March 08, 2010
Last night, the world stopped what they were doing and tuned into the red carpet event of the century, the 82nd Academy Awards.
Since 1929, regular folk have been dazzled by the likes of George Clooney, James Cameron, and Gabourey Sidibe. We watch spellbound as they strut down the carpet in all the latest fashions and we learn a lot about our world in the process. Why, just four Academy Awards ago, Clooney explained to us how this supposedly “naÃ¯ve” group of artists are responsible for the civil rights movement. If it wasn”t for Clark Gable for example, Hattie McDaniel wouldn”t have been able to attend her own premiere. You”re welcome America!
As someone who has been carefully analyzing people’s pants for the past 15 years, I am one of the few people qualified to translate this kind of fashion event into everyman terms. Let’s get started…
The hosts were: supermodelpreneur Kathy Ireland (who was so determined to have poise and be presentable, she came across like Vanna White with a gun to her head), portly pepper pot Sherri Shepard from The View, and finally, Entertainment Weekly‘s diminutive editor, the presumably gay Jess Cagle. Each one of these hosts managed to ask questions that were so phenomenally bland and polite, I thought the entire thing was taking place inside one of my Grandmother’s wet dreams.
The first group we met was Monique, Maggie Gyllenhaal, two other chicks, and Penelope Cruz. Monique’s husband was nominated for The Horniest Man in the World but, like most people at the Oscars, lost out to Clooney. I thought Gyllenhaal looked stunning in her tie-dye swimwear gown but, as comedian @seanoconnz Tweeted, she’d need to have Jake’s face to be considered “A Perfect 10.”
While I was watching the perfect 11, Penelope Cruz, talk, I couldn’t help but wonder what my wife would do if I slept with the star of Nine. Then I realized I didn’t care. Not that such a thing could ever happen. I heard Penelope Cruz waxes her pussy with unobtanium.
George Clooney was there to promote the documentary about his ego, Up in the Air. He was a delight as usual and deflected comments like, “I want you” with “I know.” His Italian waitress girlfriend had apparently just seen District 9 because she was digging her claws into him like a Prawn. Incidentally, that movie’s working title, “What if Mexicans Were Smart Bugs?” would have killed all possible chances at an Oscar.
Sandra Bullock looked like an Ice Capade in her Marchesa gown. She later won an Award for “Most Working Class Sexual Appetite for a Multi-Millionaire.” No, but seriously, rumor has it Helen Mirren was furious after losing the Oscar to Bullock for “Actress in a Leading Role”. Johnny Rotten, who was sitting nearby, consoled Mirren with the wise adage, “Never Mind the Bullock.”
Speaking of Helen Mirren (pictured here in a Badgley Mischka dress and Chopard jewelry), I’m not sure who boomers worship more, this actress or her breasts. I’ve even heard them described as TILFs, which is a filthy acronym that doesn’t bear spelling out.
Matt Damon was asked what the hardest part of doing a movie in South Africa and he said, “Learning that accent.” I would have thought it was getting raped every day.
Morgan Freeman showed up with a head that looks like a homeless man dipped in gorgeous sauce. Kathy licked his ass with a giant, “Thank you for your philanthropy and your talent. Thank you. Thank you.” Apparently this obsequious line of “questioning” has been going of for years because his daughter is named Morgana Freeman! Let’s hope she names her daughter the same thing so the world can have it’s first female “The third.”
Freeman also showed some stunning jewelry he and his entourage were wearing. It was to be auctioned off at the end of the night to raise money for the Free Mandela foundation. By the way, wouldn’t it be cool if Freakonomics did the numbers on who is responsible for more deaths: all of the Nazi skinheads of the world combined or Mandela? I bet it’s 37 to 347 respectively and I bet that with all due respect.
J-Lo showed up to take her title back from J-Woww as the only female J-Abbreviation allowed in the tri-state area. She had put on a bit of weight but fortunately Sherri Shepherd speaks Pig Latina and was able to communicate with the actor perfectly.
I didn’t listen to any of Lopez’s interview because I was trying to get a better look at the chick with part of a mohawk on her head.
Mathew Broderick showed up with a tube of Chanel toothpaste that had pushed out a frizzy-haired JAP with an uneven spray tan whom Maxim voted The Least Sexy Woman of all time. Jess asked SJP if she remembered her first Oscar dress. She did, it was Calvin Klein. He then hit her with one of the toughest questions of the night, “Was it beige?” It wasn’t. Next!
Cameron Diaz showed up nude which was a little disappointing as her breasts are lopsided. I know this is more common than symmetrical ones but this is the Oscars, a night when everything is supposed to be perfect.
Once again Samuel Jackson showed up with a hat sponsored by his own insecurity.
James Cameron admitted that without 3-D Imax, Avatar is just an episode of the Smurfs, in Costa Rica, written by Janeane Garafolo. He also said he wished he had called it Blue Women Group. When asked which Oscar he was most excited about he said “Animated Long.” This makes sense because “Animated Shorts” are easy. All you have to do is dance without any underwear on.
Jeff Bridges was clad head to toe in Gucci and his wife was wearing Monique Lhuillier. I feel sorry for her. I know someone who sat next to Bridges at the Globes and apparently the only thing he deserves an award for is crazy farts.
Seeing Jess next to borderline midgets like Fey and Carrel made it painfully obvious he is even shorter than Oscar.
This guy behind Carrel is the personification of how we all feel when surrounded by celebrities: Blessed.
Kate Winslet looked like a space politician in Yves St Laurent. During her interview a large roar of applause happened in the background and Kate said, “Oh it must be George Clooney.” This loony for Clooney thing was a nauseating thread that permeated the whole awards show. Can we not get the ghosts of Christmas to fly this guy around and show him what a douche he is? His smug cloud is getting unbearable.
Incidentally, you may have noticed I’m taking it easy on Sean Penn. This is because I have an appointment with my proctologist on Friday and I don’t want to jinx it.
I found Precious’ Gabourey Sidibe to be incredibly sexy but I just got out of jail after 20 years. She wasn’t the greatest one at this event but as far as Ones go, she was pretty great.
Meryl Streep was wearing Chris March. That’s right, the eccentric bearded queer from Project Runway is doing red carpet fashion now. Weird. Streep said she loves the awards because she gets to see her friends all dressed up but she also admitted she can’t wait to take off these fucking Jimmy Choos.
I realized while looking at Tarantino that I had never seen him and the puppet Madam at the same time and place. Whoever he really is, I commend him on not going with a large prosthetic nose for Brad Pitt when making the Jewish nerd porn Inglourious Basterds.
Probably the greatest question of the night was to a child named Miley Cyrus. Ireland asked, “You’ve done music. You’ve mastered comedy. What’s next for you?” Somebody needs to tell Ireland the difference between, “done,” “mastered,” and “given a whirr.” Cyrus was later asked what she’d do if she ever won an Oscar and she said she’d throw it in the garbage because she’s seen Sesame Street and he really seems to like it in there.
After the red carpet, we had the awards. The whole thing looked like a telethon with no number. The sets all looked like they were designed by a 90 year-old Polish woman and all the break-dancing made the halftime show look like something out of Glee. Neil Patrick Harris did a dancey number that looked like he was heading his own coming out party complete with fancy dancers in nude hosiery.
I don’t know why I’m always surprised at how phony everyone is at a “Best Acting in the World” convention. They’re just doing their jobs.
I couldn’t stay awake for the whole thing but I faintly remember hoping it all ends the same way Inglourious Basterds did.
PS: I made half this shit up so don’t sue me. Jesus, you’re fucking rich. Why are you going around suing people anyway?