One of my first attacks on Sanjaya...

Please do not drinking from the slurpee machine! Luckily for you Sanjaya Malakar, these words mean you’ll never want for gainful employment.

I wish your sister made it through instead of you, she had an awesome rack and doesn’t sport that ridiculous “Look at me! I’m a boy!” mustache. One of these days, magical things will happen to your body. Your hangy down, pathetic and small though it may be, will grow hair. Your shoulders will broaden and, Praise Jesus, your voice will lower to the point where you can speak without pissing off every dog in the neighborhood.

Your voice is higher than Algore’s opinion of himself. I wish Justin Timberlake (See Dictionary under “talented”) would have written an SNL skit about you called “Head in a Box” and then followed through with it. Some people can sing the phone book and it sounds good. You wouldn’t sound good if the Irish Tenors skinned you like a catfish and wore your skin as clothes and sang through you.

You suck more than Paris Hilton on home movie night. I know there are pictures of your sister out there going Antonella Barba on some lucky schmo but because your worthless ass is on TV taking up her spot, we have to hope that her ex-boyfriend gets sick of cleaning the filling station bathroom where he found her phone number and posts the pics for all of us to see.

You look like Deepak Chopra and a Motel 6 had a baby and stuck a microphone in its hand. I’m surprised you can even lift the thing. Elton John has more testosterone than you. Steroids are bad, really bad, but I think a cycle or two would actually do some benefit in your case. Look, you’re set. Buy a couple of gas stations, maybe a hotel. Your Uncle Patel will give you the money. You’ll have a nice job, hell, you can even sing to people over the little microphone before you say “All set on pump 3.” That’s your niche, pal.

I’m serving warning to the bitches singing tonight, I’ve got a couple of you in my crosshairs. Bring it, or face the wrath of the Idol Rant…