Let The Cringe Fest Begin

I've barely recovered from the mean-spirited, sinister cringe fest that was the Golden Globes, and now I have another one to look forward to:  "American Idol:  The Remix."  J-Lo.  Steven Tyler.  Randy Jackson in first position.  Oh, dear God, the SJG can't wait.  I only wish it were tonight instead of Wednesday.  And yet, if a brief survey of my nearest and dearest serves as any indication, I may be the only one watching the agony unfold. 
Brother John is so adamantly opposed to watching the new season of "American Idol," that he regaled me with 152 reasons behind his stance.  Basically, it boils down to this:  "I'm done."  But I say bring it.  Gimme whatcha got.  I'm ready.  I need this distraction.  So I'm issuing myself the following challenge:  "SJG, are you willing to watch every eff'n eppie of 'American Idol,' no matter how horrible and off-key it gets, no matter how much personal suffering you must endure?"  Pause to reflect.  "SJG?  Hello?  We haven't got all day."  Hmm.  Give me a sec here.  I'm thinking.  My answer to myself is: hell yes!  I rise to the  challenge with pride and determination.  If it takes me to the gates of hell, I will dress accordingly.  I gladly accept this prestigious assignment, at my usual hourly rate, and look forward to padding the expense report.