The Academy Awards Ordeal

The Oscars are coming up this weekend. I of course will not be watching, as I'd rather go hang around with angry vipers than watch that. But it's been a tradition in my blog for some years now to write about how the night should go. As always, I'm working my own continuity into it, particularly events from previous years. 

Confused? You will be.

120 hours before the Oscars are set to kick off, fans will be already camping out around the Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles, awaiting the big event. They will spend their time speculating on who's going to win, who's going to wear something ridiculous, and who's going to throw a tantrum. Along with that, they'll be annoying local shops by asking if they can use their restrooms, and keeping the Ubereats drivers busy.

The producers, Ricky Kirshner and Glenn Weiss, will meet with ABC network executives. They will promise that this year they'll have the ceremony done on time.

The ABC president will sigh, and reply, "whatever you say."

2 days before the ceremony, at a funeral home in the greater Los Angeles area, morticians will undertake the annual touch ups of the late Jack Nicholson, who died during an Oscars several years ago, and whose will stipulates he must be present in the front row of every Oscars until the end of time. They're used to this by now, of course, but the annual digging up of the corpse is, admittedly, still a weird thing to do.

Leonardo DiCaprio will be attending a therapy session with his psychologist, who will be trying to get to the bottom of two things: his deathly fear of Marisa Tomei, and why he can't date a woman past her twenty fifth birthday. "Leo," the psychologist will say. "This has become a meme, you know."

"You don't understand!" Leo will say. "I can't date women my own age! They remind me... they remind me of her! And she causes me pain!"

"Leo," the psychologist will say, "Marisa Tomei isn't here..."

"Don't say her name!!!!!!" DiCaprio will insist.

The psychologist will write notes: Tom Cruise Syndrome.

After last year's fiasco in which Will Smith, winner of the Best Actor, had earlier in the night struck comedian Chris Rock, there will be much speculation in the days ahead of the ceremony as to how the matter will be handled. After all, Smith has been banned from attending for ten years because of that fiasco.

Chris Rock, who's done quite well for himself since in terms of general sympathy from the public, will still be enjoying the spotlight after his recent stand up show where he poked more fun at Will and Jada Smith.

In an effort to keep the world's biggest ego from attending, Weiss and Kirshner will arrange with her doctor to have Barbra Streisand booked into hospital for an emergency rhinoplasty the day before the ceremony. Once inside, she will be put under anaesthesia of a sufficient amount to keep her sleeping for the next thirty six hours.

On the morning of the ceremony, Weiss and Kirshner will meet with their host, Jimmy Kimmel, returning to host for a third time. He will assure them, while crossing fingers behind his back, that he'll do everything in his power to keep the show's run time from going over the expected time.

Tom Cruise, barred from attending by a restraining order after multiple years of insane stunts and break-ins for previous Oscars ceremonies just to call attention to himself, will be fuming at home. "I'm a producer too! When Top Gun Maverick wins Best Picture, I should be there!"

He will unleash this year's plan to break in.

Weiss and Kirshner will meet with their designated enforcers, the only two people in the ceremony allowed to inflict violence: Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei, who have generally done their job well- but last year when that whole Chris Rock and Will Smith thing happened, were occupied with other matters. Weiss and Kirshner will stress the need to keep things in good order in case things go off the rails. Jones will reply, "it's the Oscars. Of course it's going to go off the rails."

At home, Will Smith will be watching hours of pre-ceremony footage, feeling sorry for himself. After all, no one's been calling to cast him in any roles since that whole little dust up last year, and he's wondering if they ever will. "Jada, honey?" he'll call out. His wife, upstairs boinking the pool boy, won't respond.

Jack Nicholson's corpse will be placed in his usual spot in the front row. A group of seat fillers, specifically paid extra by Weiss and Kirshner to keep him company, will take their places around him.

At home, John Travolta will be busy getting ready to go out. Fixing his tie and looking into a mirror, he'll say, "now come on, Joseph Tarrington, don't keep getting people's names wrong all night."

Weiss and Kirshner, going over last minute details, will come to that point when, discussing the March of the Dead sequence, whether or not they should include the actor Julian Sands, who disappeared while hiking in January and whose body hasn't been found yet. "Rick, look, it's respectful," Weiss will say.

"Yeah, but what if he's still out there somewhere, maybe an amnesiac?" Kirshner will suggest.

"This isn't a soap opera," Weiss will point out. "Look, let's just flip a coin and settle it that way."

The arrival of stars on the red carpet will begin. Entertainment reporters, being gushing idiots by nature, will ask, "so who are you wearing?" Actors will either sigh and move on, or if they love the attention, will answer. Onlookers will wonder who that person is, not knowing that they're nominated for Best Director this year.

Chris Rock will make his way through the gauntlet, smiling, as content with life as he can be.

At home, Jada Pinkett Smith, fresh from boinking the pool boy, will be sitting down with her husband. She will see Rock on screen. Will Smith will look sheepish while she glares at him. "Baby! I hit him last year!"

At an undisclosed location, Cruise will be busy preparing his secret plan to get into the Oscars. Instead of some elaborate highly dangerous scheme involving several desperate waiter-actors and a washed up Chachi, this year he's going to resort to a different kind of Mission Impossible technique, courtesy of a prosthetic make up artist.

