Simon Cowell is the REAL American Idol

In the far off magical land called "Hollywood", three appointed kings (one of them is a queen) sit in high court, allowing their jesters to make fools of themselves for the rest of the proles. We, the people, the real power, sit in our living rooms, basking in the glow of the television screen, and analyze the newest flock of American Idol contestants from our home phones and cellular text messages. We are in control of the destiny of the next rich and quasi famous reality show winner posing as an actual music icon.

Not that I'm bitter. Sure I should be the next American Idol, but not for singing. I should be idolized and sought after and chased down by paparazzi and get caught shaving my head and running naked on a beach on some far off island getaway that the plane fare alone would bankrupt a "normal" working class citizen. Sure I'm just sitting at home, thinking about my bills and my break even lower middle class bank account and gut wrenching M - F grind with an occasional break in the clouds for my Saturday morning "who gives a ****" sweatpants and t-shirt till noon mentality. But there I am when that theme song hits and Ryan Seacrest takes the stage. We are once again in the thick of it.

Let's introduce the judges.