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Looks like American Idol is heating up with a hometown hottie. You like that? See what I did there? I used a figurative reference to ‘heating up’ to describe a a female American Idol contestant who was once a MAXIM hometown hottie. I AM THE MASTER OF LANGUAGE.

This Amy Davis, a top 12 contestant on American Idol this season. She’s smokin’ hot and can sing pretty well so far so she may turn out to be this year’s Katharine McPhee. Below are some images of her when she was one of the little people. So pretty, yet so humble…

 I am a beauty with brains and a killer voice. I turn heads wherever I go, and keep them turned when I start singing. (source)

One thing to note: I like her singing a whole lot better when she’s in a bikini.

(images)

It’s all too easy to attack Clay Aiken–from his speaking voice, to the hissy fits he’s thrown at tween girls using cellphones during his show, to his physical scuffle with a woman on a plane who beat him up, etc . . . it’s too easy, so I usually don’t do it. But when I saw this recent pic of Clay beaming in his UNICEF Ambassador glory at a party celebrating Jenna Bush’s new book, “Ana’s Story: A Journey of Hope,” well, I thought he was fair game. I mean, if you’re a loyal reader then you know that Miss Lennox just can’t help but to rag on celebs’ weight!

Celebrities have beaucoup bucks to spend on trainers and the flexibility in their schedules to work out, thus barring an endocrine issue I just don’t see how celebs are not all thin. Thus, Clay gets no slack from me. Throughout his short career he’s been a skinny guy, but somewhere along the line he’s let himself go, and now he’s doughy. I mean, the kid’s got a paunch and a double chin like my uncle. And my uncle is 56, not 28 like Clay.

Instead of more pictures of Claymation, here are some pics of Katharine McPhee in Vegas Magazine.

…or at least those boots are. Damn Girl. Thats’s the album cover for Krazy Kat’s new album, which drops today and is filed under the genres of “Sucks” and “Who Cares”. And don’t be thinking I’m some kind of Kat Hater or Talyor Hicks luvah. I just hate shitty music.

I’m quite sure I defied the laws of physics trying to see under Katharine’s dress. But I have an eerie feeling when I got under there, I’d find a chastity belt of pure American steel that reads, “Not this rainbow, fucker” then she’d summon the scientology aliens to leave me in a lust-induced coma and walk away with my wallet. That’s the mark of a pure sexpot. Lure you in then stab you right in the balls. Aside from that, my only complaint is lack of plunging neckline and copious cleavage. If you got it, flaunt it, sista. I know I do.

More of that DYN-O-MITE cleave.

Love,

Emily!