Ladies and gentlemen . . . the Oscars.

So, apparently this year's Academy Awards were the least watched in Oscar history or something like that. Coincidentally, this was the only year that I watched the awards in their entirety, except for trips into the kitchen to make instant cake. I must say, I don't think I missed much, besides Rock of Love.

The 80th Academy Awards, or as I will be referring to it until it ceases to be relevant, OscarsMG: Montage Madness was kind of . . . lame.

It may have been the rainy, overcast weather, or the lasting effects of the demoralizing writer's strike, but this past Sunday evening, it seems as though nobody, not even the people attending the ceremony, gave a shit about the Oscars. A permeating haze seemed to linger over Hollywood as everyone emerged from their underground burroughs and realized they had to start working again. The profuse use of girtles on female stars who had anticipated watching Rock of Love also while continuing to binge, as opposed to being, you know, hot like they get paid to be, was noticeable, particularly in Katherine Heigl's disoriented presentation. Collapsed lungs aside, even the usually gregarious stars seemed a bit sullen. Particularly Jack Nicholson, whose lackluster introduction of an even more lackluster montage of previous "best picture" winners, can best be described as "slightly bummed". Silver Lining: J-Nix' inability to get pumped must mean he's no longer blowing nose candy. Good for him; bad for us.

Indeed, it seems that Hollywood had way too much time during the writer's strike, and while most apparently used the time off to become boring and pudgy, others took a different route, presumably abusing hallucinogens and going completely batshit insane. Example: John Travolta and his drag-queen-accompanied twirling entrance which brought to mind horrific childhood memories of the emergency-recalled Skydancer toys. Also, see Daniel Day Lewis's acceptance speech, in which he thanks the academy for wailing him with "the handsomest bludgeon in town". Lewis then proceeded to thank his fictional son from the movie, before - WHOOPS - mentioning his actual wife (whom he addressed as Mrs. Plainview) and kids. I so don't get the British. Also, apparently, There Will Be Blood was a "golden sappling", in addition to being the most secretestly hilarious movie released all year. Go ahead and laugh, kids. It doesn't matter if it's supposed to be serious drama; at least you sound smart when you say that's how you spent your Friday night, when all you really got out of it was mad chucklez and a bed sore from sitting in one spot too long.

Now, come on, who wants a milkshake?