Going in masked, as his character from Tropic Thunder: Les Grossman.

James Brolin will arrive for the event, despite not having had been in any film worth mentioning in a few years. Reporters will ask him where his wife is. "Barbra? Oh, um, I think she's getting a nose job done."

In hospital, Streisand, still under the influence of anaesthesia, will stir. Somewhere deep inside she'll feel like she's supposed to be somewhere else.

At their California residence, Harry and Meghan will be home, having had not scored an invitation to the Oscars. Harry will be trying to go through the budget, despite not having much of a brain for it. It will escape him that at the rate the Sussexes are spending money, they'll be broke in two years. Meghan, meanwhile, will be watching closely, in between writing notes on her laptop in regards to her secret project: Depose Charles 2025.

The seat filler to the right of Jack Nicholson's corpse will wonder if he just moved.

John Travolta will arrive at the ceremony, spending time on the red carpet, even though he hasn't made anything really worth critical attention lately. He'll chat with entertainment reporters, consistently getting their name wrong, and look over his shoulder as Bjork passes by, wearing a combination of purple tuxedo, fake muskrat on her head, and firework cane. "Hey! Did you see her? That's Beryl!"

Cruise will be impatient as the makeup artist finishes up touches on his Les Grossman prosthetic makeup. He'll already have the body padding on under his oversized tuxedo, and his shoes have lifts to give him an extra three inches of height. Nearby, Scott Baio will be watching, with nothing else to do. "You sure you don't need me to come with you?" 

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

Chris Rock will chat with Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei, asking them to be close by when he's on stage. "Just in case we get another incident. But believe me, all I'm going to do is take a shot or two at the Smiths tonight."

"That's fine," Jones will say. "It's not as if I'm ever going to do another Men In Black film with him anyway, and that was pretty funny last year."

Tomei will nod. "We were falling about laughing."

Katherine Heigl and her wife Katherine Heigl will arrive at the red carpet. Ever since the two met while this reality's Katherine Heigl was searching alternate realities for her soulmate- herself- the two have made a spectacle of themselves by being exhibitionists, not to mention raising concerns about the ethical considerations of breaching the walls between worlds. The two women, finishing up work on their self-directed film When Katherine Met Katherine, will be making out as they make their way up the red carpet, despite not being in any film for years. 

The producers of the Razzies will be watching, and preparing to include the Katherines in multiple categories next year for worst of the year in films.

Leonardo DiCaprio will turn up in the auditorium with his date, a twenty four year old model whose birthday will be in July. She already knows she'll be looking for a new relationship by August. He will look around, and spot Marisa Tomei down near the stage with Tommy Lee Jones. He will start to tremble.

Marisa will turn, look across the crowd, and see DiCaprio. She'll smile in that sweet way of hers, and then draw one finger across her throat to mimic a throat being cut- and point directly at him.

DiCaprio will feel a deep sense of panic overtake him.

The ceremonies will get underway. Jimmy Kimmel will do a combination of movie outtakes with himself inserted before he actually appears on stage and starts poking fun at a few people along the way. Most will take it in stride. Some will mutter expletives under their breath. His remarks about Prince Harry and Meghan not being invited will be met with a loud round of laughter. 

At home, Meghan will add his name to her ever growing Revenge List.

John Travolta will laugh. "That Joey Kidder guy is hilarious!"

At home, Will Smith will look up at his Oscar on the mantle and shake his head. "I should have been there. I should have been basking in the glory. But Chris ****in' Rock made fun of my wife, and I had to go up there and smack him. Baby, I'm sorry, you're right, I'm a lousy husband.... baby?"

There will be no reply. Jada will be upstairs boinking the chauffeur.

Cruise, in character as Les Grossman, will head out of his home to a waiting limo. Scott Baio and the makeup artist will come out after him, and Baio will call out, "anything else we can do?"

Cruise will snap, "Shut up, Chachi!" He'll get in the limo.

Baio will feel sad as the limo drives off. "I was also in Charles In Charge!"

The first award will be given out. The winner will start to give their speech. After twenty seconds the orchestra will start up in an attempt to hint at the winner to hurry up. This will merely make the winner snap at the orchestra, "Don't even think about it. I've got a lot to say." 

The orchestra will stand down. This will set the tone for the evening with long acceptance speeches.

The president of ABC, who spent last year's Oscar night in hospital after getting beaten up by the winner for Best Score, won't even be bothering with trying to keep the ceremony on time. He'll simply get himself rip roaring drunk.

Will Smith will be getting drunk too, lamenting his fall from grace. Jada will come down the stairs, walking a little funny, while the chauffeur takes a back staircase out of the house. She will join her husband, glaring at him with a venomous expression. He'll feel every bit of it. "Jada, honey, I know... I know..."

"Silence, Will!" she will command.

At some point, Jennifer Lawrence will get up from the seats to head for the backstage in order to be in place to announce the winner of a category. She will trip over her own feet, part of her secret kink that she gets an erotic thrill by tripping in public.

Chris Rock will take to the stage to announce another winner. Before doing so, he'll smile, look straight at the camera, and say, "Will! Jada! How're you doing? All cozy at home? I bet you miss being here." The line will be met by a lot of laughter.

At their home, Jada will start a high pitched scream of fury that will go on without so much as a breath for three minutes. Will Smith will try to shrink into the couch, wondering what he was thinking when he decided to get married.

