The Ego Storm To End Them All

The Oscars are coming up. I avoid this nonsense like the plague, but each year write something up as to how things should go. As I've been doing this for a few years, they've developed a continuity of their own. For those of you who are going to watch the 96 hour long marathon ceremony, good luck. I will be getting several decent night's sleep.

Three days before the ceremony even takes place, people will have selected spots around the Dolby Theatre for star watching. They will have camped out in the hopes that they can get photos and autographs from the stars. They will spend their time gossipping about who will be wearing what, annoying local stores with requests to use their washrooms, and giving Uber Eats drivers some brisk business.

ABC's president will gather together the producers, Raj Kapoor and Katy Mullan, who are returning again to head up the broadcast, in their office. He will demand that they keep on schedule as he's tired of the Oscars ceremonies going on for days and days. "Look, I get that they all want to celebrate, but our affiliates have to do their morning news traffic reports. It might not matter to you or me, but the people of Des Moines, it matters that a broken down pick up truck collided with a molasses truck."

Mullan and Kapoor will promise that they'll keep on top of things, all while knowing they'll be breaking that promise.

Conan O'Brien, returning to host, will be fine tuning his monologue with the writers, wondering how many people he'll offend this time.

Jack Nicholson's corpse will be brought out for preparations at a mortician's facility in Los Angeles. As his will dictates he must be at every Oscars, his body was embalmed years ago, and each year, it seems to take longer to get him ready to go.

Kapoor and Mullan will be interrupted from their plans on how to keep Barbra Streisand from attending the Oscars with the unexpected news that she has passed away in her sleep.

On the morning of the ceremony, Tom Cruise will set out from home. His ban from the Oscars continues, and yet he has an outrageous scheme on how to infiltrate the event once again this year, Mission Impossible style. It requires a few hired guns and/ or expendable twits. Nothing he hasn't done before.

Mullan and Kapoor, having had spent the last three days thanking their lucky stars that they won't have to deal with the rage ego-storm of Barbra Streisand ever again, will be in last minute preparation time.

The Dolby Theatre will, likewise, be in last minute preparation time with staff handling various tasks. Jack Nicholson's body will be placed in the front row seating, in tuxedo and sunglasses, looking, well... like Jack. Mullan and Kapoor will brief the small group of seat fillers who will be paid extra to be spending the evening surrounding Jack. They will advise them to ignore the scent of embalming fluids.

Leonardo DiCaprio, nominated for Best Actor this year, will be at home getting ready. He'll be meeting his latest girlfriend, who will be turning twenty six in July. As such, he will be busy planning on how to dump her at the end of June, what with his disregard for any woman over a certain age. He will also be feeling a growing sense of dread. He knows he should just skip the Oscars, what with the PTSD over being beaten up every year by Marisa Tomei, but his ego insists he must attend.

Mullan and Kapoor will be briefing their designated enforcers, back again this year. Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei, who have worked together on multiple Oscars ceremonies and spent time beating up DiCaprio and Cruise, will be raring to go. Upon mention of keeping the speeches short, Jones and Tomei will shrug. 

Despite not being in any notable movies in the last year, John Travolta will be at home, getting his tux ready. He'll give himself a look in the mirror, and nod to himself. "Joey Tarleton, you're looking good."

The ceremony will get underway. Paparazzi will crowd the red carpet, talking to incoming stars, trying to get a sound byte. Some of the stars will pass them by entirely. Others might stop in and have a few words. 

Tom Cruise will meet with a group of waiters/ movie set extras in a warehouse a few blocks away from the Dolby Theatre. Plus Scott Baio, who has nothing else to do and hasn't learned from the last few years of helping Tom Cruise out on Oscar night. It will be an audacious plan of distraction and misdirection, with the group being the distraction. "This can't fail!" Cruise will say. 

"Say, I think I need a bigger role in this," Baio will insist.

"Shut up, Chachi!" Cruise will snap.

"Hey! I was also in Charles in Charge!" Baio will point out.

