Seacrest, Out!

On-Air With Ryan Seacrest canceled; national holiday declared.

BY BILL FROST

frost@slweekly.com

Last week was oh-so-full of great American Idol news. First, word came that cast-off William Hung, the tone-deaf “singer” who’s forged a career of sucking second only to Nick Lachey’s (Nick comes out on top because, well, look who he comes out on top of on Newlyweds), had died of a heroin overdose. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a false rumor, but I enjoyed a good 15 minutes of pure, unexpurgated glee nonetheless.

Then, this from Fox’s Twentieth Television studio: “It was our desire that the program would appeal to a wide array of viewers but, unfortunately, the marketplace’s response was not as strong as we had hoped.”

No, they weren’t announcing the cancellation of American Idol itself (you wouldn’t be reading a column here if that were the case, as I’d be deep in a post-joygasm coma), but the merciful end of On-Air With Ryan Seacrest, the weekday chat/music show starring the American Idol host/earthly manifestation of Satan. Perhaps you’ve seen it—it’s a less “thinky” version of MTV’s Total Request Live, featuring glad-handing celebrities, interchangeable pop stars, screaming teen audiences and a prancing Prada assclown on the mic. That’s Seacrest, and he is—wait for it—out!

“I am proud of my team who worked tirelessly every day,” Seacrest said in a statement e-mailed from his office in the bowels of Hell. “I wouldn’t have changed anything about this entire experience.” Except maybe the part about drawing lower ratings than Pokemon reruns and Ab-Squasher infomercials, but still an experience he, and really, all of us, will cherish for a lunchtime.

As you may or may not recall, The Only TV Column That Matters™ began railing against On-Air With Ryan Seacrest in December 2003, a full month before it premiered. As I did then, I still believe Seacrest is “marginally talented himbo who’s risen to fame by servicing more Fox executives than a small army of double-jointed Thai escorts,” in addition to simply being “Evil Incarnate who will eat your babies and rule the planet in hellfire given the opportunity.” That’s right: I hate, hate, hate him so much I’ve resorted to quoting my own (admittedly brilliant) past columns, fergawdsakes.

After seven months of this relentlessly smarmy jackass invading homes daily (and On-Air will continue until Sept. 17, by the way), as well as his ongoing American Idol and radio gigs, I’d all but given up hope on my lonely Out the Antichrist crusade. It was like being Rowdy Roddy Piper in They Live, desperately trying to pass out the evil-alien-revealing sunglasses but being met with only blank stares and accusations of crackpottery; “I’ve come to chew bubblegum and kick ass, and I’m all out of bubblegum” was slowly turning to “Well, Ryan is sorta charming—ooohhh, and the cast of You Got Served is on!”

And really, what did I have to gain from saving mankind from eternal damnation and enslavement to El Rubio Diablo? What have you people done for me lately?

You’ve done me proud by tuning out On-Air, that’s what. By the time of the cancellation announcement, the show’s audience had dwindled to a measly 0.9 household share. To give you a less biz-technical idea of what that number represents, go to the nearest outside-looking window in your office, pull down your pants, press those sweet cheeks to the glass and wait for someone to notice. You are now pulling more than a 0.9 share—and producing a better show that On-Air, to boot (but don’t forget to Windex, mmm-k?).

Not that this small victory is going to diminish my campaign to bring down the toothy twit, not at all. First, On-Air; next, American Idol and all future Seacrest projects/abominations—Twentieth Television still has him under contract, so we could be seeing The AT&T Wireless/Coca-Cola Blood Sacrifice & Satanic Offering Party With Ryan Seacrest in syndication by next fall, weekdays between Ambush Pet Makeover and Judge Dunkleman. Courage.