Lecherous Broads For Clay Aiken!

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2004-03-04
9:56 a.m.

A Wild Year

One year ago today, God (and Simon Fuller) granted Clay a second chance.

One year ago today, we sold our souls to the devil.

Nothing has been the same since.

Yes, Clay, you had many of us at "Take." A few actually caught sight of you in Glendale. And some were smitten by Round 2.

But Wildcard night changed everything. That night, we were no longer looking at a cute, geeky guy with a killer voice. That night, we realized we were dealing with an unstoppable force of nature. A force that would change our lives.

That night, even the nastiest, most cold-hearted person could only say "Wow."

That night, we caught glimpses of a future that our limited vision could not even fathom.

We saw the analysis of your fashion choices and noted how far you had already come.

But we smiled when we saw that you forgot to snip the threads that tacked closed your jacket vent.

We watched Ryan draw attention to your shoes, and we noticed those feet.

But when you looked at us, reaching through the camera, and it wasn't just your feet we were thinking about.

And then you sang. Oh, how you sang!

Yes, the wonderful AI folks managed to turn your head into a volcano with lava shooting out your ears. But did we notice?

Well, yea, we did, but only because it made us look at the glorious ears, ears which you had just promised us you would always have, and that made us happy.

But it was the voice. Oh, that voice.

So perfect. So beautiful. So perfectly beautiful.

We finally saw the real power

and passion

of your singing.

We discovered the snappiness of your head snaps

and the glory of your glory notes.

You made us feel like, well, like this:

And then we saw the reaction.

Someone who shall remain nameless made a backhanded compliment about your looks. We didn't get it. You were absolutely beautiful.

Okay, sometimes you made funny faces.

But most of those were faces we would grow to adore with an unreasonable and overwhelming love:

the smirk,

the crooky smile,

the lipbite.

We could not stop looking at you.

Those cheekbones. Those ears. Those lips. Those eyes.

Your beauty was almost unbearable.

You were a work of art.

That certain soulless someone said that you were getting better looking each week. We now have 52 weeks of you getting better looking, and it's more than we can handle.

But back then, that night, we were already lost. After that night, we were yours.

Text by Katynka, with those Wildcard-lovin' Broads Kelly, Wendy, and Melissa.

Luscious screen caps by the luscious Melissa.