"And the Ogar for Most Disastrous Showing During A Hunt goes posthumously to Uthar of Grok for Uthar Gets Trampled By A Woolly Mammoth." ~ Urg, 18 421 BC
"I hate every single one of you mother****ers." ~ Vivien Leigh, 1940
"I'd like to thank the Academy for awarding me this special award for my documentary David Spade Says He's Sorry For Every Single Thing He's Ever Done. I know it was a long time coming, and I've got so much to feel sorry for. I only wish my old friend Rob Schneider could be here to see this day, but unfortunately he died in that tragic accident involving an angry crocodile while filming Deuce Bigelow Australian Gigalo." ~ David Spade, 2015
Well, the Oscars are tomorrow. Many stars will pour into the Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles. Many entertainment reporters (an infestation on the face of the Earth) will swarm all over the red carpet. Pre-ceremony red carpet coverage has already been underway for thirty six hours. The ceremony itself, while taking up four, five, or six hours, will feel like it's ninety seven hours long. I, for one, will not be watching. I'd rather go through a root canal than watch that whole self congratulatory aren't we just great? nonsense of an awards show. That said, I decided to make some predictions on what will happen tomorrow night. Some of them might come true. Some might not. If all of them do, well, then in that case, I can read the future.
Doesn't that just blow your mind?
Pat Robertson will issue a statement beforehand condemning Hollywood in general and Ellen DeGeneres in particular for moral depravity while pleading for his followers to send yet more of their money to his private Swiss account... that is, the ministry and its... ahem, good works.
Variations on the question who are you wearing? will be asked four thousand three hundred twenty eight times on the red carpet as various actors make their way into the theatre.
Members of the Cory Monteith Fan Club will be picketing outside, demanding that their late idol be posthumously given Best Lead Actor just because they say so.
The head of the Academy will issue a statement reminding the Cory Monteith Fan Club that the only films he appeared in before he kicked the bucket were forgettable, and in twenty years, no one will remember Cory Monteith.
Joan Rivers will be camped out in exile away from the actual red carpet, complaining to an internet website about how she's not allowed to be on the red carpet anymore.
The ceremony will be forty five minutes late getting started.
Jack Nicholson will be sitting in the front row as always, wearing his sunglasses, a smile plastered on his face, despite not having had been in a film for years.
Network executives will breath a sigh of relief that this year's host is relatively safe, unlike that douchebag from last year.
Ellen DeGeneres will feature a remark in her opening monologue about the recent Arizona legislative debacle, noting with pleasure and a beaming smile that she's married to a woman. The remark will simultaneously infuriate certain Arizona state legislators, their base, the Taliban, Iranian mullahs, Pat Robertson, FOX News, the ghost of Oral Roberts, and Rush Limbaugh.
Amy Adams will remark on the work of makeup artists, noting how realistic the wig prosthetic of a bad combover looked on Christian Bale in American Hustle, adding that Bale is lucky that's not the actual condition of his head. The camera will then deliberately pan over to John Travolta, who will be looking awkward about the hairpiece on top of his head.
At least one nominee, upon hearing that they have lost, will be captured on screen uttering a curse word. Odds are it will be Leonardo DiCaprio.
Leonardo DiCaprio will not win an Oscar.
People will wonder why they have to have those interpretive dance numbers.
Ellen DeGeneres will note at least seven times that they seem to be running behind.
The orchestra will be busy forcing people who tend to run overtime in speeches off stage by starting up renditions of Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead.
Jeremy Renner will make a wisecrack about Jack Nicholson. Strangely, Jack will not respond.
Jennifer Lawrence, after the debacle of tripping on the steps, will be wearing something much more practical this year: a trouser suit. Fashion critics will be outraged and start burning her in effigy.
Bjork will have shown up for no reason, outdoing her previous record for dressing horribly at an awards show by turning up in a dress of psychedelic purple with a hubcap welded on, a rubber hose, and five vibrators hanging from strategically placed velcro straps. When asked about the dress, she will say she has a hot date later on.
Demi Moore will turn up with a date who's even younger than her last boyfriend. He says he's nineteen, and that Demi told him to say that.
Jennifer Lopez, eager to make a splash since her career flatlined, turns up in an outfit that shocks everyone: nipple tassels and an orange thong.
At his detachment in Alberta, Canada, RCMP Inspector and cranky grouch Lars Ulrich will feel grateful that for once, there are no entertainment reporters in the province.
More than one Academy voter will admit on the way inside that they did not vote for Bruce Dern as Best Actor for Nebraska, citing the fact that decades ago, he killed John Wayne in a film. "You don't just kill the Duke and think you can get away with it!" one tells reporters.
Martin Scorsese will wonder why Leonardo DiCaprio failed to win Best Actor yet again. Friends will suggest that perhaps he stop casting Leo in his films.
Ellen DeGeneres will tease Joaquin Phoenix with the question as to if he shagged the machine in Her.
The annual March Of The Dead montage will take place. Applause will greet the image of the famous. Families of producers, composers, and makeup artists who passed away in the last year will feel their grief magnified once again by hearing, who the hell is that instead of applause all around them.
Someone will ask, didn't that guy die forty years ago?
Ellen DeGeneres will be caught on camera looking at her watch, muttering about wishing she could just be at home.
Leonardo DiCaprio will bitterly ask who he has to kill to win an Oscar.
Harrison Ford will turn up on stage (to the accompaniment of the Raiders Of The Lost Ark march) to present an award, and state for the record that he is not in any way related to the drug addled mayor of Toronto, Rob "Crackhead" Ford.
Christian Bale will pass by Jack Nicholson on his way up to present an award, and be momentarily puzzled by Jack's lack of a hello.
Meryl Streep will tease George Clooney, which will lead Clooney to launch his five hundred and eighty fifth practical joke, one that will, in years to come, become legendary.
Demi Moore will scream that Jack Nicholson is dead.
Paramedics will check Jack Nicholson, confirming that he has, in fact, been dead for three hours. The March Of The Dead will be updated to include the passing of Jack Nicholson.
While paramedics remove Jack Nicholson's body, conspiracy theories will erupt on the Internet that Jack has been dead for years, and his embalmed body has been propped up in the front row at the Oscars as a tradition.
Before Best Director can be awarded, the theatre will be shaken as a sports car smashes its way into the hall, crashing into several people, killing four, including one of the last Munchkins. Justin Bieber will emerge from behind the wheel, stumbling and drunk, and stagger up on stage. While the March Of The Dead now flashes across a screen to include the four newly dead (including that no longer so cute Munchkin), Bieber will start singing Baby Baby Baby. Tommy Lee Jones will calmly walk up onto the stage and punch his lights out.
The ceremony will finish seven hours past its expected ending, and Ellen DeGeneres will apologize to morning viewers just getting up, expecting to see the morning news, the orchestra will play One For My Baby And One More For The Road, and the screen will fade to black.
The ambulance carrying the body of Jack Nicholson will crash en route to the morgue. The body will be thrown out the back and disappear. Rumours will circulate for years afterwards that Jack's a zombie.