Or not.

It’s just that I keep thinking mass murderer/total nutjob when I hear the name Paul Potts.  I know, I know.  It’s completely stupid.  There’s an “S” where Pol Pot had none, but still.

singing the aria while you die

And tell me you don’t find the man creepy.

He gives me the heebie-jeebies, I tell you, with that fat face of his that could block the full moon if he wished to.  There’s sort of a William Hung quality to him that I can’t quite explain, sort of like a Down Syndrome meets moon cake cross breeding experiment gone awry.

I’m being mean.

He has talents I can only dream of.  He’s world renowned and had nasty Simon Cowell clapping in awe.

Not that any of that matters, though, when you’re named like a notorious criminal and shaped like an orbiting satellite.

It’s bitch season.

This entry was posted on Monday, September 29th, 2008 at 10:29 pm and is filed under celebrities. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.