Don't Cha Wish You'd Practiced a Little Bit More. . . .

This Tuesday ABC hosted the 34th Annual American Music Awards. I was studying, but did manage to tune in for 2 minutes only to be appauled by some of the worst gyrating I've seen since I walked in on Grandma seducing Grandpa Alen's IV pole* --and all thanks to The Pussycat Dolls.

The Dolls performed their smash hit "Buttons," a lyrical masterpiece (you've been sayin' all the right things all night long/but I can't seem to get you over here to help take this off/how these clothes are fittin' on me/and the heat from this beat/I'm about to blow) in their traditional burlesque fashion. But if the singing was lukewarm, the dancing was Grandpa Alen. About to walk down stairs in high-heels, one of the Dolls looks like she's going to have a panic attack. Moments later, a Doll knocks over her prop chair and is forced to lap dance the floor. In a last ditch effort, Doll on the left over-sings adding impromptu riffs and runs.

In these situations, sympathizing is something I wish I could do (hey, even experts slip up). But then I remember:

These girls are getting paid. Millions.

For that kind of cash, is professionalism too much to ask? I mean, putting the Dolls on stage is like using an umbrella in a lightning storm on top of an oak tree--expect disaster.

These pussies need to start hanging out at the Y or with Darren .


*anecdote fabricated for comedic effect