So You Think You Can Dance Quick Kicks: Another Casualty!

More like So You Think You're Not Crippled, Hotshot? Except think of the TV Guide blurbs: too long! Last night, Cat Deeley somberly announced that contestant Ashley, who is a woman and therefore not a good dancer this season, had injured a rib and couldn't perform in the show. We're still dry heaving after Alex Wong's departure, and now the heartache thuds on. Join us for quick appraisals of the seven surviving contestants' routines.

· Lauren was the guinea pig for SYTYCD's first ever Tahitian routine, which, as explained in the clip package, is a style that originated in Tahiti. Mindblow! Her costume looked like a Macy's float version of a Phyllis Diller wig, and that earns her extra points; within all the feathers, she shook it fine. Later in the show, she performed to "Boogie Shoes" by KC and the Sunshine Band with Billy Bell, since the producers want us to hate Billy Bell, or something. Not gonna happen, Lythgoe! He's too sparkly, talented, and boyfriend-shaped. Good try.

· Adéchiké salsa'd and wore enough clashing colors to be memorable. The judges heaped on the praise, and I think that's because Mia Michaels tried killing him with words last week. For his duet, he performed a soft contemporary routine with Kent, and they gave us all the Billy Elliott pangs we needed for a 120-minute block.

· Jose is this week's loser. Nigel looked him up and down after his languid Broadway routine and said, "The thing is, you didn't have personality this time. Without your personality, we're exposed to your intensely bad dancing. The thing about intensely bad dancing is now we can see that you aren't even a biped. Now that we see that, I am obligated on behalf of the production team to ask if you are a starfish. Just tell us, Jose. There are rules." The judges hated on him, and worse, they followed their evisceration with a bunch of patronizing nonsense about how cute his face is. Later, Jose's b-boy routine with alum Dominic brought back his sizzle, though the damage is done: Jose's days are numbered, and his D-Day is approaching.

· Lucky Robert. He was dealt this week's emotional contemporary routine, a touching ode to an ailing mother. Shocker: That set Mia Michaels into hysterics, and a monologue about how "mothers are everything," and it hurt me. Robert nailed the routine and for once seemed emotionally invested in the story of his dance instead of just silly. He topped off the night with a fair Saturday Night Fever throwback, though there was no way his authority with a disco stick would top his first performance.

· Billy. Effing. Bell. Mon homme. His jive with alum Anya jutted with electricity and grace, even if his arm extensions seemed like arabesques, as Lythgoe noted. I'm still calling it the best performance of the evening, if only because you can actually lose "Billy" in the dance and envision his performance on a professional stage. Team Giggly Elf!

· OK, what was with Kent's Broadway routine? The hammy baseball theme and bowlegged choreography had me wincing from the first inning, and by the seventh inning stretch I had a crackerjack box in my throat. I understood the Damn Yankees appeal, but something about Kent's one-note ebullience turned it into a weird Hanna-Barbera cartoon. It was a Scooby don't, ladies.

· Poor Ashley. She should take pride in knowing her non-performance came off better than Mia Michaels's unending performance of "The Tear-Spewing Boogaloo." You get last place for that, Mia. Always.