Even though one of my favorite novels is Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer, I do not see movies very often, at least not the sort of movies that win Academy Awards. So it was with an extreme lack of interest that I tuned in to last night’s telecast, the first that I have watched since 2001, when Julia Roberts’ horse-faced histrionics sucked out every last ounce of Oscar enthusiasm I had left in me. The verdict: You should have gone to bed early, Mr. Sellers.

Don’t get me wrong. I think Chris Rock is as funny as everyone else seems to. (Actually, that’s not quite true; I think he’s funny, but I also think that the pinnacle of his hilarity was the recurring SNL character Nat X, an opinion shared by very few people.) I also like to see the underdogs win — even if there didn’t seem to be any true underdogs last night, because the shithead Academy folks didn’t nominate Paul Giamatti, who I (embarrassingly) just learned is the son of former Major League Baseball commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti, the dweeb who banned Pete Rose for life. And I like to see all the cleavage, especially Salma Hayek’s huge mammi, which threatened to make even Penelope Cruz irrelevant.

But mostly I smoldered through the telecast. So it is with great hoohah that I announce the 1st Annual Angry Awards (insert “TM” symbol here), which were given out this morning at a private ceremony at the Wiener Longchamp Pavilion in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Votes were tabulated by the firm of John & Sellers, and the winners will receive eternal condemnation, a little baggie of chunder, or both. Please note that the Annual Angry Awards will be dished out only this one time, because to award them in the future would be to force me to watch the Oscars again, which won’t happen until Conan O’Brien, Jon Stewart or Triumph the Insult Comic is the host.

MOST ANNOYING INTRODUCTION TO THE OSCAR CEREMONY
And the Angry goes to…
…the “up with movies!” introduction to the Oscar ceremony. Movies are important, and movies of today are both the same as and yet different from the movies of the past. We get it.

MOST ANGELINA JOLIE-Y
And the Angry goes to…
…Renee Zellweger, whose jet black hair, pale white skin, red dress and weird pucker face made it painfully obvious that she is Jack White’s love slave.

SHITTIEST SINGER, PT. 1
And the Angry goes to…
…Beyonce, singing, in an indecipherable language loosely based on French, the theme from Les Choristes, a movie that she had nothing to do with. She wore a multi-hued dress that can only be described as hideous.

SHITTIEST SINGER, PT. 2
And the Angry goes to…
…Beyonce, singing, in an indecipherable language loosely based on English, the theme from The Phantom of the Opera, a movie that she had nothing to do with. When she joined hands with the Phantom wannabe, I said, “Is that Jay-Z?” I also said, “Her voice is so bad, it should be called the Phantom Menace.”

SHITTIEST SINGER, PT. 3
And the Angry goes to…
…Beyonce, dueting with the ate-and-dropped-by-Mike-Tyson Josh Groban, the theme from The Polar Express, a movie that she had nothing to do with. I never thought I’d want to see Josh Groban perform solo, but here was the exception.

SHITTIEST DECISION-MAKER
And the Angry goes to…
…the person who asked Beyonce to sing three songs, two of which were sung in unintelligible languages and none of which she had anything to do with originally. Thank god Elliott Smith wasn’t nominated this year. Could you imagine what that hag would have done to “Miss Misery”?

MOST IN NEED OF A LOZENGE
And the Angry goes to…
…Pierce Brosnan. While Clint Eastwood would also be a good choice, it’s Brosnan, whose “furball in my throat!” hacking upstaged the reading of the nominees in Costume Design, who most needed a Ricola.

MOST IN NEED OF A GENITAL CUFF
And the Angry goes to…
…the spastic Canadian dude who won for Animated Short. He looked like he wanted to suggest to his wife that they meet in the bathroom for a quickie and another hit on the bong.

MOST DISTURBING FUTURE WINNER OF THE LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD
And the Angry goes to…
…Adam Sandler. I predict that the former Canteen Boy will win this award in 2046, a catastrophe foreseen by Nostradamus as going hand-in-hand with two other unfortunate events: 1) a former mime being elected President of the United States, and 2) a wild pig running out of the forest and biting me in my then-76-year-old genitals.

ALL-TOGETHER OOKIEST
And the Angry goes to…
…the cinematographer of The Aviator, who looked like a cross between albino versions of Chris Elliott and Duane Allman. People, I don’t have proof of anything, but I strongly suggest that you lock up your pet collies when that guy’s in the area.

LAZIEST CLAPPERS
And the Angry goes to…
…the fuckers in the audience who didn’t applaud when Rodney Dangerfield mug was flashed up on the screen during the “In Memorium” section of the program. Talk about no respect.

WORST DIRECTOR
And the Angry goes to…
…the director of the Oscar telecast. Whose fat idea was it to hand out a few of the lesser awards in the audience, thereby denying the no-name, sadsack winners of these tiny categories their rightful prize of being stared at by famous people? As if Jack Nicholson is going to turn around from the front row to see who won the Animated Short category! Also, whose stupid decision was it to have some of the lesser category nominees line up, Schindler’s List-style, on the stage, and not pan to each person or team individually, which, in essence, denied some of the losing nominees their moment of glory? And what the hell was up with all the random noises (like the gun noise that went off when Jeremy Irons was speaking)? Shame on you, Mr. Director of the Oscars (who I will forever refer to as “Mr. Gaffer of the Oscars”).

WHY I’M ANGRY TODAY
I have Leap Day withdrawal. Three more years to go…

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