Hrvatski Idol, anyone?

(On edit: The short-bus window lickers at the GOP Agitprop Agency, oops, I meant to say TASS, erm, Falafel Media, uh, um, Foxaganda, have disabled embedding, so bloggers like me can't make fun of their crappy programming. But you, dear reader, can circumvent this awful turn of events by clicking outside of the little "play" circle, which will take you directly to the video as it appears at YouTube.com.)

Yeppers, our Hrvatski friends have been sold the same bill of rotting donkey bollocks that we Americans have had shoveled on us by the foistmasters at Fox. Poor them. Poor us. There's no indication that the Croatians have their own version of our judges, though: Do they have an acerbic but essentially stupid Hungarian, an OxyContin-thwacked cheerleader turned disco dolly and a dense bass player (how do you say "What up dawg" in Srbo-Hrvatski, anyway?) to make contestants' lives miserable? Word has it that the Fox organization in Zagreb is still too busy searching for the Hrvatski equivalent to the words "loofah," "falafel" and "Yoo hoo Mr Bush, teabag me next, please!" to find the right combination of venal evil and profound incompetence to give Cowell, Abdul and Jackson a run for their money in the Balkans.



Ouch.



Ouch ouch.

Why can't the people coaching these clowns steer them toward some of Elvis' cooler tunes? You know, the hits: "Rock-a-Hula Baby," "(There's) No Room to Rhumba in a Sports Car," "Fort Lauderdale Chamber of Commerce," "Queenie Wahine's Papaya," "Do the Clam" ... even "We're Coming in Loaded" would be an improvement over these threadbare stinkers.



"Sexy Cool" OK, I'll buy that. Croatian women are tha bomb.



"Moj Broj," which means ... um ... erm ... screw it. I went to the well, but the jokes just were not there. But Lidija Bacic makes me reasonably conscious of my heterosexuality, so all in all it's a square deal.

If anyone stumbles across Kamchatka Idol, please don't tell me, OK?