Tom Cruise will arrive for the ceremonies, playing the part of Les Grossman, sneering at the little people around the red carpet, his mind only on what lies ahead: revenge and retribution.

Cruise will take a seat, trying not to call attention to himself. Elsewhere in the auditorium, Travolta will look back, spot 'Les Grossman', and mutter to himself, "I've seen that guy before, right? Oh, in that film Torpid Torrent. Yeah, that's Lyle Guberman." 

Winners will continue to be announced. Losers will shake their heads and wonder who they have to bribe to win an Oscar. Winners will bask in their glory. Long speeches will be made, and the ceremony run time will fall further behind.

Leonardo DiCaprio will find himself torn. On the one hand he'll be already planning how to dump his current girlfriend the night before her birthday. On the other, he'll be sneaking glances over at Tomei and Jones, trembling in fear over what she might do to him.

The March of the Dead will commence, featuring video clips of those actors, directors, writers, and other notable members of the film world who have died in the last year. People will applaud for deceased actors. They will ask "who's that" in regards to dead cinematographers. Among the actors being commemorated will be Julian Sands, with footage from A Room With A View, and disappeared in brackets following his name. This will become known as one of Oscar history's most awkward moments.

In a small non-descript town in the American West, a place given to endless stories of betrayal, romance, evil twins, the seemingly rapid aging of children into young adulthood, villains who never get their comeuppance, and cliffhangers every day, a recently arrived stranger with a British accent and a raging case of amnesia, will look up at a television screen in a hospital and see his own face. "Wonder who that bloke is."

At a given point, video footage of Will Smith striking Chris Rock with the caption Will Smith's career, will be displayed among the dead. This will get much laughter from the audience. 

At home, Will Smith will get yelled at by Jada.

Chris Rock, sitting in the audience, will find the reference to Will Smith's career hilarious.

John Travolta will shrug, and say to the person sitting nearby, "I guess Walter Sutton's never going to find a gig in this town again, huh?"

In hospital, Barbra Streisand will wake up, realize she's late for the Oscars, and start throwing a fit.

Meghan will turn and tell Harry that she wants an Oscar. "Now, Harry, now!" she'll snap at him.

Weiss and Kirshner will be backstage, trying to figure out how the ceremony is running seven hours past its expected time.

Jones and Tomei will be scanning the audience from their position. Jones will feel as if someone who's not supposed to be here is in fact here.

Tom Cruise will bide his time, sweating a bit under the prosthetic mask, wondering when he can make his move.

At home, Will Smith will pass out from having had too much to drink. Jada will be upstairs, boinking the gardener.

Barbra Streisand will find out that the Oscars ceremony is nearly over and she won't have enough time to get to the auditorium anyway. She will glare at the doctor, yelling, "Do you know who I am??????"

The doctor will smirk, turn to a nurse, and say, "She doesn't know who she is."

Streisand will scream even more at being insulted.

The ceremony will carry on. The awkward point where Best Actress, usually presented by the winner of the Best Actor award from the previous year, will be lacking that, what with Will Smith being banned from attending. Instead, the producers will rely on an old standby. Warren Beatty will present the award, and promise that this time he won't screw up on naming the winner.

Tom Cruise will select his moment to get up and reveal himself: precisely the moment when the nominees for Best Actor begin to be read.

Leonardo DiCaprio will try to summon up the courage to shut down his fears. 

Scott Baio will find his way home, feeling sorry for himself. "It's not fair!" he'll tell mutter to himself as he parks in the garage. "I was supposed to be somebody! They said the happy days would last forever, but they didn't, and every time I try to call Ron Howard or Henry Winkler, they tell me to go **** myself."

Barbra Streisand's agent will take a call from her, hearing her shrieks of outrage at being prevented from attending the Oscars again. "Do they know who I am????"

The agent will wonder if it's time to retire and stop taking calls from this egomaniac who hasn't done anything of note in years.

Jessica Chastain will come out on stage to present the Best Actor award. In the audience, nominees Colin Farrell, Austin Butler, Brendan Fraser, Bill Nighy, and Paul Mescal will all be hoping they don't screw up their acceptance speech if they win.

Before Chastain can say a word, two things will happen all at once. Two voices will call out, "wait!" at the same time, from two parts of the auditorium. One will be Leonardo DiCaprio, standing up from his seat over to the left. The other will be Tom Cruise, still in Les Grossman attire, further back but near centre. 

"There's something I have to say!" DiCaprio will exclaim, heading towards the stage. 

Cruise will yell, "me first!" At this point he will tear off the Les Grossman mask and throw it to the ground.

John Travolta will say, "Lubbock Gaerity is actually Travis Carruthers??"

DiCaprio will stride towards the stage, apparently not noticing Marisa Tomei and Tommy Lee Jones starting to move. He'll take the mike and start to speak. "I've been treated really unfairly, you know...."

Cruise will jump onto the stage, pushing at DiCaprio. "No one's been treated as unfairly as I have! You have no idea! But now everyone's going to listen to me..." DiCaprio will grab Cruise by the collar and the two will begin to struggle.

At this point Tomei and Jones will be on stage and will pull the two combatants apart. DiCaprio will turn, see Tomei there, and she will promptly deliver a punch aimed square at his nose, breaking it. Jones, for his part, will strike Cruise in the face twice, sending him flying.

