The Stalker Song

I won't lie to you: you do some regrettable things when you're locked in a hotel room for three weeks at a time. You know, things like... watching the season premiere of American Idol. I honestly felt like the sequestered jurors in "A Time To Kill" who knew that they weren't supposed to talk about the case, but insisted on doing so at dinner because they simply had nothing better to do. And I felt a little dirty afterwards.

But let me tell you: Paul Marturano made it all worth while.


This little diddy is hysterical on so many levels. First of all, if the look of this guy doesn't scream "pedophile", then I don't know what does. From the bad shirt showing way too much man-cleavage right down to the Wal-Mart brand jeans tucked into the tongues of his velcro shoes, this guy is clearly a first-ballot candidate for surgically implanted GPS tracking devices.

Randy shows some serious chivalry by laughing at the whole thing and basically ignoring an obviously terrified Paula as she turns to him in a desperate outreach for help, with Randy's disregard for her going so far as to clap at the end of it all. You can practically hear him thinking: "Hey baby, that's what you get for sleeping with half the contestants!" And the only person willing to intervene gets shrugged off by the second coming of Richard Ramirez, who "SHHshes" the show's producer and explains in no uncertain terms: "You're ruining the moment, Simon". Nobody likes a game killer.

And then there's the song itself. It's a virtuosic display of poetic mediocrity and deranged genius, a dying genre in this artistically watered-down day and age:


If I were Columbo, I'd Peter Falk her...

If she were a bathtub... (pregnant pause for dramatic effect, prolonging the inevitable climax)... I would CAULK her!!!


Are you kidding me? That's Gold Jerry! GOLD!