Katherine Heigl and Katherine Heigl will show up, despite having no film work in the last few years. The actress and her alternate reality counterpart and wife will make a spectacle of themselves on the red carpet, making out, hands all over each other. Heigl once risked the space-time continuum to bring her counterpart in to this reality. After all, for someone that narcissistic, the only person they could love is themselves. After getting a bit too risque, they'll be ushered inside.

John Travolta, just arriving, will see them go and say to himself, "Wow, Kristine Howard and Kristine Howard really look good this year."

The seat fillers around the corpse of Jack Nicholson will be making a point of breathing in a shallow way.

Jones and Tomei will be off to the side of the seating, talking amongst themselves. They will both turn, as if sensing a presence. At this point in time, DiCaprio will arrive with his date. He will see Jones and Tomei, and start to tremble. Tomei will smile, point at him, and run a finger across her throat. DiCaprio will stifle the desire to cry.

Travolta will take his seat, look around, spot Jack Nicholson's corpse a couple of rows down and a few seats over, and say to himself, "That Jeremy Norton. What a guy, always the first one in, the last one to leave."

At home, James Brolin will be lost in thought, what with the days since his wife Barbra Streisand died in her sleep. He might wonder why no one has mentioned this in the news, but really doesn't care.

Conan O'Brien will open up the ceremony with a monologue taking shots at how no one's seen this year's nominated films, various actors in the audience, the industry in general, and Donald Trump for good measure.

At Mar-A-Lago, the American President will begin forty seven straight hours of rage tweeting with "Connor O'Ryan Not Funny! Unfair!"

At home, Billy Crystal will feel grateful that he once again turned down hosting this thing.

Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei will keep an eye on things. Tomei will keep looking directly at DiCaprio, sizing him up, calculating the velocity of a punch to his nose to break it again.

Leonardo DiCaprio will have a distinct feeling like someone is walking over his grave.

The first winner will be announced. They will set the tone for the evening when thirty seconds into their speech, they tell the orchestra that no, they're not going to get rushed off the stage, so quiet down there.

Tom Cruise will finish his briefing with his elite team of waiters and extras, plus Scott Baio. "Any final questions?" he will demand.

"Is there a chance any of us are going to get hurt?" one will ask. 

"Good question," Cruise will say. "Maybe. Now go put your mime make-up on."

The group will break up. Except for Scott Baio, who will ask, "what about me? I'm not going to be wearing mime make up?"

"No, you're driving," Cruise will tell him. "Besides, you're not a good enough actor to be a mime."

"Come on! I was the star of two shows! Three if you count Joanie Loves Chachi." Baio will protest.

"Shut up, Chachi!"

Mullan and Kapoor will look at their watches, realizing that they're already an hour behind where they're supposed to be by this point in the broadcast. "They'll never let us do this again," Kapoor will remark.

Mullan will nod. "See you in hell."

John Travolta will point at Michael B. Jordan in the crowd, and say to the person sitting next to him, "That's Mark S. Burroughs! You know, the basketball player!"

Barbra Streisand's agent will arrive at the mansion she called home with her husband. James Brolin will answer the door. "James!" he will say. "I'm so sorry, really. Just got your message an hour ago. I've been in Bora Bora hiding from my fifth ex-wife. Anyway, we've got to get the publicity machine up and running and let people know about the funeral."

"I haven't organized a funeral," Brolin will tell him.

"You haven't? Why not?" 

"Funerals are sad occasions," Brolin will explain. "And right now, I'm happy."

Donald Trump will tweet about how great the movie about his wife is, and how everyone's a loser.

Leonardo DiCaprio will squirm in his seat, feeling the eyes of that woman who keeps beating him up every year when he comes to these events. He will summon up the courage to look where he knows her to be. Marisa Tomei will meet his gaze, and then smirk. The expression will be enough to make the actor tremble.

