How To Even…Watch the Oscars

By Michael Gushue & CL Bledsoe

Astronotus ocellatus aka Oscar

Quick: name three things that brought you joy in the last month. We bet at least two of them were movies. And the third was probably cake. (Someday, they’ll make a movie about cake. What a glorious future.)

Since two of the three things that make life worth living are movies and movies, what is the most anticipated event of the year?

The answer is the halftime show during the Superbowls (the Superbowls themselves won’t qualify until they start playing footsball on horseback, and call it hoofsball). But after the halftime show, the most anticipated event of the year is the Oscars, also known as The Oscarbowl.

Who was Oscar?

The Oscarbowl is named after this guy Jimmy, whose friends called him HEY YOU GET AWAY FROM THERE, or Oscar for short. To commemorate his memory (he had a great memory for faces and social security numbers) they give out little statues of him. Now, keep in mind that they don’t make statues of just anybody. No, to get a statue made, you have to kill a LOT of people. Then they bury those you’ve liberated from the drudgery of existence in an unmarked grave and put up a big stone statue of you to make sure the ghosts don’t get out of line. Oscar was kind of a maverick, though, because he had little statues made, but a whole bunch of them. Does that mean he killed children? No, don’t worry. No children. Well, a few. But they were jerks, so. Allow us to explain.

You know those guys who are super-aggressive and also very short (and usually bald)? Well, there’s a reason why this dynamic is so common. The shortness/baldness actually causes the aggression. Why? Closer to the heat of the earth’s core? Skulls overheated by the sun? Science has yet to answer these questions, or even know they exist. Whatever the reason, the super-aggressive/short/bald combo remains a potent force for tedious bullshit in the world.

Oscar was a short man, and, from a young age, a balding man, partly due to his love of bed waffles. He saw these aggressive tendencies in himself, and he saw how terrible they made life for anyone who had to be around short, balding men like himself. So, he went around the country trying to reform these men, to teach them to work on themselves, to grow humble and empathetic, and maybe wear a hat. And when that failed, he put them out of our misery as humanely as possible (usually with a shovel).

It’s unknown how many short, irritable men Oscar actually killed, but it’s estimated that it was a buttload. So, to thank him, we give statues of him to folks who use words and gestures to evoke a reaction from a movie audience without resorting to live ammunition.

What are those statues made out of, anyway?

You want us to say chocolate. It’s not chocolate. Maybe a little chocolate. Mostly, they’re made of the hopes and dreams of the American people, which, due to our opulent lifestyles, tend to contain about 37% chocolate. Also, some nougat and those weird little nuts with a grandmother’s name. Pistachios? That can’t be right.

The composition of the Oscar statue is a closely guarded secret, which means it’s available on any number of websites and bathroom stall walls. What’s important, is what’s not in it: bug parts and vermin droppings. Nope. Nuh-uh. Maybe a bit. Two percent, tops.

If you take a close look at an Oscar you’ll notice the little guy is holding a big sword in his hands. This commemorates the first two decades of Hollywood’s film hegemony, before movies had sound. To reassure audiences that their ear trumpets were not malfunctioning, theater owners would have public executions during the intermission. Usually the owners would behead people they found annoying or who tried to sneak in their own popcorn/candy/soda. Although this was barbaric, you can bet no one talked about the mise-en-scène out loud while the movie was playing, for sure.

What are the Oscars like?

Every legalized or naturalized American citizen is lawfully guaranteed a TV show, under the Warhol Amendment, so we’ve all seen the lamefest that is the Emmy’s, full of crying children and crying celebrities, not to mention Susan Lucci stalking the aisles, looking for any unattended awards. The Oscars are different. They’re for movie stars and their dealers. No poors allowed.

The Oscars are unlike anything you’ve ever experienced unless you’ve done shrooms and mezcal at the same time. If you have, then they’re pretty similar but with fewer leprechauns pretending to be chairs. Instead, it’s mostly producers pretending to be chairs, which, euw. The toilets still talk, though (and boy are they catty!).

The Oscars are an opportunity for the one of the vainest groups in America to celebrate themselves, so you can imagine the spectacle. (The vainest are, of course, the Plumbers Union Local 37.) This is not to say that there aren’t sincere, brilliant, hard-working people all throughout the film industry, just that they tend not to be invited or win anything. They’re too busy making movies that will play to empty theaters across the country. If you don’t mind spending two hours alone watching a movie about the poors, you can feel morally superior when you mansplain it to your friends.