This will be followed by further mayhem, violence, and a good deal of crying.

The Oscars ceremony will wrap up eight and a half hours after it was supposed to. The Best Picture will not be presented to Top Gun Maverick, which didn't even deserve to be nominated.

Guests will depart out into the glaring light of day, exhausted by the ordeal of attending this thing every year.

James Brolin will return home to find his wife Barbra Streisand fuming as he comes in. "Where were you????" she will scream. 

Marisa Tomei and Tommy Lee Jones will take their leave of the auditorium after another evening of Oscar enforcing, looking none the worse for wear. "Same time next year?" Jones will ask. Tomei will nod.

At a hospital not far from the auditorium, Tom Cruise will be treated for broken ribs, fractures in both legs, multiple bruises and contusions. He will only be able to utter incomprehensible nonsense, aside from "stop hurting me" three times a minute.

In another room at the same hospital, DiCaprio will be treated for a broken nose, whiplash, broken ribs, and a broken arm. He'll be heard by staff from outside the room yelling, "Marisa Tomei causes pain!!! Keep her away from me!!! She broke my nose again!"

The Fiasco At Ten Downing

Outgoing Prime Minister Continues To Make Fool Of Himself, Few Surprised

London (Reuters) The last few months have been eventful in British politics. Following a series of scandals, gaffes, resignations of ministers, and other acts of perennial stupidity from the Prime Minister, what was long overdue actually happened. Boris Johnson, the accident and gaffe prone moron who fumbled his way into 10 Downing Street after driving the country over the edge of the Brexit cliff, is resigning.

Not quite yet, anyway. Like a bad funky locker room gym bag sort of smell, he has a way of lingering too long. He's staying on until the British Tories can choose a new leader. As opposed to having the grace and tact to depart quietly with his dignity intact. That, of course, would imply he had the sense to do so- and of course he has no dignity left.

Johnson has been raked over the coals for multiple issues, including his mismanagement of the response to the pandemic, as well as his cheerleading of the Brexit movement and the fallout of that debacle. He's had a tendency going back all the way to his earliest days in political life of being accident prone, breaking bones in falls, and generally making himself look like a fool.

It's been rumoured that the Queen despises him. Her Majesty would never say, of course, but a call was made from the Palace to Johnson's Chief of Staff last year expressing that Johnson was persona non grata at any Royal property for any reason.

"She's too kind," Cambridge professor Cedric Appleton told this reporter. "The man is an oaf. How he got this far in life is a mystery. It would be within her power to have him imprisoned in the Tower of London for the rest of his life. Two hundred years back she could have had him sent to Australia with the rest of the convicts, far enough away that no one would have ever heard of him again. Too bad we don't live in that kind of world. Oh, to my Australian colleagues: sorry for the stereotyping."

Word has it from Ten Downing insiders that Johnson is not taking his decision to leave well. "There's crying, there's smashing of china, there's excessive drinking. Kind of like every day before the resignation, but ramped up by ten," a staff member speaking on anonymity told this reporter. "Oh, and there's tripping on the rugs. More so than usual. Maybe he's figuring that if he hurts himself and breaks his leg, he won't be carted out when the leadership count is made."

Boris die-hard fans aren't happy. "He led us to the promised land!" Mick Carter said outside a Sheffield pub. "No more European Union! We get to do what we want when we want. He said it was going to be paradise! Who'd have thought he'd end up being so wrong? I voted for Brexit three times and we got it and now I can't go to the south of France whenever I want and my job as a chimney sweep went up in smoke."

This reporter asked, "Are you aware you just admitted to voter fraud?"

"When?" Carter asked.

"When you said you voted for Brexit three times."

"I did?"

The previous prime minister, herself the very essence of ineptness, pushed out of the way after scandals and incompetence of her own, seemed amused by it all. "I told all of them what would happen if you let that dumbass waltz into Ten Downing," Theresa May remarked to reporters this week with a rather smug smile on her face. "This is the same chap who screwed up the country with Brexit, and you let him become Prime Minister?" She laughed. "I do say, there's a certain glee in being proved right."

Who might succeed Johnson- if only to be annihilated in the next election? The candidates have been whittled down to two: Foreign Secretary Liz Truss and former Chancellor Rishi Sunak. Neither of whom are that inspiring, and both of whom seem to know that disaster looms in the future for their party, even if they won't admit to it.

Meanwhile, the Labour Party, with new leadership, seeks to take advantage in the next election- whenever that may be.

As for Johnson himself, he met with reporters this week outside Ten Downing, looking as rumpled and befuddled as ever. "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, we have much left to do. I know I've said I'm leaving when the party chooses new leadership, and I will. I will. I promise. I just plan on dragging that process out as long as I can, so I can keep raiding the coffers for as long as I can."

"Do you realize what you just said?" one reporter asked.

"What?" Johnson replied.

"About you raiding the coffers for as long as you can," another reporter prompted.

"I said no such thing," Johnson countered. 

"We can play it back for you," this reporter suggested.

"You're all just trying to confuse me. Look, I was going to come out here and have a meaningful discussion with you, but it's clear that's not going to happen, so I'm going to go back in and play beer pong." He turned, looking back as he walked towards the front door. "And forget what I said about the beer po...." At this point he walked right into the door; a distinct crack was heard when his nose made contact with the door. He groaned, turned around, and blood was gushing out of his nose. "Um, a little help?"

