By Buzz Byrne

There was a time not so long ago — in fact it was earlier this evening — when I truly enjoyed television. I was killing a half hour before my assignment to watch DON’T FORGET THE LYRICS!, and I happened across a repeat of AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL. In it, I saw a grown man called “Ms. J” coaching wannabe models on how to walk on cobblestones with high heels while wearing a mask. He was wearing a satin maroon babydoll cocktail dress. And nobody mentioned it. That was great TV. This show, DON’T FORGET THE LYRICS!, is not. Imagine karaoke without the beer. Imagine WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLIONAIRE, only off-key. Imagine earning double my annual salary based on a freaking Bangles lyric.
 
Wayne Brady, struggling to stay in showbiz, is the perky host. I remember a Wayne Brady from WHOSE LINE IS IT ANYWAY that was quite an amusing entertainer. I’m positive this is some other Wayne Brady. Wayne invites a guest to center stage where the contestant must choose from nine (NINE!?) music categories (1980s, Girl Bands, Pop, Classic Rock, Divas, Rhythm and Blues, Country, Rock, Rolling Stones.) Then, the contestant sings for what seems like an eternity to a song in the chosen category. The words stop and s/he must supply the next few lyrics. The more correct answers, the more money earned, with the potential to win a million bucks. Answer wrong and you get the boot. You can stop after any correct answer, or as Wayne says, “Stay and play or take the money and run!” I’d like to run, Wayne, right out my third-floor window.
 
This is the lousiest crap you can find on TV: noise and lights, bouncing around and screaming at the top of one’s lungs about dull nonsense. It’s not kitschy, catchy or even mercifully quick. The premiere’s half hour episode only took us halfway through one contestant’s game. I would have to slush my way through another half hour of this to see if the Madonna-loving, tap-dancing entomologist wins a mil? I’d rather take a bath with my plugged-in toaster. I hope the entomologist gets all the way to the million dollar song, somehow captivates America, and then suddenly Joe and Dustin from BIG BROTHER 8 show up and give her, Wayne and everybody in the studio audience their gonorrhea.
 
I went to the DON’T FORGET THE LYRICS! homepage on FOXTV.com. Do you know they have DON’T FORGET THE LYRICS! wallpaper and buddy icons you can download? They have a newsletter coming soon. A newsletter! What a horrible thing to do to … I don’t know … to newsletters. As a public service, I suggest that if anyone who reads this comes across someone who has the buddy icon or wallpaper downloaded, that they direct that person to a professional in the field of masochistic psychosis.
 
Karaoke is fun for three types of people: the person drunk beyond sense and singing, the bar owner who sold all the liquid courage to the first type, and, of course, the third type. They are always stone sober and tone-deaf. They have baseless confidence. They know which four songs they are going to sing and often show up with the song request cards pre-filled. Sometimes they bring an extra hat or prop for a specific number. They are the karaoke fetishists. There is something wrong with these people. There is something broken in them that can only be soothed by singing loudly and poorly to a group of strangers. I try not to be too judgmental about the way others live their lives, but these people are genuine weirdos. This show is for them, and they must be stopped.