Yes, in the midst of war and recession, USA Today decided to dedicate quality editorial space to the polemic that disappointing "American Idol" results may cause the nation's young to feel so disillusioned with the electoral process that they'll also skip the November election. Fortunately, our country's colorful paper of record can go back to composing circle graphs to chart America's favorite summertime beverages. It turns out that last week's debacle made millions decide to get more involved in the process.

Host Ryan Seacrest storms the stage on Wednesday (April 28) and proudly announces that 28 million votes were cast after Tuesday's Gloria Estefan Night. The low person on the "Idol" totem received more than 4 million votes and the outpouring of mass support was greater than when Clay and Ruben went head to head last summer. How's that for semi-democracy at work?

As Ryan is breaking down those impressive numbers, he's crowded by crawl text advertising this summer's "Idol" tour, making him nearly as meek as the Final Six, who got upstaged last night by Subway's new salad selection. It's one thing for the camera to ignore you for a promo, but it's another for the camera to prefer shredded cheese and iceberg lettuce.

Somewhere in this great nation, there was at least one person sitting at home last night in sadness because John Stevens decided not to dance. That person, likely Grandma Stevens, was saying, "I want to see my Johnny do the conga. I know he can't control himself any longer."

That wish is granted as the Finalists break into a frenzied Gloria Estefan medley. The girls all get to sing solos and dance around the stage. The men are reduced to a single verse each, forced to share that brief moment with one of the young ladies. Somebody, though, thought it was really funny to have John bleat the verse beginning with "Don't worry if you can't dance..."

Once again, Ryan pulls the finalists into two groups without revealing which group can blissfully caper back to the Edenic Paradise that is the "Idol" platform and which trio will teeter precariously on the precipice of the Inferno that is the Real World.

This new strategy for the Bottom Three doesn't raise any tension for the viewers, but it appears to amplify the paranoia for the remaining singers. Fantasia's huge smile is replaced by a stony, tight-lipped stare as she goes off to Group A. Diana DeGarmo is pretending to smile, but the worry lines show through, as she also goes off to Group A. The audience, burnt last week, offers only restrained applause. LaToya London is next up and Group A is completed, leaving John, Jasmine Trias and George Huff in Group B. Either the members of Group B have solidified their position at the top, or else Group A, consisting of two of last week's Bottom Three and the frequently endangered Diana, was able to successfully reenergize its fan base.

Ryan, in a hurry, explains that Group A will live to struggle another day. The judges seem grateful to have Fantasia and LaToya safe.

After Ford stakes its claim as Official Car of the Masochistic Olympics, thanks to a "Whip It"-themed commercial, "Idol" beats a hasty retreat to commercial, leaving John, Jasmine and George to sweat it out (particularly George).

The judges are content with the Bottom Three. Randy says it's the right group. Paula warns them that the survivors had better bring it, or they will most certainly be served in the weeks to come. Simon nods and pokes Paula in the side. She giggles like a demented, well-toned Pillsbury Doughgirl. Why isn't there a Pillsbury Doughgirl? Do the Pillsbury Doughboy and the Jolly Green Giant just sit around and lament the fact that Little Debbie is too diminutive to date and Mrs. Butterworth is already married?

Sorry.

Back to "Idol," where Ryan decides to put George on the spot for the second week in a row. He tells George to step back, implying that he's the first member of the Bottom Three to return to the talent pool. George is ready to relax when Ryan modifies his order and says that George needs to step back because Jasmine is safe. Everybody's confused, particularly George.

After another quick advertising pause, it's announced that, at long last, time is up for John. The young redhead merely nods and admits that he's "somewhat" relieved to be done. As his final montage plays on the giant screen, mascara spills down Jasmine and Diana's faces like Mrs. Butterworth's syrup down a stack of piping hot flapjacks.

With that, in less than 30 minutes, "American Idol" has managed to placate its restless viewers, restore USA Today's faith in democracy and make me hungry for breakfast.