There’s no way in hell I’m working my way through a hangover checking out thoughts on Mariah Carey’s return to the Dick Clark Productions stage New Years Eve, let alone watching the damn thing on the last night of the year. Watching Jenny McCarthy flex sub Ryan Seacrest is nearly such a horrible thought you might consider watching Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen air kiss and scarf tease for three hours. All of this is god awful.
Here’s my review of Mariah Carey’s performance, several hours before it happens:
Carey spent hours conducting rehearsals and sound checks to avoid the disaster of lip-synch shit fest that occurred the year before during her Times Square performance. This year’s lip-synch shit fest went off without a hitch.
Carey lost her singing voice do to London underground sewer-sized fatbergs on her voice box at least a dozen years ago. She’s spent the past decade perfecting her voice over backing tracks and squeezing into sausage casings made of shimmering ingot paste. Amazing hair, faux furs, and a healthy dose of cleavage made the frigid evening especially hot. Ryan Seacrest called her performance “special” and noted her bravery for returning after last year’s disaster.
Carey smiled dumbly at the pre-rehearsed comment, while Jenny McCarthy stood in the background pretending she’s happy she married one of the lesser Wahlberg brothers. It was one rockin’ new year’s eve. Until Mariah’s gastric bypass sutures burst and the twins cried when somebody let them see Nick Cannon’s Wiki page.
Let me know how close this was. I can’t stand to watch it on tape.
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