Godammit, I’m Mad!

God it was boring but I must uphold the tradition so here it is:

Johnny Depp has finally jumped the shark, hotness-wise, but Ewan McGregor and Colin Firth were very do-able.

Madonna tried to get back at Ricky Gervaise for making a joke about her, because she’s too important to ridicule. She also forced us to look at her breasts, only to come in second to the magnificant rack of Selma Hyak.

Madge’s arms were painfuly lean, as were Angie’s and Michelle Pfieffer’s. Kate Winslet’s arms were pleasingly healthy, and her young boyfriend glowed as she gave her acceptance speech. Elton John looked furious when he lost to Madonna, Leo looked tired and sad all night, and it was worrisome to see Sasha Baraon Cohen there without Isla.

Jessica Biel must be blowing some important people, because there’s no other reason for her to present an award.  Julianne Moore looked pasty but her long green earrings were fabulous. Nicole Kidman wore a breathtaking dress and continued the charade of being heterosexual and in love with that dopey country singer.

Angelina was stunning in white silk and billowing red lips. She turned to smile at Brad each time someone said something “funny.” Jane Fonda was glowingly well-preserved and knew enough to cover her arms, but she shot some actress a death glare when the latter stepped on her gown.

There were far too many mermaid dresses. Stop it, actresses! Only Beyonce looks good in them.

Clare Dane was careful to highlight her flat chest, as always. We get it Clare, you like being flat.

Morgan Freeman was eloquent and moving when he accepted his award, as was that French guy whose father won an award in 1965. The French guy was so moving that several actors in the audience mouthed “beautiful” with tears sparking in their eyes. Another French guy was sorry for being French, but no one forgave him.

Michelle Williams looked stupid in her childish headband but was heartbreaking in her ode to her poor fatherless daughter. Kate Beckensale got the giggles on stage and looked as radiantly pretty as when I saw her in Sephora a few weeks ago.

The Worst Dress award in my opinion goes to Piper Perabo, a see-through mess that bunched up in front of her crotch.

If I had to find a theme for this year’s show, I would say it was all about the love between George Clooney and Brad Pitt, two dreamboat humanitarians who clearly relish being so much better than everyone else. When George comes out of the closet, the drinks are on me!

Just quickly:

Rhianna needs to take up prostitution and get it over with. Lady Gaga needs to get the fuck over herself. J Lo needs to lose the hair extensions and her creepy husband. Mick Jagger needs to eat and Bob Dylan needs to give up smoking.

Cee Lo Green was a one-man mardis gra and Gwyneth should be killed for ruining his performance. Lady Antebellum needs to die but not until they apologize for everything. John Mayer channeled Johnny Depp but fucked up the ever-haunting “Jolene.” Babs Streisand was a waxy looking monolith but proved that a diva can hold a mic without all that crazy finger action.

Bruno Mars was a worthless punk as usual but Janelle Monae saved the day with her adorable androgynous rockabilly presence.  Justin Bieber fought back tears as he lost to the regal Esperanza Spalding, who will singlehandedly bring back the Afro according to me, god bless her.

Eminem confirmed his status as the rapper we’d most like to have sex with. An angry ball of rage,  Eminem is on fire! He is the Ryan Gosling of rap. Talent plus intensity plus physical charisma = YES.

Muse sang a song that sounded like all their songs and Arcade Fire demonstrated that committed, liberating rock lives on, even in the age of horrible American Idolesque canned pop and the dreadful scourge of Taylor Swiftian confessional bleating.

Does that cover it?

Here’s your icon of minimalist beauty, happy now? I just want to get the Tilda Swinton thing out of the way. You all love her, you love her awful style, you love her offbeat lifestyle, if you’re gay, you fucking adore her.  You loved her awful skirt and shirt outfit at the Golden Globes! I thought it was predictably dowdy and her hair was a disturbing  homage to Gumby.

Okay, I will be brief:

Ricky Gervaise was fearlessly funny, the best element of a very dull event. Angelina Jolie was stunning in emerald green, with a waxwork expressionless face. Claire Dane went out of her way to flaunt her flat chest, as always, and Nicole Kidman wore a weird duckface mask. Natalie Portman looked dumpy, Jane Fonda looked scrawny and sounded nuts. Sandra Bullock wore fake black bangs that didn’t match the rest of her hair and Scarlett Johansson can’t figure out how to leave well enough alone: Her tragic haircut and nothing colored dress made it hard to remember that she is a babe. Olivia Wilde, whoever she is, wore a gorgeous sparkly gown by Marchessa.

Helena Bonham Carter looked icily furious when she didn’t win, either too drunk or too pissed off to fake a smile.

Here are the men I would have sex with, besides the obvious frontrunner Johnny Depp:  Robery Downey Junior, Ryan Gosling, Colin Firth, and Christian Bale.

What important details did I forget to mention?