Tom Cruise will load up the waiters and extras in the back of a delivery truck, telling them, "hold on to whatever you can. There's no seat belts back here after all." They will all look back at him, each dressed like Charlie Chaplin, with white mime make up on their faces. They will start to move in an exaggerated mime fashion. Cruise will close the rolling door. "Move it, Chachi!" he will yell as he gets on a nearby motorbike.

"My name is Scott!" Baio will reply.

"Nobody cares!"

News will break, three days late, that Barbra Streisand has died. Mullan and Kapoor, having had convinced the press to sit on the story so as to not overshadow the Oscars, will both sigh with dismay. "Do we need to do a quick edit of the memorial scroll?" Mullan will ask.

Kapoor will shrug. "Or we try to remember to add her to next year's edition."

Donald Trump will send out a series of six dozen tweets inside of seven minutes dragging Barbra Streisand over the coals.

The night will go on, with the schedule falling further and further behind.

John Travolta will look at his watch, trying to decide if it's time to call it a night. He's not getting any younger, after all, and he's not nominated this year for anything. 

The March of the Dead will unfold across the big screen, memorializing actors, directors, and others in the industry who have died in the last year. Some names will be omitted. Others will be met with a "who are they" reaction in the crowd. And one person on screen will in fact be in the audience, and get up off their chair and yell, "Hey! I'm not dead yet!"

Scott Baio will stop his truck a block short of the Dolby Theatre. He will get out, open the back door, and find the mimes running in circles. "Hey guys! It's time to go! Get out there already!"

Tom Cruise will watch them all clamber out and start moving in the general direction of the Dolby Theatre. He will check his watch, deciding on the best time to actually make his move and have his revenge.

The mimes will run down the street, and then start cartwheeling and somersaulting their way along the red carpet. Building security will call in to the event dispatch to advise of the situation. 

Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei will hear the news over their ear pieces, and will wonder if this is some kind of distraction.

While building security does their best to shuffle the mimes off the red carpet and down the street, Tom Cruise will start up his motorbike, revving hard, speeding down the street, knocking Scott Baio off his feet, heading to the red carpet.

The winner of the Best Actor will be announced. Leonardo DiCaprio will already be on his feet, believing he has won, but then hear someone else's name. This will infuriate him, and he will walk down the aisle towards the stage as the winner accepts the Oscar. "This is an outrage!"

Jones and Tomei will start moving onto the stage.

Cruise will burst into the auditorium. He will jump off his motorbike, which will crash into the audience, adding several names to next year's March of the Dead. He will get up, run down the aisle, heading for the stage, where DiCaprio is yelling at the winner of the Best Actor Oscar.

Cruise and DiCaprio will be yelling at each other and bickering about who's the better actor. The presenter and the winner for the Best Actor Oscar will be looking on, rolling their eyes and looking exasperated. 

Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei will close in on the pair. Tomei will tap DiCaprio on the shoulder. He will turn and find himself face to face with the object of his fear and agony. "Not you!" 

"Yes me," she will say, and throw a hard punch, breaking his nose.

Jones, meanwhile, will start out by breaking Tom Cruise's arms.

After the annual beatdown of Tom Cruise and Leonardo DiCaprio, both will be removed from the auditorium by paramedics, as well as police, who want to have a word with Tom Cruise about the multiple casualties and the people down the block who have previous PTSD related to mimes and had it all unleashed thanks to his underlings.

The Oscars will conclude, seventeen hours past their expected end time. Stars will leave the auditorium, feeling like they haven't slept in days. They will be met by questions from the paparazzi. "What do you have to say about Barbra Streisand dying?"

Tomei and Jones will feel refreshed and pleased with themselves. "That was fun," Tomei will say.

Jones will nod. "Same time next year?"

Somewhere in Hell, the Devil will send Barbra Streisand's soul back to her body, rather than put up with her for an eternity just yet. He can wait another ten years until the boys from engineering have the Silent Room ready. She will wake up in a morgue, having no memory of what happened to her for the last three days. And she will be angry.

