In Praise of Clay Aiken

The holy word has come back from the Claymates and it is thus: "Miss Musto, why don't you write something NICE already about our beloved god of the pasty face and the ambiguous voice? Why don't you sing some praises to Clay Aiken, for Jesus's sake, instead of jealously cutting him down and pointing out his fruity absurdities?" And so I've heeded their darkest desires and trudged through the insides of my soul—yes, I have one—for some flattery I can heap upon the weird-haired big-bland singer who, after all, is human just like most of the rest of us. And all I could come up with is. . . he isn't Hitler! And he's never harmed an animal in my presence—not intentionally, anyway! And he's a registered Democrat!

So I need your help, children. I need you to step up to the plated teeth and announce what REALLY makes Clay so darned great—as a singer, a person, and an American Idol runner up. This is not a setup where I'm going to ensare you at your most vulnerable and then cut you down lower than Kelly Clarkson. I truly want to learn something here and maybe even become culturally enriched. So come on, kids, spill. "I love Clay Aiken because. . ."


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