It’s on! Cunt of the Week™ will be a new feature, and you can nominate a candidate by writing to me at sisterwolf666@gmail.com.

Sting set the bar pretty high, but let’s face it, he’s not the only cunt around. Years ago, in the office where I worked with my BFF, we honored our Cunts of the Week™  by putting their picture on a nice gold ribbon we hung on the wall. It’s a lovely tradition that I will always cherish.

Here is the only criterion for nominations: The person has to have been a cunt during a given week, NOT just in general and NOT because of some behavior six months ago.

At the end of the year, we can vote for the prestigious Cunt of the Year™, and of course there will be a Lifetime Achievement Award too. (Madonna, I’m thinking of you here….)

I’m looking forward to wasting my evening tomorrow, watching the Academy Awards. All I ask is that Mickey Rourke doesn’t win.

But first, let me review The Changeling for anyone who missed it. Not surprisingly, it’s all about Angelina Jolie’s lips. I’m not joking here; the Lips should get an award, but not Angelina, whose acting is painfully bad throughout.

But the Lips! Jesus! They fill the entire shot whenever Angelina appears. Coated in an eerily fluorescent deep red lipstick, they are like a pair of giant blow fish. They look like they have eaten most of her face. In fact, perhaps the Lips are some kind of parasite and her face is the host.

Angelina looks frail and exhausted from hoisting those Lips around from scene to scene, but she gamely tries to act worried and/or miserable by flapping her bony hands.

The movie is congealed in period set decoration, with its escalating melodrama almost secondary to the 20’s era flotsam and jetsam. The story is much darker than I expected, so let this be a warning for anyone sensitive to images of serial killers chasing after little boys with an axe. In the end, the Lips look happy, after all they’ve been through.

Now, as for Mickey Rourke, I haven’t seen The Wrestler but seeing Mickey Rourke win his Golden Globe was more than enough for me. His comeback and his douchey Pimp outfits are way too over-the-top, and it’s making me sick. I can’t remember why we’re supposed to feel sorry for Mickey Rourke! Is it because his acting career flamed out, or because he screwed his face up?  Does anyone remember when he was arrested for beating up his girlfriend?

Just make him go away. His whole stupid Bruised Macho shtick is already old now and it’s time for him to move on. And don’t get me started on that Darren Aronofsky! Ugh! What a fucking cunt ™!  His Movie Requiem for a Dream was a fucking crime against humanity.

Okay, so enjoy the Awards show or just wait for my Awards Show Exegesis on Monday.

Since some people have actual lives, I am once again providing a summary of the  Golden Globes Awards, having sat through most of it in a stupor when I wasn’t busy peeing or getting snacks.

It was a pretty dull event, as always, but this year there were three men I wanted to have sex with, a record number! The lucky winners of the Please Can I Have Sex With You awards were: Johnny Depp, Colin Farrell, and Sacha Baron Cohen.  And Colin, by please, I mean PLEASE.

On the subject of men, there were a frightening number of soul patches. Bruce Springsteen and Billy Ray Cyrus led the soul patch brigade, but it was all over the place.

Sting was revolting in a long frock coat that emphasized his self-importance. J Lo’s butt was bigger than ever, dwarfing her miniature husband. Tom Cruise was able to walk alone without clutching his robo-wife, who was probably out in search of more Birkin bags and boyfriend jeans. During the breaks, Tom could be seen schmoozing his way around the room, looking remarkably slim and airbrushed.

Kate Winslet was a goddess. She looked gorgeous but human, and one couldn’t ask for a nicer movie star. When praising her fellow nominees, she forgot Angelina, who gave her a lethal smile that simmered with hatred. Angie looked strangely washed out and waxen. Enough already with the kids, Angie!

Laura Dern seemed like a good person but she looked like a giraffe. Drew Barrymore had a blond make-over and flashed her tongue-stud. Poor Drew, she and her BFF Cameron Diaz are so unlucky in the boyfriend department, they should just marry each other.

Salma Hyak was there with her monumental boobs, barely able to speak English. She made sure to gush over Penelope Cruz, in case there’s anyone left on the planet who doesn’t know how tight they are.

Demi Moore looked stunningly youthful in a white wedding cake dress, but couldn’t resist humiliating her ungainly daughter by telling her not to “slump.” How mean can that bitch be?! Rumor can’t help it if she’s a hunchback, and she was clearly doing her best to look normal.

Mickey Rourke looked bizarre and terrifying in his role as Complete Weirdo. I liked his metal teeth, though, and I assume he said “motherfucker” a few times when he got bleeped during his acceptance speech. Personally, I wouldn’t see his movie for less than $500. But when he thanked his director and Bruce Springsteen, even calling the Boss “brother,” he proved yet again what Hollywood movies are all about: The Love Between Men.  Because nothing – nothing – is more beautiful.