Martin Luther King Has a Dream About American Idol

Martin Luther King was a great man, and FunnyCrave has nothing but respect for him.  We wish he were still here today.  And if he was, we’d ask him for his opinion on some current world events…

I am happy to join with you today to discuss what will go down in history as the greatest television show in the history of our nation.

Nine years ago, a great American, Simon Cowell, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, developed American Idol. This momentous event came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of talentless singers who had been seared in the flames of karaoke-night heckling. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their awfulness.

But nine years later, the no-talents have not all been heard. Nine years later, the life of the no-talent is still sadly crippled by the manacles of disharmony and the chains of tone deafness. Nine years later, the no-talent lives on a lonely island of Miley Cyrus songs in the midst of a vast ocean of autotune depravity. Nine years later, the no-talent is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile from all open mike nights. And so we’ve come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we tune into FOX to watch these people fail. When the architects of our American Idol wrote the magnificent words of the rules of American Idol auditions, they were signing a promissory note to which every no-talent was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all people, yes, those with talent as well as those without, would be guaranteed the “unalienable Rights” to stand in front of an Englishman, a drunk pop star and Randy Jackson and try their best to sing Nickleback a cappella and be celebrated for it.  It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of no-talent are concerned. Instead of honoring their efforts, America has given the no-talent people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “dude, you totally suck.  Let’s put you on Youtube and mock you for years.”

But we refuse to believe that the bank of American Idol is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of music of this nation. And so, we’ve come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of mockery-free auditions and the security of not becoming an internet meme.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. The auditions will soon be at an end. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of auditions to the sunlit path of Hollywood, and Round 2! Now is the time to lift our no-talents from the quicksands of forgetting lyrics and wearing ludicrous costumes to the solid rock of “good job, at least you didn’t try to sing Whitney Houston. Now is the time to make Hollywood a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the no-talent’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Two-thousand ten is not an end, but a beginning, for all who are told they sound worse than a bag of cats being kicked down the stairs. And those who hope that the no-talent needed to blow off steam and will now be content with a public debasing seen by millions will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the no-talent is granted his singing rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold with Ryan Seacrest which leads into that cramped little room with Simon Cowell: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by singing completely asstastic songs that no one wants to hear. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into monster ballads, slow jams or anything by Avril Lavigne. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of AC/DC, Steppenwolf and Old Crow Medicine Show.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the no-talent community must not lead us to a bastardization of decent music, for many of decent songs, as evidenced by so many past auditions, have come out sounding like the bathroom wails of a man passing a kidney stone. And they have been ruined for all future auditions.

We cannot sing alone.

And as we sing, we must make the pledge that we shall always at least try to stay on key.

We cannot simply warble in a way vaguely reminiscent of Mariah Carey.

There are those who are asking the devotees of American Idol, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the no-talent is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of crafty editing and a song choice clearly not even in the no-talent’s range. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel to the auditions and all pasty-gross with nervousness and anticipation, cannot take a moment just to calm the hell down, and chill out a second, so we don’t look like idiots. We cannot be satisfied as long as the no-talents basic purpose is for comedy relief. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by Simon Cowell stating “That was worse than an enema.” We cannot be satisfied as long as a no-talent in Mississippi sings Big Yellow Taxi and a ne-talent in New York believes he has it’s OK to do a jazz version of Let The Bodies Hit the Floor. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until the people who are obviously going to fail are told ahead of time to try to ease back on the stupidity and not make such massive fools of themselves.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here because you actually enjoy the failures of the no-talents. Some of you have come because you acknowledge that a good percentage of the bad auditions are bad on purpose.  Some of you even gave your own bad auditions.  You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with your voices. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the karaoke bars and high school bands of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day these hopefuls will rise up and live out the true meaning of their creed: “I am the next American Idol!”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of tone deaf accountants and the sons of George Michael will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Utah, a state sweltering with the heat of Mormonism, sweltering with the heat of absolutely nothing interesting, will be transformed into an oasis of kick ass rock n roll.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by their desire to do R&B covers of Hanson songs but by the stylistic elements of their recording.
I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious accents — one day right there in Alabama little boys and girls will be able to bust out a few verses of Patsy Kline and then some Motorhead and it’ll just be cool.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight and if you choose to make your own clothes and do spin kicks while you sing Beyonce songs it’ll be more or less normal.

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the studio with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of off key tunes a stone of decent harmony. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our auditions into a beautiful symphony of stuff that doesn’t suck so bad. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day to get in that room and not end up an overnight sensation on YouTube, even if Pants on the Floor is actually kind of awesome.

And this will be the day — this will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning:

In this context there’s no disrespect
So when I bust my rhyme you break your necks
We got 5 minutes for us to disconnect
From all intellect and the let rhythm effect

To lose the inhibition, follow your intuition
Free your inner soul and break away from tradition
Cause when we beat out, girl it’s pulling without
You wouldn’t believe how we wil’ shit out!
Burn it til it’s burned out
Turn it til it’s turned out
Actin’ up from north ,west, east, south

Everybody! (Yeah?)
Everybody! (Yeah?)
Let’s get into it! (Yeah!)
Get stupid(Come on!)
Get retarded! (Come on!)
Get retarded! (Yeah!)
Get retarded!

Let’s get retarded ha!
Let’s get retarded in here!
Let’s get retarded ha!
Let’s get retarded in here!
Let’s get retarded ha!
Let’s get retarded in here!
Let’s get retarded ha!
Let’s get retarded in here!
Yea

Hells yeah, everybody.  I’m going to Hollywood!