At a local hospital, casualties from the night will be treated. Scott Baio will be wondering how he'll pay a hospital bill when he hasn't worked in twelve years.

Cruise will find himself feeling very uncomfortable as a doctor and nurse work on him. He will be in a neck brace, with both arms in body casts, multiple facial contusions, and broken ribs. Police will be advising him he needs a lawyer. "I don't need a lawyer," he will reply back. "Do you know who I am?"

The one cop will say to the other, "Look, Harry, we've got someone who doesn't know who he is."

In another room, Leonardo DiCaprio will be moaning while being treated by two nurses and a doctor. He has sustained facial damage, a broken leg, broken arms, multiple bruises, and unresolved PTSD. "She broke my nose! Again! She broke it! My beautiful nose! Marisa Tomei causes pain!!!!!"

An Annual Star Studded Waste Of Our Time

The Oscars are coming this weekend. As always, I will not be watching, as I'd rather have broken glass dropped into my eyes than put up with that. However, it's been my tradition to write how the Oscars ceremony should go. Complete with my own continuity from previous Oscar years.

Five days before the event actually is scheduled to take place, fans will start camping out for places around the Dolby Theater in Hollywood. They will be spending their time sharing gossip on the nominees, who will be wearing what, and who might be the sore loser of the nominees. In the interim, they'll be spending their time irritating nearby shop keepers with requests to use the washroom, and giving the Ubereats drivers plenty of business.

Producers Katy Mullan and Raj Kapoor will appear at the offices of the ABC network president to assure him that the ceremony will finish on time.

The president, fully aware that will never happen, will nod and assume that his network will be backlogged with delays all night and probably into the next day. He knows this from previous experience.

This year's host, Jimmy Kimmel, will be wondering how many times he can get away with Barbieheimer references.

Three days before the ceremony, at a local funeral home, morticians will be busy on the annual touch-ups of the body of Jack Nicholson. The actor, who died years ago during an Oscars ceremony, left a will that stipulates that his corpse be placed in the front row for each ceremony going forward. The morticians will periodically muse on how many seat fillers will have to be paid extra to sit around the embalmed body.

At a psychologist's office in LA, Leonardo DiCaprio will be attending a session. As is usually the case with Leo at this time of year, the subjects will be his deathly fear of Marisa Tomei and his habit of dating women under the age of 26. Left unsaid will be what the therapist writes on her notepad: "this guy looks ridiculous dating women half his age."

Tom Cruise will be at home. Faced with a restraining order forbidding him once again from coming near the Dolby Theatre after multiple years of breaking in anyway, in a series of daring stunts involving the physical maiming or deaths of multiple accomplice waiters/ wannabe actors, Cruise will shrug it off, already planning how he'll pull it off this year.

On the day of the ceremony, Will Smith will be at home, feeling sorry for himself, still deep in a ten year ban from attending the ceremony after the hitting Chris Rock fiasco. His wife Jada Pinkett-Smith will be upstairs, playing tonsil hockey with her son's best friend.

Determined to keep her away from the ceremony, Mullan and Kapoor will send a runner to the residence of Barbra Streisand to whisk her off to her supposed trip to the Oscars, but in fact a one way trip to St. Agnes' Home For The Deranged. The runner will find out that Barbra has sustained a head injury and doesn't remember who she is.

John Travolta will finish getting dressed to attend the ceremony, despite having had spent the last few years not doing anything remotely of acclaim. He'll nod to himself in the mirror, and say, "time to go, Julio Telesta."

Mullan and Kapoor will meet with their designated enforcers in the theater. Marisa Tomei and Tommy Lee Jones are going to be ensuring that nothing gets out of hand. "By the way, this includes run-time of winners speeches," Mullan will say.

"No it doesn't," Jones will reply back.

Tomei will agree. "We're here to kick butt and take names if anyone makes a scene. Not keep you on a schedule."