Some members of the Tories wish they could go back in time. Back before Brexit, to warn their younger selves against it. To warn them against the curse of Boris. To advise them to not allow again what happened to a former foreign secretary. That political figure, taken for granted at the time and forced out through political skullduggery, has retained his respect and dignity. World leaders have always spoken highly of his candour, calmness, and grace under pressure. Many are now wishing he could be back, taking over as PM and leading the country back to a state of stability and dignity after so much foolishness. 

But that former foreign secretary has retired from political life and has now taken up a tenured post as a professor at Oxford, where he has become a popular instructor in world history. Oxford is where reporters caught up to him this week asking if he'd consider a return to politics. 

To which, Professor Beaker simply said, "Meep, meep meep meep meep!!!!"

All Hail The Ultimate Egomania Vortex

The Oscars are upon us. Of course I will never bother watching them, but it has been my tradition in recent years to write predictions as to how the ceremony might unfold. I've been doing this enough times that my predictions posts have their own continuity, in case you're wondering. And so here we have it...

Three days before the ceremonies, annual preparations will commence at a Los Angeles funeral home for the embalming updates of the body of Jack Nicholson, who passed away several years ago during an Oscars ceremony and whose will stipulates that his corpse must, forever after, be placed in the front row each year for the ceremony. The specialists working on the treatments will trade some decidedly black humour jokes about a remake of Weekend At Bernie’s with an actual corpse.

Barbra Streisand, still nursing a grudge over last year’s Oscars in which she was unceremoniously dropped off in the middle of the Sahara to prevent her from making a scene, will be furious when she receives a court order forbidding her to be in California over the weekend of the Oscars.

The evening before, the annual Razzies will be held in Los Angeles, dishonouring the worst films of the year. In collaboration with the organizers of that event, the Oscars producers will have worked out an elaborate scheme to have Tom Cruise attend, believing he’s at the Oscars, and thus keep him away from the actual Oscars.

Oscars host Jimmy Kimmel will be busy the previous day looking over his notes for the opening monologue, wondering if he should tweak anything, and expecting a tweet storm of criticism from the world’s biggest crybaby over what he’ll have to say.

A limo will bring Tom Cruise to the location where the Razzies are being held. The actor, not the brightest of his profession, will not question why the Oscars have been moved to a Saturday night. Nor will it occur to him that it’s not being held at the Dolby Theatre. He will be oblivious to all of that as he strides down the red carpet, waving at those who have shown up outside, chatting with entertainment reporters as he heads in. He’ll flash that usual Tom Cruise smile, the all teeth grin with the dead eyes, walk inside, and still remain oblivious to the fact that the people around him aren’t the usual Hollywood crowd.

Barbra Streisand will find herself in New York for the weekend, where she will put on a one night only concert for her fans. After three hours of screeching her greatest hits to a legion of adoring nitwits with bad taste in music, she will speak of the court order against her and the disrespect that has come her way from the Academy. “It is time, my darling ones,” she will proclaim. “Time for us to rise up and overthrow Hollywood! Time for Operation Empress Barbra, just as I’ve been planning for years! This is our day! This is my day!” The crowd will go wild.

The weekend entertainment shows will be gushing about preparations for the Sunday night show and talking about who’ll be there. The usual vacant headed entertainment reporters will be chattering on about who’ll be wearing what, who’s likely to make a splash, who’s going to have to deal with rejection, who’s going to be the surprise, and which one of them will get the first big interview with the winner. “Scooter, I’m telling you, it’s going to be fabulous!” Estella Dario, a new correspondent with Access Hollywood, will proclaim, looking as demented as her on screen fellow correspondent.

Tom Cruise, still oblivious to the fact that the people around him aren’t Oscar nominees, but Razzie staffers and various hangers-on just wanting to revel in the utter cheesiness of the ceremony, will yell in triumph as his name is called out as the winner for The Mummy at the Razzies. He will take to the stage, laughing in that dead-soul way of his, and take to the podium, commencing a four hour speech lionizing himself, his career as an actor, his Scientology, and the fact that he’s “still got it, damn it!” He will be completely oblivious to the fact that people will have been filtering out of the hall until finally a janitor will ask if he’s done. Cruise will stop, pause, finally processing that he and the janitor are the only people left. “Where is everyone?” Cruise will ask, looking confused. The janitor will tell him that the Razzies are over. That will only confuse Cruise more. “Wait, this isn’t the Oscars?”

Sunday morning will dawn in Hollywood. Outside the Dolby Theatre, entertainment reporters will be staking out their spots on the red carpet. Fans, having had camped out for a few days, will be awaiting the inevitable arrival of stars they might only catch a three second glimpse of. Melissa Rivers, daughter of the late and unlamented Joan Rivers, will show up, demanding a correspondent’s place along the red carpet. “Do you people know who I am?” she will ask a 300 pound guard doing his best to politely ask her to leave.

Legions of Streisand fans will be packed into cars, on the roads driving west out of New York State after a late start in the morning, with their leader in a limo tricked out to look like something out of a Mad Max film. Streisand herself will be standing on the roof of the limo, singing People. The fact that they can’t drive across the country in less than twelve hours will not occur to any of them.

