So It Goes

Last night I spent four hours shoving Pop Tarts into my face, washing them down with Sunkist, and brushing the frosted crumbs off my keyboard long enough to bang out approximately 3,400 Academy Award-related jokes.  My apologies to anyone whose Twitter feed choked on these already.

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Fact: Every time Barbara Walters makes someone cry with her first question, she gets an extra life.

Nothing tonight can possibly top Barbara Walters grilling Mickey Rourke about his dead dogs. OH, EXCEPT ASKING ABOUT HIS DEMONS.

Barbara [Walters] just asked Hugh Jackman if he was gay, another hard-ass question.  She must know that tonight she’ll die after laying her eggs.
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Sarah Jessica Parker walks into a bar and the bartender says “Hey, why the long face?” I’LL BE HERE ALL NIGHT, PEOPLE.

I’d appreciate if there weren’t any more archival clips of Julia Roberts cackling madly and revealing all seven rows of teeth.

Oh shit, Angelina Jolie just made off with three of the kids from the Slumdog cast.

Zac Efron’s suit was made by Hugo Boss and his face was done by Bisquick.

Miley Cyrus is dressed like a cake topper.  A cake topper with an unfortunate tooth-to-gum ratio.

Penelope Cruz is the first person to wear something 60 years old to the Oscars since Annette Bening showed up wrapped in Warren Beatty.

I hope that Anne Hathaway’s imprisoned ex had enough cigarettes to trade for TV privileges tonight.

A local plastic surgeon has run at least four commercials so far. Because nothing makes you feel uglier than the Oscars.

Whoever selected 8:32 p.m. as the beginning of an Awkward Hugh Jackman Song Montage, congratulations, you just won. 

It’s nice to see that Mickey Rourke is wearing his dress tooth tonight. 

Tilda Swinton still looks like one of those troll doll pencil toppers.

How long did it take Whoopi Goldberg to kill, skin, and eat Chester Cheetah?

And, at long, last Sister Act gets mentioned during the Oscar telecast.

I’m still asking various deities/Santa Claus/The Wishing Fountain at the Outlet Mall that I’ll grow up to be Tina Fey.

Sean Penn just out-applauded everyone.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button by Eric Roth, based on Forrest Gump but with more age makeup and one less retarded guy.

Oh Jennifer Aniston.  Your presenting tonight is like me live-blogging from my ex-boyfriend’s front yard. SHIT, TURN OFF THE SPRINKLERS!

My life’s quest to learn when Dave Matthews got his American Express card has been realized.  I can die peacefully in my sleep tonight.

I would lick live bees off of Daniel Craig’s chest.

Surprisingly, my own life didn’t make the Romance Montage. Hopefully it’ll get some recognition during the “Why Did I Sleep With You?” clips.

My life would be so much easier if I looked like Natalie Portman. And also if I could stop pointing out peoples’ flaws.

Wow. Seth Rogen’s pronunciation of those foreign names and phrases were borderline Trebek-ian.

Hugh Jackman has finally reached the “I Piss Rainbows and Banana Republic Crewnecks” levels of gayness.

Beyonce looks pretty amazing.  If I wore that dress, I’d look like an anemic thermometer.

There was a time when I would’ve rolled Kevin Kline in bread crumbs and devoured him. That was before he morphed into Mark Twain.

I’m looking forward to Man On Wire 2: Man On Sidewalk in Awkwardly Splayed Position.

Wow. Jerry Lewis and Coldplay in one montage. Drop in a pair of Crocs and we’d have the Things I Hate trifecta.

Here’s where I suggest checking out Robyn Hitchcock’s shoulda been nom’ed song from Rachel Getting Married.

Michael Crichton is winning the Death Montage so f—NO HERE COMES HAROLD PINTER WITH A LATE SURGE.

Paul Newman for the [Death Montage] win. I just poured a little balsamic vinaigrette out
for him.

C’mon Oscars, let’s wrap this up.  It’s almost 11:30 and I’ve got a big day of being unemployed tomorrow.

She’s had a good run for the past 130-ish years, but Sophia Loren has finally started to look like a ball of melting wax.

That emu has Nicole Kidman’s voice. Weird.

Oh my. How I would like to be in a layered dip with all of these gentlemen. [Michael Douglas, Robert DeNiro, Ben Kingsley, Anthony Hopkins, and Adrian Brody]

Say what you want about him, but Adrian Brody is a small pickaxe away from being West Virginia’s state flag.

Slumdog Millionaire wins! The Academy doesn’t cry over killed Milk.

Thanks to the end credits for warning me that Robin Williams will be infesting my local cinema in ’09. It’s back into the bunker I guess.

Aaaaand I’m spent.