Stars will start to arrive on the red carpet. Gushing entertainment journalists will take the chance to talk to them. Onlookers will hope some of them are in the mood to come over to the stanchion lines and say hello. 

Despite being a musician and not an actor, let alone being nominated, Bjork will arrive, wearing an outfit consisting of studded ripped jeans, psychedelic halter top, faux-yak scarf, and cowboy hat. Fashion journalists will pronounce her the style maven of the year.

Katherine Heigl will arrive with her wife, Katherine Heigl. The narcissists have been together for years, after this dimension's Katherine Heigl crossed worlds to find the one true love of her life- herself- and brought the other Katherine Heigl into this one. And ever since then, they've spent time making a scene of themselves at every opportunity, being exhibitionists along the way. They'll go down the red carpet, making out and fondling each other, while others wonder how they scored an invite.

In Canada, legendary Mountie Inspector Lars Ulrich will wrap things up for the day at his detachment in Alberta, fresh off beating up Mechagodzilla and making it cry. He will sleep well knowing that there is not a single entertainment reporter in the country.

Barbra Streisand will be examined by doctors in a hospital in LA. The doctors will be astonished by her amnesia, and will hope it's permanent. Her husband James Brolin will be outside waiting and wondering. "Guess we're not making it to the Oscars," he'll say to no one.

Jack Nicholson's corpse will be in its customary front row position, flanked to either side and in the row behind it by a team of seat fillers. He'll be wearing his customary sunglasses and tuxedos, with his face stuck in that half smirk of his. The seat fillers will make a point of breathing shallowly to lessen the experience of the embalming scent.

Will Smith will be watching the red carpet arrivals on television. "Hey, Jada, honey? If I hadn't lost my temper, that would be us right about now. Jada?"

Jada will be too busy screwing her son's best friend upstairs to hear.

Leonardo DiCaprio will arrive for the ceremony, with the latest twenty four year old model he's been dating on his arm. He'll look around the slowly filling theater, and see Marisa Tomei down near the stage with Tommy Lee Jones. He'll start shaking in fear. Tomei will turn, see him, smirk, and run a finger across her throat in a threatening way, and then point at him. Leonardo will stifle the need to cry.

In a warehouse a few blocks away from the theatre, Tom Cruise will have assembled a crack team of wannabe actors spending their time as waiters, and Scott Baio. He'll explain the intricate details of his plans to break into the Oscars. It will involve most of them causing mayhem and chaos and distracting security in the efforts to lead them away. All while he gets in from the side. "Operation Distraction can't fail," he'll say. "I've got a guy on the inside, and he's going to get me in the back door."

"Maybe we should just watch the ceremony on television," Baio will say.

"Shut up, Chachi!" Cruise will snap at him.

Jimmy Kimmel will open the ceremony with a monologue that will speak to the elephant in the room by making fun of Jack Nicholson's corpse on full display. "Come on, guys, this is not Moscow, and he's not Lenin."

Somewhere in hell, Jack Nicholson will fume.

John Travolta will laugh, and say to the person next to him, "Jerry Norbert isn't Lando? Who'd have thought?"

In hospital, Barbra Streisand will continue to put up with the examination by doctors, absently saying from time to time, "I feel like there's somewhere I should be."

Cruise, Baio, and the rest of the team will head in the direction of the theater. Cruise will not be looking like himself. He'll have taken a page out of the Mission Impossible movies and be wearing a prosthetic mask to pass himself as someone else. Someone who looks remarkably like the actor Julian Sands, who disappeared last year on a hike, and whose remains were found months later.

The first award will be handed out. The winner will start giving their speech. After about thirty seconds, the orchestra will start playing music in an attempt to get them to cut it short. "Come on, guys, we're not doing that," they will tell the conductor. The conductor will back off and give in. It will be the benchmark for the rest of the evening.

Cruise will split up with his cohorts, sending them to the red carpet. They have explicit instructions, and a time to do so. Cruise will duck down a back alley. "Can I come with you?" Baio will ask.

"No, Chachi!" will come the sharp reply.

