FRIDAY'S DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS: IS THERE SOMETHING ELSE ON BESIDES THE OSCARS, HONEY?
Tonight’s drunken rant is brought to you by Red Bull and vodka ‘cause nothing says complete liver damage like these two drinks mixed together.
The Oscars? Where has my excitement gone for these award shows? I’ll tell you where it’s gone—straight to hell, like my virginity! Oh, the Catholic guilt. Maybe it’s the hype that these media outlets are giving them. Maybe it’s just me. Yeah, right. It’s all the talk about something that eventually doesn’t live up to the hype, and that is the Oscars. (But if you ask my girlfriend, this could also apply to my sexual prowess)
First off, I can’t stand hearing about the damn Oscars every time I turn on the damn TV or radio. I’m not entirely psychotic. Tell me twice about it and I’m bound to remember the topic. I don’t need to be bombarded with news that the Oscars are coming up. And when I do sit through some kiss-ass on the radio talking about the Oscars, I end up wondering if it just wouldn’t have been more fun to give myself a skin disease on the ass rather than listen to this. I mean, usually it’s some ultra-hip wannabe actor/waiter who rambles on and on about the Oscars and what he feels is going to win “the big prizes.” Like I need to listen to some guy who thinks he’s in with these celebrities to lecture us about his insightful jargon about Leonardo or Jamie Foxx or whatever. Hey, buddy, go have another enema and Oil of Olay bath and schmooze up to a grip who might know somebody who might see your head shot! Oh, yeah, and if you could play “Shadow Dancing” by Andy Gibb before you go, that would be wonderful.
Another reason I get serious period cramps from the Oscars is because of the pre-Oscar show and all the talk about what “they” are all wearing. Do I care what designer dress some actress is wearing? No! I’d rather know how much coke they did before they got out of the limo or how much they beat their kids before they left them with the nanny. Now that’s entertainment. But what really used to get me was…Joan Rivers and her genetically incorrect daughter. Oh, those two actually give me nightmares, only in my nightmare they’re both circus clowns driving around in those little tiny cars… and they’re naked. See, I told you it was a nightmare. Nothing’s worse than seeing these two go back and forth from talking to people walking up the red carpet. Going back and forth between them is like going back and forth from crapping and puking when you have food poisoning. You know, the more it happens the more it starts to burn coming out both ends. Well, that is what these two Cro-Mags do to me. (I apologize to any Cro-Mags who might be reading this)
Finally, the Oscars themselves are usually a letdown, like going to see a Bette Midler film and not finding any full-frontal nudity-- that kind of letdown. I mean, usually the awards go to something or someone that makes me think, “What jackasses voted for that?” And then when somebody wins, I know eventually for their next movie I will have to listen to some guy for the trailer saying, “Also starring, Academy-Award winner…” Tacking that on to someone’s name is like when parents put that sticker on their car, “My Child Is A High Achiever At St. Holy Crap Elementary School.” You see, what that sticker doesn’t tell you is that their kid still craps his pants once a day and is ashamed of his fat-ass, hillbilly, Thunderbird-swilling dad and his trick-turning, hygienically unsound mother. That’s what the Academy-Award winner crap is telling you.
I wish I could get over this hostility and find my way back to loving the Oscars, but I just don’t see it happening, at least not without some strong pain pills and an anal-relaxing cream. I should care if Scorcese wins or not, but it has gone past caring. Does he deserve to win? Who cares! He seems to retain a stronger sense of dignity without winning an Oscar. I mean, imagine if he wins, do you think he’s going to go, “Yes! Now finally I’m in a class with Ron Howard”? I don’t think so. I say forget watching the Oscars and come over here and we’ll make sweet love as we watch Nascar.
The Oscars? Where has my excitement gone for these award shows? I’ll tell you where it’s gone—straight to hell, like my virginity! Oh, the Catholic guilt. Maybe it’s the hype that these media outlets are giving them. Maybe it’s just me. Yeah, right. It’s all the talk about something that eventually doesn’t live up to the hype, and that is the Oscars. (But if you ask my girlfriend, this could also apply to my sexual prowess)
First off, I can’t stand hearing about the damn Oscars every time I turn on the damn TV or radio. I’m not entirely psychotic. Tell me twice about it and I’m bound to remember the topic. I don’t need to be bombarded with news that the Oscars are coming up. And when I do sit through some kiss-ass on the radio talking about the Oscars, I end up wondering if it just wouldn’t have been more fun to give myself a skin disease on the ass rather than listen to this. I mean, usually it’s some ultra-hip wannabe actor/waiter who rambles on and on about the Oscars and what he feels is going to win “the big prizes.” Like I need to listen to some guy who thinks he’s in with these celebrities to lecture us about his insightful jargon about Leonardo or Jamie Foxx or whatever. Hey, buddy, go have another enema and Oil of Olay bath and schmooze up to a grip who might know somebody who might see your head shot! Oh, yeah, and if you could play “Shadow Dancing” by Andy Gibb before you go, that would be wonderful.
Another reason I get serious period cramps from the Oscars is because of the pre-Oscar show and all the talk about what “they” are all wearing. Do I care what designer dress some actress is wearing? No! I’d rather know how much coke they did before they got out of the limo or how much they beat their kids before they left them with the nanny. Now that’s entertainment. But what really used to get me was…Joan Rivers and her genetically incorrect daughter. Oh, those two actually give me nightmares, only in my nightmare they’re both circus clowns driving around in those little tiny cars… and they’re naked. See, I told you it was a nightmare. Nothing’s worse than seeing these two go back and forth from talking to people walking up the red carpet. Going back and forth between them is like going back and forth from crapping and puking when you have food poisoning. You know, the more it happens the more it starts to burn coming out both ends. Well, that is what these two Cro-Mags do to me. (I apologize to any Cro-Mags who might be reading this)
Finally, the Oscars themselves are usually a letdown, like going to see a Bette Midler film and not finding any full-frontal nudity-- that kind of letdown. I mean, usually the awards go to something or someone that makes me think, “What jackasses voted for that?” And then when somebody wins, I know eventually for their next movie I will have to listen to some guy for the trailer saying, “Also starring, Academy-Award winner…” Tacking that on to someone’s name is like when parents put that sticker on their car, “My Child Is A High Achiever At St. Holy Crap Elementary School.” You see, what that sticker doesn’t tell you is that their kid still craps his pants once a day and is ashamed of his fat-ass, hillbilly, Thunderbird-swilling dad and his trick-turning, hygienically unsound mother. That’s what the Academy-Award winner crap is telling you.
I wish I could get over this hostility and find my way back to loving the Oscars, but I just don’t see it happening, at least not without some strong pain pills and an anal-relaxing cream. I should care if Scorcese wins or not, but it has gone past caring. Does he deserve to win? Who cares! He seems to retain a stronger sense of dignity without winning an Oscar. I mean, imagine if he wins, do you think he’s going to go, “Yes! Now finally I’m in a class with Ron Howard”? I don’t think so. I say forget watching the Oscars and come over here and we’ll make sweet love as we watch Nascar.
posted by Cruzbomb at 11:26 PM
2 Comments:
I used to teach at St. Holy Crap Elementary School.
At least root for Motorcycle Diaries, if it's even nominated in le foreign lingo category, as there is the leper colony scene with a whole flock of...nuns.
Nuns with lepers always deserves an Oscar!
Check out Green Cine Daily for March 1 www.daily.greencine.com They excerpted a portion of my Oscar story in which I refer to this article and use your name (Cruzbomb)-- so the story ends up not only linking to my site, but yours too. Look for those hits to take a leap! Now, about this sacreligious attitude of yours...
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