In the beginning, there was A. J.

A. J. Gil was the very first serious American Idol contender from "Seattle" (by which I mean Tacoma, please stop kicking me), way back in Season One. His strategy was to devastate the competition with eyebrows. It almost worked. After he/she, millions followed-millions of seasons of American Idol, and five or so American Idol contenders from the Greater or Lesser Seattle Areas. All of them have failed. Season Six of American Idol, widely described as "the most recent," features not one, not three, but TWO final 12-ists that claim to hail from hereabouts-Sanjaya Malakar from the misty moors of Federal Way, and Blake Lewis from the smoky crags of Bothell.

These two are now engaged in the most wrenching, fearsome, and vocal battle between two guys from the same general area to appear on American Idol since it was Star Search. So who are they? Why do they bother? Why do they cry alone at night? And does Paula drink to forget that American Idol is fostered by the Republican propaganda machine called Fox that is taking over the world or because she became famous for breakdancing with a rapping cartoon cat in blue bib overalls? (It's both!) To truly grasp the weird and twisty world of our own local hopefuls-they that chase down that desperate and glittery dream highway called AI (American Idol, not Artificial Intelligence, God fucking damn you Haley Joel Osment!)-we must start at the very beginning. Don't interrupt!

As we've seen, Season One brought us A. J. Gil from Tacoma. A. J.'s eyebrows spent several years in a poodle prison run by tweezers. In a rage, his eyebrows once slaughtered an entire village of hirsute Armenian women, or so the old-timers tell it. And have I ever mentioned his eyebrows? A. J. and those tortured forehead hedges sang their way as far as the final Top 10 in 2002, but according to Wikipedia and common knowledge, "He has had little success after the show." When asked which American Idol judge was his least favorite, A. J. said, "All of the judges are my favorite because they are hard workers and they say what is on their minds," which might explain something. If you ever see him dancing at Neighbours, check out his freakish Endora brows. And his gigantic. Brown. Nose. He set the stage for Blake and Sanjaya. And their eyebrows.

In Season Two we met Clay Aiken, who isn't from Seattle at all, but should be, or should move here quick, as we are the "gay friendliest" city in America, and he could finally stop twitching. Can I get an "Amen"? This fact has nothing to do with anything. Season Three brought us 17-year-old Leah Labelle from Seattle proper, but she's just an unremembered memory, and warrants hardly a drop of reflection. Here's that drop: Her parents are Bulgarian. (Tip on that.) An old Disney movie called Fantasia won that season, and Jennifer Hudson "happened," and "She Bangs" something-something, but Leah? She's a blur, baby. Seasons Four and Five were equally pointless. This leads us to...

Big bad blond Blake Lewis. Blake is the beat-boxing, breakdancing, faux-hawker from Bothell who strains the frangible boundaries of human masculinity. Most of what we know about Blake comes from conjecture and lies. According to his MySpace page, he is a 107-year-old female who doesn't want kids. Blake's initial audition (he sang something horrible by Seal) got a lukewarm reception from the Drunk, the Bastard, and the Dawg, but they waved him through to the second level, where he proved beyond a shadowy doubt that he could also get waved through to the third. Then he really got going.

Blake has many fans, who are dazzled by his versatility, proficiency, cute little noises, and hair. Blake has many detractors, who are likewise. Simon once asked, "If you are as good as you think you are, why haven't you been discovered?" to which he truthfully replied, "Because I live in Seattle." To relax before a performance, he "goes pee," which is always a good idea. He has family links to Utah, which explains everything. If Melinda Doolittle falls off a cliff, he just might win this thing.

He is battling Sanjaya Malakar. Around Sanjaya there is much controversy, and some curry. As Paula Abdul recently noted, Seattle is crammed with delusional people. Sanjaya proves that they vote. Sanjaya's lingering presence in the top contenders of this year's show has inspired an ambivalence bordering on contention. On one hand, adorable Sanjaya has lentil-flavored eyes that are deeper than destiny and about 12 months to go before he's legal. On the other hand, Sanjaya has a voice like the first robin of spring, if its vocal chords were shattered and it was getting porked by a sandpaper Q-tip.

At least one New York woman claims to be starving herself until Sanjaya is voted off the show-but she's just a melodramatic bitch. Eyeless mealworms deep in a poop pile could clearly see that poor Sanjaya is way over his floppy moppet head, and he damn well knows it, and this leads to pity, and pity apparently leads to votes. It's rumored that FBI agents have traced the phoned-in votes for Sanjaya to the homes of thousands of registered suspicious high-school gym teachers. (Stone Phillips is moving in at this moment...) Sanjaya auditioned with his sister, Shayamali, but she got booted off early, and now Diwali is, like, SO AWKWARD. He was once asked, "When did you start singing?" to which he replied, "When I stopped crying." Now I just want to pinch his cheeks and feed him samosas. If he doesn't become the next American Idol, his future is secure as the gay younger brother on the off-Broadway musical production of Ugly Betty. His father probably really wants to punch me now. I urge restraint. Aum namah Shivaya.

And now, as an uncertain Season Finale races toward us like a Bruce Willis asteroid, who will come out on top? Who will come out on bottom? Who will finally come out at all? Will the many-armed gods of fate continue to favor Sanjaya (against all logic)? Or will Blake's beats beat the rest? And are Ryan Seacrest and Anderson Cooper really fucking or what? (I'll kill them both.) TiVo that shit and find out sometime in late June when you have more time! And, good luck, local hopefuls! Do us proud! Or else! Fags.