Lucy the Blog

Today Lucy the Blog welcomes guest blogger Ridge Forrester, who will share his thoughts on last night’s American Idol.  We first met Ridge at the Miami nightclub Ink, where he was celebrating the launch of the Forrester Creation spring line.  You couldn’t find a nicer guy.  Despite his star power, he puts his pants on one leg at a time just like you and me.  And he watches American Idol.  So please make him feel welcome.

When I agreed to write this entry for Lucy the Blog, I couldn’t have imagined my life would be in such turmoil.  These days, I barely have time to watch Idol, much less get into any detailed analysis.  But if you know one thing about Ridge Forrester, you know I’m a man of my word.

If you’re unfamiliar with me, I’m a critically-acclaimed fashion designer at Forrester Originals here in Los Angeles.  My family built Forrester Creations, which you’ve no doubt seen on our hit reality show “The Bold and the Beautiful.”  But last year, we were forced to give Forrester Creations to my half-brother Nick Marone, after my mom threw his mother over a balcony.  Long story.

While Nick got Forrester Creations, I won back my soulmate, Brooke Logan.  Logan and I first hooked up at a dinner party in the early 90s.  She was a caterer and it was love at first sight.  Since then we’ve been married three times and I’ve raped her once.  (A lot of people think it’s four marriages, but the first was technically invalid.)  Logan’s also been married to Nick and my father.  She dated my brother Thorne for quite some time, and later had a kid with Deacon, the husband of her daughter Briget.  Once I thought Bridget was my daughter.  But then DNA tests proved her real father was my father.  Then more DNA tests proved that my father wasn’t even my father.  So that meant Bridget was neither my daughter nor my sister, leaving us free to feast on each other’s genitals like savage animals.  But my true love has always been Bridget’s mother, Logan.  And nothing can keep us apart now.

Now that we’ve reunited, you might say Logan and I plan to kick off our shoes and run barefeet, where the grass and the dirt and all the gravel meet.  Of course, those lines come from a song penned by my dear friend Keith Urban, “Where the Blacktop Ends.”  Bald Phil sang it to kick off last night’s country-themed episode of American Idol. 

And I must say, this Phil’s a bit of a turd.  I believe he’s in the Navy or the ROTC?  Well you can say a lot of about Ridge Forrester.  I love scarves.  I lost a wife to leukemia.  And I never wear condoms.  Guilty on all counts.  But one thing you can’t say is I support the troops.  Ridge Forrester does not support the troops, and if you have a problem with that, you know where to find me, Monday through Friday on CBS at 1:30.

So needless to say, I wouldn’t shed any tears if Admiral Turd gets tossed overboard tonight.  (But I’ll may have to TiVo it, for reasons you’ll soon learn.)

The next contestant was Jordin Sparks, who wore a red dress that fit her like a pup tent.  It looked like something that hack Clark Garrison might have designed over at Forrester Creations.  A woman like Jordin deserves a piece of couture that accentuates each contour of her stunning figure.  When you buy a Forrester Original, you can rest assured that I’ve obssessed over each stitch and seam.  The devil’s in the details, you see?  Perhaps you noticed one of those teenyboppers in the crowd, holding a sign that said, “Go Jordan!”  Well it’s Jordin, kid.  And it may only be one letter, but if you’re going on national TV to hold a sign, have the decency to spell it right.

A lot of people assume that because I’m a fashion designer, I must have gay tendencies.  Of course, my sexual exploits are well documented, and you won’t find an ounce of queer in me.  Search all you want.  But even as an international playboy, I can’t help but be attracted to this little Sanjaya.  Perhaps I see a little of myself in him.  The swagger.  The mystery.  The hair.  He’s got what Randy might refer to as the “Wow Factor.”  I actually coined that phrase when I designed our Brooke’s Bedroom line of lingerie products.  Brooke and I have always had that Wow Factor.  When we get together, the sparks just fly.  I remember it like yesterday…

LaKisha performed next, and while I may not be a fan of the coloreds, they do make great entertainers.  I’ve been in a threesome with Wayne Brady and a high schooler (though we had no idea of her age at the time), and Dionne Warwick’s actually a close family friend.  LaKisha shares many of Dionne and Wayne’s best qualities, and I think she has a good shot of going all the way.

Chris Richardson performed a Rascal Flats song, and I’m not too fond of this punk.  He reminds me a little of Brooke’s son Rick, who’s been making a play for my 18-year-old daughter Phoebe.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not averse to robbing the cradle.  Like I’ve always said, if there’s grass on the field, play ball.  And if not, play ball anyway.  In fact, Mario Lopez and I once had a threesome with a Beverly Hills High sophomore.  (Though she stayed back in kindergarten so she wasn’t that young.)

But we’re not talking about any two-bit tramp here.  This is my daughter.  Rick is older and wiser to the ways of the world.  And frankly, he’s causing me a lot of headaches.  Just when things were looking good with Brooke, he started pulling this funny business.  And as I’ve told Brooke repeatedly, I can’t be held accountable for my actions when my little girl’s sanctity is in question.  Many of you know that this came to a head recently…

Oh well.  Melinda Dolittle performed next, and my good friend Simon Cowell chastised her for that faux look of surprise that she always puts on.  I hope Melinda took it as advice, rather than criticism.  Because I’ve also noticed that lack of confidence.  To be the American Idol, you need to walk the walk like the American Idol.  When I’m being hounded by the papa razzi, do you think I cower like a shrinking violet?  Why me?  What could they see in little old me?  Hell no!  I hit the red carpet like a man on fire.  Sure I have my insecurities.  We all do.  But I’m Ridge Forrester, and I’m here to stay.  Deal with it.  That’s the attitude you need to make it in this world.

Closing out the show was Blake Lewis, who reminds me of Shane McGrath, another pain in my ass.  See, Shane was just a homeless kid living in the woods along the Pacific Coast Highway.  Phoebe got a flat tire along that highway on a foggy night, and my sister-in-law Darla drove out to help her.  Meanwhile, my ex-wife Taylor (Phoebe’s mom) was also driving out to help.  Taylor had just drained a bottle of wine, and, well…

It’s too upsetting to write about.  Here’s some video of what happened, but it’s not for the faint of heart. 

As luck would have it, the little bastard McGrath saw the whole thing from the woods.  Then he weaseled his way into our lives and started stalking my baby girl Phoebe.  Yesterday, I caught him trying to find her at the Forrester Originals office, and I warned him to keep his distance.

Wouldn’t you know that made the gangster wannabe pull a gun on me?  Now he’s pointing it right at my head.  And I’m just smiling.  (It’s called confidence, Melinda.  Take a note, Melinda.)

What’s gonna happen next?  I guess you’ll have to tune in today to find out.  But I can tell you two things:

(1) Ridge Forrester or Shane McGrath won’t be around to watch the results show tonight.

(2) Ridge Forrester never misses the results show.

Thanks for letting me stop by.  On behalf of the Forresters and Forrester Originals, I’d like to express my sympathies to those affected by the Virginia Tech massacre.  Our prayers go out to you.

Oh yeah, and I’m supposed to finish with a prediction.  So without further ado…

TONIGHT’S PREDICTION:  Phil goes the way of the do-do bird, Shane McGrath gets a can of whoop-ass, and Haley Scarnato calls me a dozen times about a weird rash.  Back off Haley, we were only together once.  Lose my number!