JOHN ON JOHN™: America's Got Talent Chicago Auditions (Part True)

Previously on John On John™...

...match made in heaven...

...hot, steaming...

...the man who made it...

...rubbed the crew member...

And now the exciting conclusion of John On John™ as told by the other John...

What began as a business outing with my boss to interview people at the auditions for America's Got Talent, ended up turning a trip to Navy Pier into a hellish ride through "CVS Pharmacy presents Navy Fear."

I was awakened early by my Editor-in-Chief, John Eats, on Sunday morning. I had planned on a nice long morning with Jesus and his dad and some other guy that is always with them, but the Chief said it was urgent, "Big story breaking down on the docks," he exclaimed in his usual gruff tone, "...Hasselhoff...all the major news outlets there...get me a shot of the Hoff or you're fired."

Once there, the Chief explained to me that he had a few things he always did as a ritual to prepare himself for a big story. So after humoring him by eating a sodium stick with gelatinous cheese on a bird-shit-covered table (oh, no, this was not an outdoor table, folks...those filthy little winged urchins were right there with us), I thought he was ready to work. But no...

He next insisted on riding the ferris wheel despite my persistent ear ache in the cold winds. As it turns out my doctor had advised me that it would be best if I avoid the cold, but if I were to go out I should lean my head to the right to allow the mucus and other discharge to drain out. That's right, look more closely at the picture of us on the ferris wheel...I kept trying to drain my ear wax (notice the extreme discomfort in my eyes) but John kept coming to my side of the gondola with the awkward excuse of wanting a better view of the water treatment plant. I just kept praying to Jesus to send me some sort of time machine to help me escape this horrible situation and travel back 85 million years to safety.

Finally I convinced John to do some marketing for JohnEats.com by dropping business cards around for the sailors on leave. Hell, I just want to finally start cashing my JohnEats paychecks which seem to be printed on the back of candy bar wrappers.

After dragging John, kicking and screaming, to the audition for America's Got Talent, I felt the dream coming to fruition. This was it...finally I, Psychictoad, would be there with the Hoff. The man who brings down the house and made a stand in an industry in which no hetero men would be caught dead inside a gay car...this man would be right before me in all his glory. I put up with the cheese pretzels and cheese fries and, well, just too damn much cheese...and now it would pay off.

Psychictoad: Hi, ma'am, we are with the press. We have some questions for Mr. Hasselhoff regarding his pioneering work on tv, stage, and screen. Do you think we could speak with him?

Event Staff Member: Who...oh, he's not here. Are you here to audition? We are just taping footage which we will send back to be judged.

(Sound of steam shooting out of Psychictoad's horribly infected ears)

So did John lie in his post? Yes. But he did tell the truth about one thing. It was my fault we were escorted out. After the news of the Hoff taking a nice big Baywatch Nights dump on the city of Chicago, I lost it and began flailing like a madman. John, who at this time was busy photographing the girls doing gymnastics around the waiting area, tried to calm me but in doing so alerted the security to my accomplice. Unfortunately because of the camera and excessive recording equipment which John had in his bag, and the picture from the ferris wheel which was promptly delivered to the Department of Homeland Security (they are very quick), we were removed from the Pier and branded as terrorists.

Even with that little setback, the date still seemed to go on forever. This date left me yelling "Run, Forrest, Run!" Oh, and Roger, the only sparks on this date were from the all new "hair raising" Static Ball located at the Amazing Chicago's Funhouse Maze inside Navy Pier (hey someone's got to get paid)! Don't call me...