Do’s and Don’ts

If you ever attend the Oscars, the most important thing to remember is to never leave your seat. You see, back in the late 60s, sci-fi was the next big thing. Movies like Barber Ella: the Sexy Space Person, Planet of the Smart Monkeys, and the little remembered 2001: A Space Trip were all bringing in money, hand over other hand. The studios sought to capitalize on this, and, come awards season, they commissioned thirty cyborgs to run all the awards shows. These hydraulic people (as they preferred to be called at the time) were introduced at the Oscars. The carnage was horrific. Nearly every celebrity in attendance was brutally murdered by cyborgs, who had inadvertently been programmed to the “Beatlemania” setting. The only survivor was Nickey “The Nickster” Rourke, but he would never work again. Mostly, because he was lazy af.

A tentative truce was reached between humans and cyborgs. Part of this agreement stipulated that cyborgs could attend events like the Oscars, but only if they could find seats. What this means for human attendees is that, if you leave your seat at any time, a cyborg is going to rappel from the ceiling, or emerge from the floor, or maybe just casually stroll up, and take your seat. This works out because it means, whenever there’s a reaction shot of the audience, all the seats are full. But if you try to reclaim your seat, you’re probably going to lose a leg. And also be beaten to death with that leg. It’s all part of the magic that is Hollywood.

Gift bags!

One of the most fabulous things about attending the Oscars is the gift bag! These are very prestigious and valuable, since they contain the souls of celebrities. Each one is personalized with goodies as well, such as new phones or a coupon for 10% off on a fruit of the month club membership. But the attendees are really there for their souls. Unfortunately, once the soul has been removed during a deal with a crossroads demon or simply reinforcing toxic masculinity, the soul cannot be put back in. You see, the soul conforms to the shape of its surroundings, much like air. But once it escapes those surroundings, it will lose that shape, and it can never regain it. You can try pouring it in, but it won’t be the same. Luckily, that void is great for keeping most actors from having any power or control over their career paths.

Also, they sometimes have that good Belgian chocolate.

The Red Carpet

Why is the carpet red? For the same reason barns are: because farmers control the Academy Awards. But that doesn’t answer the question. Actually, the red carpet color comes from the blood of krill and plankton, which is harvested from the throats of whales when they go to their baleen dentist. This may seem cruel, but no sacrifice is too great to shower celebrities with flattery.

Years ago, the red carpet served a specific purpose. Its purpose was to keep movie stars from touching the earth, which they are highly allergic to. Prior to the invention of red carpets, celebrities would step out of their limousines and immediately swole up like horny toads and die. Later, devoted fans volunteered to have movie stars walk on them. From then on the red carpet was thrown over this living buffer of rubes to muffle their cries of pain/pleasure.

Over time the Red Carpet has become a symbol of how Big Vacuum Cleaner (in cahoots with the farmer syndicate) controls Hollywood, as well as an opportunity for actresses to be objectified and humiliated, and Jason Momoa to make housewives remember what arousal feels like.

Watching from Home

Of course, most of us will never attend the Oscars in person. This is because we are too exhausted from being waterboarded by Capitalism to do much more than sit on the couch, and watch dazzling human beings applaud each other (Oscar attendees are injected with a 30% solution of glitter before the ceremony). All of this plays into Big Couch’s plan, which is to be sat on (kind of its kink).

Some folks throw Oscar Viewing Parties, which is a good chance to disappoint people with your cheese dip recipe (Marshmallows? Really?). But there are also fun little games you can play. Some of the more popular ones are:

Arguing Vehemently about Movies None of You Have Actually Seen (this often leads to physical altercations.)

Hitting On the Host’s Pet (look who happens to have a pocket full of Snausages? Guess I’m not going home alone.)

Hitting On the Host’s Pet Rock (Does anyone remember what those were? If you don’t, ask one of your grandparents. You’ll be pleased with how stupid they were.)

Drinking Games:

-Every time anything other than Leprechaun in the Hood wins, do a shot.

-Every time the In Memoriam mentions someone you thought was already dead, do a shot.

-Every time a sexual predator wins an award, drink his blood.

The great thing about drinking games is that you can do them alone by yourself while everyone else is at an Oscar Viewing Party. This also gives you a chance to scream at the TV screen about how “You were robbed, Bret Ratner! ROBBED! AGAIN!!” Then you can stroke your Bret Ratner doll made out of a sock and cut out photos, and whisper, “We’re the geniuses, Bret, we’re the real geniuses.”


There are a lot of great things about watching the Oscars. There are the 10-second clips of movies you couldn’t afford to go to. You can string all those clips together in your mind and make one 200 hour megamovie which makes no sense, just like the entire Marvel franchise. There are the dance numbers that sear themselves into your forebrain like a branding iron, never to be expunged. There’s always the chance that Tom Hanks’s mask will slip and reveal the evil lizard face underneath. Maybe the rapture will happen during the ceremony and you take bets on who’ll be taken up and who’ll be Left Behind (looking at you, Mr. Kirk Cameron). Mostly, though, it gives us something to bitch about at work the next day, which is truly a gift and makes it all worthwhile.

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