Cry-yi-yi-yi-ing

I used to enjoy, and later came to tolerate, DWTS, until the bathos last night. Too late for an April Fool's prank, I told myself, but surely too grotesque to be a serious show. The judges lost the last remnants of integrity, and awarded praise and points to dancers who just shuffled around the floor. That is, if their true-life confessions jerked enough tears to show how deeply they have suffered. Gavin DeGraw couldn't even utter the extent of his misery, Sherry Shepherd's face was a study in perpetual sorrow, which she somehow was able to channel into pure headbanging joy. But I do think the right person got voted out, or at least not retained. No man should wear an orange suit like that.