An Open Letter to Ryan Seacrest

Dear Ryan Seacrest:

I noticed something utterly fascinating this week, Ryan Seacrest. As I watched the night where it was the boys' turn to sing (Chris! Call me!), I noticed you, quite literally, had your hands all over the boys. Especially the young ones. A hand on the small of the back. A lingering handshake. A reach-around to the opposite shoulder, where you'd lightly rest your hand there for much longer than was necessary. And you did it with every single one. Even the Barry Manilow lover. Even the little Grandpa in the 16-year-old body. No one was safe from your gentle yet incessant touch.

As I watched this, I thought to myself, "Did he do this with the girls, too?" I couldn't remember, so I went back and watched. Would you like to know the extent of your girl touching? There was one awkward arm grab for Stevie Scott and one for Katharine McPhee. That is all. You totally groped 12 male contestants and awkwardly touched two, count 'em two, female arms. Many of the female contestants even attempted to molest you to varying degrees, but you would not be sullied by the touch of a woman.

The thing is, Ryan Seacrest, no one's buying it. And furthermore, no one cares. I mean, clearly I care enough to write you this letter, but that's mostly because I don't get to use the phrase "sullied by the touch of a woman" as often as I'd like. Just quit it with the constant gay jokes at Simon's expense, okay. It makes you look like an assmunch, especially when you can't stop fondling teenaged boys.

Love,
Jess