Good God in Heaven! I certainly hope NO ONE here watched the Oscars. What a monumental waste of time that could be devoted to, oh, I don't know, primering one's Jeep or cleaning out one's overflowing septic tank or sorting out one's [wife's] used Maxi-Pads or something. Of course, perusing the seven minute clips of the incredible best-movie misplacement gaffe does not count towards this downtime. More later.*
They are bundled up in their own little world, their comfortable safe spaces, their hidey-holes from whence they hurl their absolutely frivolous invective to no effect at all save for the derision it accrues for their vacuous inanity.
*And for all of their self-congratulatory masturbation and anti-Trump opprobrium, they botched the easy pop-fly that is the centerpiece of the entire show: the award of the statue to the best movie of the year.
I mean, that's it, innit, folks? All of the rest of the stuff is mere window dressing leading up to the very reason they all parade down the red carpet in their tuxes and gowns, and assemble in all that posh glitter.
THE. BEST. MOVIE. OF. THE. YEAR.
So, the dancing monkeys who, in days of yore, portrayed that heinous couple -- Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow -- pulled off another bank job as it were. (Someone cue Flatt & Scruggs' Foggy Mountain Break Down. Or, better yet, their rendition of The Beverly Hillbillies.)
The sad thing was that this wasn't just a double take, a fluff, a jump cut. The ENTIRE ensemble of La La Land paraded on stage and delivered several treacly hosannas of gratitude to everyone of the little people who made them the stars that they are today, only to be saved in the final reel when some accountant dashed in and made the correction as a mere afterthought and almost as the credits were rolling. It was so awkward that it was reminiscent of the bloopers and out-takes that appear at the end of a lot of movies.
But the aftertaste remains: if they cannot get this right, who in holy hell can they expect anyone to believe the vile sputum they eruct from their precious little enclaves?
Love to stay and chat, but I gotta deal with an overflowing septic thank.