"That's not the only role I did!" Baio will protest.

Chris Rock will saunter on stage to present an award, basking in the goodwill of the audience after being so graceful in the aftermath of the Will Smith debacle. "Ladies and gentleman, and Will and Jada watching at home..." he'll say, grinning at the camera and waving.

At home, Smith will feel despondent, wondering why he let his life fall apart like this.

Jada will be too busy in the basement, fornicating with the chauffeur.

John Travolta will laugh, and say, "Werner Simmons and Josie Pesco-Simmons must be regretting that whole night."

Baio and company will be posted near the red carpet, waiting for the cue. They'll receive the expected text, and as one will stride out onto the red carpet, bypassing the stanchion line and annoying the onlookers. "Shave the whales!" Baio will announce.

"We're here with the Shave The Whales Society!" another of the group will loudly say as the group as a whole chant Shave The Whales repeatedly.

"Did you know whales can't grip a razor, and can't shave? For just twenty dollars a day, you can help the Shave The Whales Society set up ocean barbershops to help the whales live a better, smooth shaved life," Baio will tell onlookers.

Word will quickly reach the security team lead about a bizarre group of protesters outside.

While the Oscars security team comes out and shuffles off the Shave The Whales protesters, Tom Cruise will take his chance and head deeper into the side alley, unseen. He'll advance to an access door for the theatre, and knock twice. The door will open, and his inside man- an usher who thinks Mission Impossible is real- will let him in. Cruise will navigate his way through the back stage to find a spot to wait until he feels the time is right to take the stage.

Scott Baio and the rest of the Shave The Whales Society will be drummed off by security, with Baio protesting, "Come on! You can't do this to Chachi!"

Doctors will tell James Brolin that his wife may recover her memory shortly- or never. "It's a fifty fifty chance, either way," the assessment will come.

Brolin will nod. "Can you do anything to keep her from singing?"

The ceremony will carry on. Speeches will go on and on without end.  People will find themselves dozing off in the seats. Mullan and Kapoor will realize that they are already four hours behind schedule, and will wonder if this year will mark the longest Oscars ever.

Kimmel will make his two hundred and fifteenth Barbieheimer joke of the night.

Cruise will wonder if he should come out of hiding and make his grand entrance on stage yet.

The March of the Dead, in which the Hollywood dead of the last year are shown on screen, will commence. Those who are known will be met by applause. Cinematographers and screenwriters will be met with 'who is that again' confusion from the audience.

At some point during the March of the Dead, a video clip of Julian Sands will be shown, along with the subtitle 'we're sorry for that whole disappeared thing we did last year for him'. The apology will set off a controversy about how out of touch it seems.

John Travolta will sigh and say, "that wasn't quite thought out, was it? Poor Jim Styles dies alone on a mountain, and the Academy fumbles it two years in a row."

At home, Will Smith will be watching, and will be outraged when his face appears, and the subtitle 'Will Smith's career is still dead' is seen below it. "Baby? Jada? They're saying my career is still over," he will call out to no one.

Jada won't hear, as she's down in the basement screwing the gardener.

Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling will present an award together, and make a casual remark about how viral the whole Barbieheimer thing has gone in the last few months. The camera will cut to Chris Nolan, who's gotten a little tired of the Kimmel remarks all evening long.

In the hospital, James Brolin will sit at the bedside of Barbra Streisand and tell her they're married. "We are?" she'll say. "I don't remember."

"Don't worry, there's video," he'll say. "You like having your life documented, and that was a big day."

"What do we do for a living?" she'll ask. 

He'll shrug. "We're sort of retired."

Jennifer Lawrence will head to the stage to present an award. True to form, she'll trip and fall over with odd grace. This is in keeping with her secret kink- she gets off on tripping in public.

John Travolta will nod. "Wouldn't be an Oscars if Jessie Logan didn't fall."

