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X Factor 2012: spoofing Simon Cowell (week two)
Spoofing Simon Cowell's view of X Factor 2012. Image: Rex
Hello, it's Simon. But you can call me Mr Cowell. Or Your Highness.
I know you're missing me. I genuinely do. I've been up to my 26-inch Cuban heels with commitments over here in the States, what with One Direction cracking America thanks to me, babysitting Britney Spears, and bonding with Pudsey the dog - who is like Cheryl, only better house-trained.
On my private jet, the two of us cuddled up with some marrowbone jelly and a DVD my people sent me of The X Factor UK episode two.
And I have to say, it's a million per cent yes from me. I mean that, I really do. The judges, genuinely, are doing well. There's the one on the right, what's his name? Barry. Keeping my seat warm.
The new one, the token American, you want to watch her. Whatever her name is.
There's the other woman, you know the one, very popular online.
And of course, Louis, who simply won't take any of my hints to go away, not even me moving to America to avoid him.
"The new one, the token American, you want to watch her. Whatever her name is."
As for the guest judges, Scary Spice was like some kind of ghastly, horrendous, vindictive, evil, she-devil.
I loved her. I genuinely did.
When chimney sweep Kye Sones started singing RIP, Ryvita Ora gave the look of surprise, then wonder, then pride, as perfected by me during Susan Boyle's audition. Textbook.
I have to say, Ryvita laughs like a rusty nail scraping against a barbed wire attached to a scratched record needle, being dropped through an iron drainpipe. She really does.
Now, don't interrupt me, Louis, but some of the singers were the worst we've ever seen. Let. Me. Finish. I'm not being rude here, but Sophie Stokle - wearing suspenders and hotpants, I noticed that - sounded like a drowning cat dragging a hamster through a vat of boiling oil while juggling razor blades.
But I would have put her through, genuinely, to see what she would be wearing next ti... to see if she has worked on her voice.
Billy Moore murdering Don't Stop Believing at the Newcastle auditions was like a Foghorn on the Tyne. I mean that.
Rylan Clark was apparently a contestant on Signed By Katie Price which, as I don't watch British television, I've never seen. But then, you lot didn't bother with it either. It had around 362 people watching, and most of them were Rylan's family. No wonder he was runner-up.
He said all his money goes on his looks; teeth-whitening, tanning, and being totally, totally vain. He's a man after my own heart.
"She made that song her own. Oh, I see. It is her own song."
I laughed at Lucy Spraggan's song about trying to remember a regrettable drunken night out.
Reminds me of several ex-girlfriends. She made that song her own. Oh, I see. It is her own song. Lucy will be brilliant on the live shows during Victoria Wood week.
The X Factor reunited James Arthur's family after 22 years, which is what this show is all about. Top 12. Top 12 easy.
James put his own stamp on a Tulisa song, he really did, and Nicole Scherzinger (her name is now written down in front of me) said she'd like to write a song just to see what he does with it. Good luck with that, sweetheart.
Anyway, I've got to go. I've promised Pudsey a try-out as next week's guest judge on the X Factor USA. I just have to break the news to Britney that she's getting some time off.
It is, without doubt, great to be back. It genuinely is. I'll be back next week with my thoughts on week three. I bet you can't wait.
The views in this article are those of the author alone and not of MSN or Microsoft