At his residence, Leonardo DiCaprio will be busy preparing himself for the night ahead. Bitterness and rage will consume him. Yes, he finally won an Oscar after so many years of futility, but he still feels disrespected, what with last year’s delayed acceptance speech/ endless rant being interrupted by the official bouncers of the occasion. He will plan to rectify that this evening.

After getting dressed for the evening at home, John Travolta will occupy his time staring at a wall full of photographs of this year’s nominees to familiarize himself with names. Pointing at a photograph of Alison Janney, he will exclaim, “Apple Jolikins!”

Tom Cruise, furious about the deception inflicted upon him the previous evening, will be planning a Mission Impossible entry into the Oscars ceremony, where he intends to settle scores and throw a tantrum. Staring into a mirror at his favourite person in the entire world, Cruise will tell himself, “Nobody disrespects me like this and gets away with it.”

Jack Nicholson’s embalmed body will be placed in its usual spot in the theatre while last minute preparations are being made. Ceremony producers Michael De Luca and Jennifer Todd will stop by, pause to look at the tuxedo clad, sunglasses wearing Nicholson, and notice the scent of embalming fluid. “Can we get a bit of air freshener around here?” De Luca will ask an assistant.

Somewhere in a place with no extradition treaties, Harvey Weinstein will be watching the pre-show while eating potato chips and hoagie sandwiches and washing it all down with depressants, uppers and downers, and vodka. Holed up in a quiet hotel in the tropics at the suggestion of his attorney, Weinstein will be grumbling to himself. “They used to thank me in their speeches,” he will say to no one in particular, feeling a tight vice like pressure in his chest. “Until some ****ing ****er decided ol’ Harvey Weinstein can’t **** whoever the **** he wants to ****. Me too, my big fat ass!”

Backstage, Kimmel will be meeting with the writers for one last go around on ideas. “So are we going ahead with the Shape Of Water meets Dunkirk gag or not?”

Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei, returning to the ceremonies yet again as the official enforcers and bouncers of the evening, will arrive a bit early and speak with the producers, promising to keep an eye out on the usual suspects. “I’m in a fighting mood tonight,” Jones will confirm.

Streisand and her horde of fans will barrel their way west through country roads in Pennsylvania, irritating Amish farmers as Streisand continues to warble her greatest hits from the top of her limo. “And this is why we keep to ourselves,” one farmer will say to his neighbor.

In the Alberta foothills, legendary RCMP Inspector and thorough grouch Lars Ulrich will be at his detachment, enjoying the peace and quiet of knowing that there is no entertainment reporter within five hundred kilometres of his location. Except for the two currently in a Calgary hospital after showing up last week and asking him what Metallica had to say about the Kim Cattrall-Sarah Jessica Parker vendetta.

Todd and De Luca will find themselves struggling with a last minute problem. Stars are asking not to be seated in the immediate vicinity of Jack Nicholson’s corpse. Mindful of the optical no-no of having empty seats, they resolve the problem by paying bonuses to the seat fillers who agree to fill in those chairs and put up with the scent of preservatives. 

The red carpet show will start getting underway. In a year where #Metoo has been trending, entertainment reporters will still go to the standby questions they ask of every woman coming down the red carpet to head into the theatre. “So who are you wearing?”

Singer Bjork, who comes to the Oscars despite not being an actor or having a song involved, will arrive, dressed in an outlandish way as always, in a sequin silver dress accented with a welder’s mask, vampire teddy bear cape, mismatched purple and psychedelic orange elbow length gloves, and carrying a hammer that looks suspiciously like it belongs in a Marvel comic. “Yes, well, this is Mjolnir, and yes, I am carrying it,” Bjork will tell reporters. “And I’m using it on the first person who makes fun of the way I’m dressed tonight."

John Travolta and wife Kelly Preston will arrive shortly thereafter and notice the spectacle. “Look, honey,” Travolta will point. “It’s that singer, Bedlam!”

De Luca and Todd will confirm to reporters that a repeat of last year’s Best Picture fiasco will not happen. Todd will say, “The accounting firm sent the individuals responsible for that to outer Mongolia, and they haven’t been heard from in eleven months. And we’ve made sure that Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway will never be on an Oscar stage again.”

Somewhere on Skull Island, Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway will be running for their lives, chased by King Kong.

Sally Hawkins, the Best Actress nominee for The Shape Of Water, will find herself losing patience with an empty headed entertainment reporter who will ask repeatedly if her film glorifies bestiality.

Jennifer Lawrence, carrying out her secret desire to trip in public, will get it out of the way early by tripping on the red carpet. She’ll laugh it off afterwards, saying, “this is why I didn’t become a bomb disposal expert.”

Leonardo DiCaprio will arrive at the Dolby Theatre, accompanied by this month’s latest model as his date. He will look as sullen as he usually does, a far cry away from his Titanic heartthrob days. When asked about last year’s fiasco in which he threw a tantrum and got beaten up by Marisa Tomei, he will fume and answer, “Don’t you say her name!” He will stalk up the red carpet, accompanied by this month’s latest model.

Gary Oldman will try to refrain from rolling his eyes when an entertainment reporter asks him for his opinion on the civil war erupting between the Cattrall-Parker factions.

