Hurray for the Razzies, not the Oscars!
Like Clark Gable, I frankly don’t give a damn–at least when it comes to the Oscars. I haven’t watched the Oscars in years because it is duller than a discussion on the intricacies of integral calculus. On Oscars night, I try to watch something more captivating like paternity tests on Maury Povich, chop-socky and Three Stooges film fests, documentaries on the War of Jenkins’ ear, Professor and Mary Ann getting tropical fever on Gilligan’s Island, Lawrence Welk’s version of the song “One Toke Over the Line” (one of the most must-be-seen-to-be-disbelieved moments in TV history), roller derby, and Bullwinkle and Super Chicken. I can always catch up on who won the Best Picture, Best Documentary, Best Industrial Movie, and Best Humping and Thumping in a Stag Reel when I scan the morning news on the Internet the next day.
I don’t care about what type of designer gowns and tuxedos the movie stars wear. Since I buy my clothes at Christian de Goodwill, K Mart of Gucci, and occasionally Le Target and Le Dollar Tree, about the only fashion I care about is an Old Fashioned, which is the official cocktail of Louisville, Kentucky. Old Fashioneds especially taste good whenever I eat at an restaurant fancier than Chez McDonalds or play the ponies at the track.
And I don’t care about celebrities pontificating about politics. Even though I more or less agree with their views whenever they vilify the Republicans and even though this is a free country, I am such a political prude that I consider the Oscar stage is not the place for a campaign rally. More and more, I think one of the greatest philosophers of the 20th century, Linus van Pelt, was correct he once said there are three subjects that should not be discussed with people–politics, religion, and the Great Pumpkin. Of course, I violate that sage advice repeatedly on this blog, but as my friend Al Tureegogh constantly reminds me, sage advice is made to be broken.
One thing I do care about Oscars weekend is the Razzies, which “honors” the worst in Hollywood. Since I am a connoisseur of the gross, the bad, and just plain ugly, I do care about which flick will win the Worst Picture of the Year so that I can watch it on the Late, Late Show or on Mystery Science Theater 3000 knockoffs a few years from now. I also care about which thespian (or, this year, President Donald Trump, who won the Razzie for the Worst Actor of the Year) should be seriously considering a new career like teaching juvenile delinquents at Sing Sing, wrestling alligators, busting broncos, or greeting walleyed rubes at Wally World (aka Walmart) rather than acting in turkeys that are a couple of thousand times bigger than the frozen birds sold during Thanksgiving.
If it wasn’t for the Razzies, I wouldn’t be having any hurrays for Hollywood on Oscars weekend. So Tinseltown moguls, please keep churning out as many bad movies as possible. Seeing who wins the Razzies is a lot more interesting than who wins the Oscars.
Joe’s Maybe Memorable Quote of the Day
I wanted to perform Hamlet in the movies, but acting was definitely not to be for me.