Scott Baio will be booked by police for causing a disturbance, along with the rest of the Shave the Whales Society. "This is a mistake! You've gotta call Tom Cruise! He put us up to this! Don't you get it? I'm Chachi! You can't do this to me!"

Tom Cruise will realize that the ceremonies must be coming close to an end, given that they're into some of the big categories. "Here goes nothing," he'll say, and head out of his hiding area back stage.

Leonardo DiCaprio will hear the nominees start to be called out for Best Actor. His name will not be on the list, but out of nowhere, he'll sum up some courage, get up, walk towards the stage, and take the stage. "I have something to say!" he'll exclaim.

Off to the right, Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei will start moving to intercept.

Tom Cruise will be emerging from back stage left, and show himself to the audience. "I have something to say too!"

People will gasp, seeing that with the mask, he looks just like the deceased Julian Sands- only shorter. Jones will assess his height inside of a second and realize it's an imposter, and also that it has to be Tom Cruise from the sound of his voice.

John Travolta will be oblivious to the truth, as he is oblivious to calling people by their actual names. "Jim Styles is alive?"

Cruise will tear off his Julian Sands mask and stride forward onto the stage towards DiCaprio. "I'm more important than you! Get out of my way!"

"You get out of my way!" DiCaprio will fire back. Neither of them will notice Jones and Tomei closing in on them from behind DiCaprio.

Streisand will wake up suddenly in the hospital bed and sit upright. "I remember everything! James, what day is it?" She'll look up at a television screen as Brolin wakes up from a nap in a nearby chair. The muted screen will be showing the Academy Awards. Streisand will realize she's missing attending the Oscars yet again. She will begin to scream. The scream will be heard as far away as San Francisco, and register on the Richter scale.

At their current residence somewhere in California, with their non-existent kids nowhere to be found, Meghan and Harry will be watching. Meghan will be fuming. "I should be best actress. I should be queen."

Harry will be smoking some dope. "What was that, Megs?"

Cruise and DiCaprio's confrontation will be interrupted by Jones and Tomei, who will begin beating both of them up. Jones will throttle Cruise, while Tomei will kick the hell out of Leonardo DiCaprio.

John Travolta will laugh at the spectacle, and exclaim, "Teddy Curtis and Lowry Denny can't fight worth a damn."

Best Actor will be named, and Cillian Murphy will accept the award.

The Best Picture will be awarded. Chris Nolan and the entire Oppenheimer team will graciously take the stage and thank everyone for the award. Their remarks and celebration will add another twenty seven minutes to the running time of the ceremony. 

Will Smith will be passed out on the couch at home, while Jada will be upstairs, banging the chauffeur again.

The ceremony will end, ten hours past its expected end time, with morning rush hour traffic in L.A. already gone and done. The guests will file out, heading for limos to go home and sleep it all off. Jones and Tomei, having had beaten the crap out of the usual suspects, will shake hands, having had a good time, and part ways. 

In a hospital a few blocks away, Tom Cruise will be treated for a broken arm, two broken legs, multiple contusions and bruises, and a strained back. He'll get a look at his reflection and gasp. "My face... my beautiful face!"

A few rooms away, doctors will be treating Leonardo DiCaprio for broken ribs, a broken nose, a groin injury, and a fat lip. He'll be heard crying hysterically from outside. "Marisa Tomei hurt me again!"

Try Hard Not To Speak Ill Of The Dead

The following is why I should never be trusted to give a speech at a wedding or a funeral. Because I'd make it an occasion to remember.... for all the wrong reasons.

"Thank you, Reverend Murchison, for that kind introduction. And thank all of you for coming out on this sad day to pay tribute to a man who left us far too soon. It falls to me to give a eulogy for my old friend Peter. For one thing, we knew each other since childhood. For another, I'm not on the suspect list.

When we think of the manner in which Peter died, we must shake our heads at the unfairness of it. A man's life snuffed out at the prime of life. A man who had succeeded in life, built a reputation for himself of good standing in the community. A man with a loving wife and three children. And his faithful Spaniel Muffy.

