”
Tyler: “Say the F Word, Ryan. Say it.”
Ryan: “F***. F***. I can say that word, I don’t care.”
Scene 3: Arrival of the Children; Junebug sets the Tone.
(Junebug looks more like William Hung than ever before, should Mr. Hung ever find his way to Urban Outfitters. A heavily accessorized Jovany can’t stop whiteboy-pointing from the second he steps onstage. Jordan is a part of the Rhythm Nation, Suckass Division, Bitchiness Regiment; heavily decorated after the Mai Lai melee that took young Jacee’s life.
(Tim, he’s just doing Tim. Brett as tee-niny Southern Belle. Durbin with everything louder than everything else, style-wise. Robbie Rosen’s doomed smile — little-known fact, his gums actually produce their own lanolin analogue, which operates much like petroleum jelly — already beginning to ache. Scotty, still no reason. Stefano, whoever that is. Old McDonald, having some kind of EIEIO fit already. Jacob Lusk, somehow overdoing it just by waving. And Casey Abrams, looking remarkably vital. By which I mean awesome.)
Junebug: “Karaoke. Quirkiness. Portlandia.”
(He sings “Superstition” without pronouncing a single word the way you say words. The influence of Tori Amos. Radical red kicks. A great deal of energy to match the dumb Mondrian color blocks shining out of every surface. Clearly having the time of his damned life. If Paula Abdul were here she’s be twitching like Paul McDonald right now. In a post-Lambert world, we will all scream everything. We will communicate through screamings.)
Jackson, Tyler: “…”
Lopez: “You sure are spastic to sing so good. Maybe you can calm down now?”
Junebug: “Not a chance, little lady.”
Jackson: “I agree with things that people say.”
Seacrest: “Neat, nobody is tinier than I am. I feel like a giant! It reminds me of when Simon used to let me drink out of his tiny teacups. If I’d known how much that little kindness would come to mean to me, I would have been much less naughty.”