I like to think of a typical "American Idol" season as one big, glorious sundae. Your senses are overloaded at first: the sight of the massive bowl with the multi-colored concoction, the frozen smell of the ice cream mixed with the burning of the hot fudge, and the ringing in your ears from the weird...

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I like to think of a typical “American Idol” season as one big, glorious sundae. Your senses are overloaded at first: the sight of the massive bowl with the multi-colored concoction, the frozen smell of the ice cream mixed with the burning of the hot fudge, and the ringing in your ears from the weird Dixieland band that played your dessert over to your table. Forgotten are past trips to the trough where you ate yourself sick.

You pick up your extra-long sundae-eating spoon and delve in to the white whipped cream, but after a few bites of airy nothingness, you start to crave the real ice cream and toppings underneath. After a few spoonfuls, you become almost annoyed and start digging down, trying to get to the goodness that lies underneath.

After what seems like an eternity, you spoon is held up by the mushy top layer of ice cream that is half melted from being in contact with the hot fudge. Oh, yes. You swirl your spoon around, trying to mix the flavors together. But invariably you only get an oozing hunk of fudge. Chocolate is good, but, again, you want the ice cream underneath. Mercifully, the fudge layer is short and you can now gorge on the icy flavors below.

Hungrily goggling up spoonful after spoonful, you initially wish the feast would never end. Until you reach a point, that is. This is the point where you realize that no human should ever finish an entire sundae by themselves, but you know that you have no choice. Now your spoon is like a slave-ship oar — you pull in the ice cream over and over, trying to block your mind from the queasy feeling growing in your stomach and the aching in your teeth.

With one final, shaky bite, at last you have beaten the sundae. All that is left is a swirled soup of melted ice cream and fudge, with a radioactive red cherry listing on its side. Chewing on the cherry to finish up, you think back and realize that this was the ninth time you’ve endured through to the end.

As you wipe your mouth with a thin paper napkin and slowly slide out from the vinyl booth, you know that you will be back again.