It's tempting to ask God... why? Why him? Why not someone who really deserves it? Like Chester Holloway, for example. That bastard deserves to meet a bad end if you ask me, and you are asking me. Oh, don't look at me like that, Chester, everyone in town hates you. You're not going to make friends in this life if you listen to ABBA, let alone headbang to ABBA. Honestly, man, were you born with bad taste or did it develop gradually?

But I digress. We're not here to talk about Chester and his horrible taste in music and how much he deserves to get thrown into a pit of hungry fire ants. We're here to talk about Peter. Pillar of society. Upstanding citizen. Family man. President of the Lions Club. Gave to charities of his time and his money. Member of the town council. Successful businessman with his own hardware store. Beloved by all. Or so we thought, until three days ago when his life came to an end. Because someone went out of their way to kill him.

It's shocking, really. One minute you're driving along, the next you're facing the Almighty and being told that your brakes were cut, your car was wired to explode, and for good measure, someone double tapped your corpse with a 22.

I probably shouldn't have said that. I have this bad habit of speaking without considering what I'm saying. Sister Mary Margaret of the Sisters Of Little Or No Mercy said that would get me in trouble someday. The point is, we don't really need the visual, do we? Not when we're trying to remember the good, not the bad.

And yet the bad is there. We can't dispute it. We can't dismiss the reality of the awful way that Peter died. We can wonder who did it. We can try to come to terms with what's come out since his death. What the police have learned. About how he'd been skimming funds out of the town council budget and depositing it in a Panama bank. About how that money he raised for Schauffhausen Syndrome went into another account in the Caymans, and how Schauffhausen Syndrome doesn't actually exist. About how he was cheating behind his wife's back with his secretary. What's that, Bridget? You didn't want the kids to know? Oh, my bad.

But it's shocking, I tell you. Shocking. How a man presents himself in one way and hides secrets. And he was the last person you'd expect in this town to be hiding secrets. Oh, we all expect secrets being hidden by old Elsa von  Berger over there, who to this day refuses to divulge what she was doing in Berlin in 1944. And we expect it out of Helen and Tommy over there, trying to hide their affair from their spouses. But Peter? Good, upstanding Peter?

Who wasn't so good and upstanding?

Yes, shocking. But someone knew. Someone had enough reason to want to kill him. And to do so in a way that would make sure he really was dead. Who was it? Could it have been the ABBA loving nitwit we all hate? Don't even start, Chester, or you and I can go outside right now and I'll beat your ass into a coma. Could it have been the reclusive possible former Nazi dominatrix Elsa von Berger? Could it have been a random stranger passing through town who just decided they'd kill someone in a spectacular way? Could it have been Miss Scarlett in the drawing room with a candlestick?

Could it have been the mayor? After all, the police have arrested him on corruption charges. It does appear they were both in on the siphoning budget dollars to Panama gambit. A falling out between two cohorts in an illegal scheme could lead to something even more illegal. Like murder. I'm just saying, I don't know. You don't know. Nobody knows but the killer. 

I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm sure Chief Seddings has her list of suspects well in hand. For all we know she's got her sights set on the grieving widow as Suspect #1. Because Bridget had a whole lot of reason to want to off her philandering, money laundering husband. Not the least of which was that ten million dollar life insurance policy.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Peter. Peter the upstanding member of society. Peter the secret crook. Peter the cheater. It is patently unfair when someone we love leaves us too soon. It is even more unfair when we find out they were a dirty rotten lying skunk. And it is dismaying to me. I consider myself a reasonably smart person. Even if I say things without thinking ahead from time to time. But I'd known Peter for years, and even so, I never saw what he was hiding. And that just baffles me.

Well, Peter, at least you went out quickly. Horribly, but quickly. Hopefully justice is done for you. It'll even be better if justice being done means Chester is the killer and winds up getting thrown in prison for the rest of his days. Which won't be long once the gang in lock up finds out he loves ABBA."