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Okay, so it wasn’t an actual
date, but recently I did get to sit down with Simon Cowell,
the mastermind behind such megahit television shows as “American
Idol”, its British counterpart, “Pop Star,"
and the new CBS reality dating show, “Cupid”.
On a side note, if you read last
week’s column on my idea for a new dating show, I
think you’ll agree that Simon Cowell would probably be
a better host than the Oxy Clean guy. I’ve decided that
single men in America don't need a sympathetic pal showing
them the ropes, they need someone to scare the crap out of
them. What's more, I’ve also modified the format of the
show to include a weekly segment that uses a hidden camera
to show why the average man sucks at dating. AND I’m
going to incorporate a panel of really mean judges –
one of which will be the notorious Dr. Laura. AND I’m
also kicking around a way to work in one of those cool laser
pointer things the judges used on “Are You Hot”
– you know, to point out the various physical defects
men think they can get away with like the bald man’s
comb over and my personal favorite SANDALS. Guys, women really
don’t need or desire to look at your toes, ok?
But I digress. Let’s get back to Simon.
After putting myself through several months of sleeping out
on the sidewalk in front of the Shrine Auditorium with every
smelly loser from every podunk town in America who thought
he could sing, I managed to make it inside for an audition.
Actually, it was more like 27 auditions all performed under
various aliases and disguises, but that's another story.
It was on audition number 28 that I finally got Simon’s
attention. I think I won him over when I changed my song from
“Somewhere over the Rainbow” to “Do Me Baby”
by Prince. Adding a lap dance didn’t hurt either. As
every industry insider knows, when you want something from
Simon Cowell, there really is no better motivator than a well
placed lap dance. I figured if it worked for Robbie Williams
on "The Tonight Show" last year, it would work for
me. I may not be a big time British pop star like Robbie but
I'm a lot prettier and I don't have to worry about five o'clock
shadow distracting Simon from my butt grinding away on his
crotch. While Robbie’s lap dance was doomed from the
start, mine worked like a charm, garnering me the coveted
interview. Plus, I made close to $50 in tips from Randy and
I walked out of there with Paula Abdul’s home phone number.
Simon and I decided to meet for the interview at my LA apartment
rather than a trendy restaurant or bar partly because we didn’t
want to get hounded by paparazzi and partly because it was
pretty clear we were going to have some serious sex when the
whole thing was said and done. I knew this because I had promised
him earlier that if he granted me this interview I would have
some serious sex with him when the whole thing was said and
done. As a hard nosed journalist, I’ll do whatever it
takes to get an important interview. Also, my editor really
wanted this story, so he made me.
In preparation for our meeting I stocked up on all the stuff
that tight-assed, pretentious British guys like: fish and
chips, earl grey tea, a dartboard, and all the Benny Hill
DVDs I could get my hands on.
I considered bringing out my life sized cardboard cutout
of Princess Di but I figured that could be a real buzz kill
and I wanted to keep everything happy. Dead princess icons
just don’t set the tone for a successful interview. Anyway,
I must have created the right ambience because by the time
I plied him with 4 extra large glasses of Guiness and turned
on my Abbey Road CD, we were ready to roll.
MH: Simon, you’ve been credited with breathing life back
into a genre of entertainment that was clearly dying by reintroducing
the world to the excitement of the live talent show. Not since
the success of “Star Search” has America been so
captivated by watching other people do stuff they have no
interest in doing themselves.
Silence.
MH: Would you like to comment on that at all?
Silence.
MH: Um. OK. Sooo . . .do you think I’m pretty? Or to
use more politically correct terminology, do you find me to
be in line with modern day standards of attractiveness?
SC: “I think you have to judge everything based on your
personal taste. And if that means being critical, so be it.
I hate political correctness. I absolutely loathe it.”
MH: Gee, Simon, I gotta tell you, that answer really sucked.
You didn’t even answer the question.
SC: “My attitude is, if someone’s going to criticize
me, tell me to my face."
MH: I'm glad you feel that way, but that’s not the point.
The point is that I really want an answer to my question.
Do you think I’m pretty or not? Like, as pretty as Paula
Abdul?
SC: "I find Paula patronizing. It’s as simple as
that. Paula is more damaging than I am to these contestants
because a lot of people just shouldn’t be singing for
a living and she's telling them otherwise.”
MH: Let’s focus here, Simon. What I’m really curious
about is your opinion of me. Seeing as you are touted as being
the most critical critic in America, I really want to know
what you think of me. Seriously. Be honest. I can take it.
SC: “If you’ve got a big mouth and you’re controversial,
you’re going to get attention.”
MH: Listen you limey bastard, I just want you to give me a
straight answer. What’s the problem? Why can’t you
just say it? Why can’t you just admit that you find me
hot?
SC: "I'd rather sleep with Ruben."
At this point Simon casually turned off my tape recorder,
patted his lap, and told me to call him "Daddy."
That's how I remember it.
As a footnote, I must mention that anyone turning down Paula
Abdul AND Media Whore must be gay.
From now on, I'll leave the lap dances to Robbie Williams.
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Above:
Simon Cowell must be gay.
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