So anyway, it seems the feud started when Aiken decided to blog about just how much he didn't like Lambert's rendition of Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire:
This year, I happened to turn it during the minute that Adam Lambert was singing 'Ring of Fire' and, at that moment, thought my ears would bleed. Contrived, awful, and slightly frightening!
That's right. Someone who completely sucks trashed someone who completely blows. Hard to comprehend. Anyway, Aiken's blog post led to a barrage of "meows," "hisses" and other swishy animal noises, so he decided to "apologize" by issuing this statement:
I hope no one actually believed that blood truly poured forth from my ears when I heard him. I obviously meant it as a colorful statement to imply that I did not enjoy what I heard.
Well, as contrite and heartfelt as that apology was, the story's still not over (at least not in my own pathetic imagination). Here, for the first time, are the e-mail exchanges that followed
I must admit that when I first read what you wrote about my singing causing your ears to bleed, I was a little offended. I mean, damn. I imagine it takes some pretty awful screeching to actually produce blood in the aural cavity. But now that I understand you didn't actually bleed, everything's a whole lot better.
I mean, your words carry weight with me. I've learned so much from you: how to perfect the least masculine hairstyles possible, how to sing in a way that appeals only to 14-year-old girls and middle aged women and, most of all, how to position my career so that I will work steadily in musical theater revivals for the next 20 years.
So with that backdrop let me just say that while listening to your last album, I thought someone with oversized hands had reached into me and forcibly removed feces from my bowels before shoving it into my ears.
In any event, thanks for the apology.
Maybe we'll work together in the Des Moines Community Theater's production of Cats next year. Fingers crossed!
P.S. I hope you understand. It's not like I ACTUALLY thought someone was reaching into me anally for real. I mean, my birthday's not til January. It's just a colorful expression to describe the listening experience.
Thank you for your kind words and for understanding my expressive way of speaking. Since first blogging about you, I've come to get better acquainted with your material and I think I misspoke. Listening to you sing reminds me more of having sex with women. I mean, everyone says it's great. People can't get enough of it, but every time I try, it's just an awful experience that leaves me feeling violated and unloved.
Oh, don't take offense. I'm not saying I actually sit in a fetal position, crying to Jesus and shivering the way I did after prom, it's just my colorful phrasing at work again.
Best of luck.
P.S. Spamalot is hiring. Would you like me to float your name for the position of understudy to the go-fer?
Thanks for the Spamalot offer, but I'm afraid, I'm going to be too busy banging your mom for the next three weeks to come in for an audition. Oh, and I don't mean actually banging your mom.
I hope you choke to death on your emo bangs you talentless, closeted, theater queen.
I am so hot for you right now.
No, Clay. Not really. I mean it's true that I'm secretly gay, but c'mon now. You're Clay Aiken. The coyote ugliest American Idol contestant of all time. Oh, and when I say "coyote ugly," I don't actually mean that if I woke up with you I'd chew my own arm off rather than wake you by moving it. I just mean you're really, really unattractive.
Learn more about Gladstone at Kafka Lives in Maine or stalk him on Facebook.