Travolta, looking around at other attendees, will wave at Emma Watson. “Hey, Edith Worthington! It’s me! Joshua Tallingford!”

Network executives watching the pre-show on television will find themselves wondering if this year will finally be the year that the Oscars is done on time. “I swear to God, Carruthers, if this goes late again, I’m having you shipped to a weather station in Alaska,” the network chief will threaten one of his underlings.

Tom Cruise will be dropped onto the roof of the Dolby Theatre by helicopter. His kit bag will include climbing rope, bungee cords, his tuxedo, and a copy of the speech he intends to make, titled Why You Should Bow Down And Worship Me.

Jimmy Kimmel will open the show in a breezy monologue that pokes fun of the major films involved tonight, moves into the #Metoo movement, and teases the current occupant of the Oval Office.

At his resort Mar-a-Lago, Donald Trump will write the first of one hundred and eighty seven tweets over the first two hours of the Oscars. “Oscars so dumb! My hair is very real! Unfair!”

In the Hollywood Hills, Kim Cattrall will rally her fan club, now outfitted into her own private army, in what in later years will be called the Battle Of Buena Vista Drive, the first battle in a new American Civil War, against the Sarah Jessica Parker Fifth Motorized Division. Parker will be at the head of her army, while her husband, Matthew Broderick, is off attending the Oscars.

Streisand and her horde of fans, driving through western Ohio, will be setting off endless noise complaint calls to the police as they pass through. Streisand, still standing on top of her limo and screeching her way through The Way We Were, will be described as “fingernails on the blackboard crossed with cats being strangled and a hint of high pitched wails going by at ninety miles an hour” by Springfield resident Alec Haynes.

The first of the categories will be presented, for Best Supporting Actor. Sam Rockwell, nominated for Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, will utter a curse word on camera when he’s not named the winner.

John Travolta will laugh and turn to his wife Kelly Preston, whispering, “hey, Kahlee, did you hear what Sebastian Rawlings just said?”

Leonardo DiCaprio will look off to his right and notice Marisa Tomei sitting down in the front row. It will trigger PTSD from previous beat downs she’s inflicted on him. As if knowing she’s being watched, she will look his way, smile in a menacing way, and run one finger across her throat, and then point at him. DiCaprio will feel like someone just walked over his grave.

On top of the Dolby Theatre, Tom Cruise’s big attempt to break into the building in a manner quite like his Mission Impossible series will go horribly wrong when he finds himself dangling upside down from a bungee cord wrapped around his left ankle.

Songs will be start to be performed for the nominees for Best Song Of The Year. De Luca and Todd will look at their watches and start calculating how far they’re behind, and why they had to let The Greatest Showman tune turn into a full blown showstopper that will take up at least fifteen minutes.

As Keala Settle finishes singing This Is Me, from The Greatest Showman, John Travolta will turn to his wife and say, “honey, isn’t that something? She’s got the same first name as you!”

Donald Trump will tweet, “Stupid Oscars! Everyone knows The Donald Is The Greatest Showman! Crooked Hillary fake news!”

White House staffers will talk amongst themselves, wondering if they should contact the President and inform him that there is a major chase underway near the Ohio and Indiana borders involving a fleet of cars heading west, and the governors of both states are feeling anxious.

Still hanging upside down, Tom Cruise will feel the blood rushing to his head and pass out.

Mark Hamill, previously announced as a presenter for the Oscars, will take to the stage. He will pause momentarily, considering whether or not to go ahead with his Plan B remarks: “You know, I played other characters aside from Luke Skywalker. I’m the guy who voiced the Joker for years on end and gave your kids nightmares, but does anyone talk about that?” Instead, he will be gracious and charming and even a bit self-deprecating.

John Travolta will turn to Kelly Preston and remark, “Micah Hodges is a funny guy!”

Donald Trump will tweet, “Fake news! Empire had some very fine people, very fine. Sad!”

Streisand and her hordes, driving through eastern Indiana, will find themselves being pursued by a growing network of Indiana and Ohio state troopers on the ground and up above. They will reach the end of their line when the lead driver loses control, triggering a five hundred thirty eight car pile-up of Streisand fans in the middle of nowhere.

De Luca and Todd will find themselves wondering how the ceremony could already be an hour behind schedule.

Tom Cruise will wake up and realize he’s not going to get any back up to get him out of his predicament. Only then will it occur to him to simply try to right himself and untangle the knot around his ankle.

The March Of The Dead will commence, with the images of actors, directors, writers, cinematographers, and more people who have died in the last year projected onto screens in the theatre, as well as on television screens across the world. People will applaud for those they knew, and ask, “who the **** is that” for those they don’t.

Donald Trump will fire off his last tweet of the evening, writing “Honour Vladimir! This Hollywood collaborate brufakexqstts….” The tweet will go out and remain live for the next fifty seven hours, with the word Brufakexqstts trending on Twitter, while the White House strenuously goes out of its way to deny suggestions that the president has had a major stroke.

The Battle Of Buena Vista Drive will end with both sides running away, leaving General Cattrall and General Parker in a cat fight, scratching and hissing as they try to claw each other’s eyes out.

Tom Cruise will fall four feet to the rooftop after undoing his bungee cord knot. He will feel the aches and pains of his body as he pulls himself up to his feet. “I’m going to be feeling sore in the morning,” he will tell no one, before going to work unscrewing an air shaft grate.

One of the seat fillers sitting beside Jack Nicholson’s corpse will wonder if her imagination’s getting the better of her, or if Nicholson just shifted in his seat.

An Indiana State police captain, in charge of the five hundred thirty eight car pile up, will find herself getting reports on injuries from paramedics, who will inform her that they seem to all be excessively whiny. Ten minutes later she will find out the common bond and reason why they’re whiny: they’re all Streisand fans.

Finished removing the grate, Tom Cruise will take one last look around the rooftop of the Dolby Theatre, and notice something he hadn’t noticed before- the roof access door is wide open. “Dammit, and I broke a nail trying to get that thing open!”

As the March Of The Dead ends, Leonardo DiCaprio will stalk to the stage, grabbing a microphone. “Nobody cares about any losers who died of whatever!” he will yell, glaring and scowling. “They care about me! Two years ago I was robbed of the chance to give my acceptance speech in full, because of a mistake! Last year I didn’t get a chance to finish! Now I’m finishing what I had to say!”

From opposite ends of the front row, Marisa Tomei and Tommy Lee Jones will rise from their chairs, clenching their fists.

The Indiana police captain will discover that Streisand herself is among the wounded. The walking wounded, that is, having had suffered a minor paper cut during the epic pile up. Nonetheless, Streisand will be playing for sympathy. “Nobody’s ever hurt as much as this!” she will say as she hobbles her way out of the pile of wreckage. “Nobody in the history of the world can compare to this kind of pain, not childbirth, not amputation, not anything! Just look at my precious pinkie finger!” The police captain will try to refrain from rolling her eyes while placing Streisand under arrest.  Streisand will start screaming in protest.

Leonardo DiCaprio, not noticing the presence of Marisa Tomei and Tommy Lee Jones on either side, will continue his rant. It will be interrupted in mid-greatest actor ever diatribe by the arrival in the theatre of Tom Cruise. “Why did you start the ceremony without me??” he will bellow at the top of his lungs, stalking down the aisle.

DiCaprio will frown. “Hey! I’m talking here! Now where was I? Oh, yes. Greatest actor ever!”

Cruise will rush the stage, as oblivious to the approaching Tomei and Jones as DiCaprio is. “This Academy owes me an apology!” he will state, taking the microphone away from DiCaprio and glaring out at the crowd. “You don’t treat me the way I’ve been treated! I’m the best actor there ever was, and you humiliated me last night by making me go to the Razzies! We all know The Mummy was a masterpiece, and you treat me like this?”

DiCaprio will push Cruise. Cruise will push back. Neither with much in the way of force or strength. And only then will Tomei and Jones move in… and start beating up both DiCaprio and Cruise. It will end with both egomaniacs being thrown up against the corpse of Jack Nicholson, who will collapse on top of them.

John Travolta will be astonished as he tells his wife, “Wow! Theodore Lyle Jasper and Millicent Tatum are really good fighters!”

The process of having seven hundred and twelve Streisand fans and their diva sent to area hospitals, not to mention criminal charges filed against them, will get underway in eastern Indiana. The governor will trade calls with his Ohio counterpart, debating which jurisdiction this is all going to fall under. Streisand, still under arrest and not ceasing her screaming fit, will be placed in the back of a patrol car on the scene by a police captain who will apologize to the officer assigned to drive her to the nearest holding center.

Tom Cruise and Leonardo DiCaprio will be removed from the Dolby Theatre by paramedics, whining and complaining about broken noses and bloody lips. Jimmy Kimmel will crack a joke about the egos of actors that will cast much of the auditorium in an uneasy chuckle.

The last of the major categories will finally be called. Among the winners will be long time nominee, first time winner Gary Oldman, who will take the Best Actor trophy for Darkest Hour. His speech will be gracious and one for the ages.

The Oscars ceremony will finally be at an end. Someone will wake up Jimmy Kimmel, who will wrap up the broadcast with a joke or two about the late hour. The credits will roll, and audiences still watching will be startled to find out that it’s the following afternoon, and Judge Judy is about to start.

The network chief will tell Carruthers to pack his bags, and to buy a few parkas, because as of right now he’s going to be spending the rest of his working life in Nome.

In the Hollywood Hills, Kim Cattrall and Sarah Jessica Parker will wake up on the front lawn of the Parker-Broderick home, bloodied and dazed, and pick up where they left off, trying to kill each other.

Streisand and her seven hundred twelve fans involved in what has become known as the Streisand Incident will find themselves being slowly processed through the Indiana court system for reckless driving. “Don’t you know who I am???” Streisand will scream at a local judge.

On Skull Island, Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway will find themselves being held in either front paw of an angry King Kong. “Eat her first!” Beatty will tell the giant ape. “I’m too handsome to die first!”

Dunaway will glare at him and say, “Go **** yourself, Warren.”

In a Los Angeles hospital, Tom Cruise and Leonardo DiCaprio will be discharged as patients after being checked out by doctors. Cruise will have a battered face and three broken ribs. DiCaprio will be suffering of a broken nose and left wrist, and will for weeks afterwards suffer nightmares in which Marisa Tomei is body slamming him into a collision with Jack Nicholson’s corpse. To anyone who will listen, he will say, “she broke my nose again!”