How can you think about the Oscars?
After this impeachment sham, it’s time for the Trumpars
Assuming Mitch McConnell doesn’t kibosh the glitzy proceedings, the Oscars will unfold on Sunday night.
Normally, that’s what I’d be writing about: the hoopla, the predictions, the red-carpet scuttlebutt, the odds Brad Pitt will deliver another hilarious acceptance speech.
But after this grimly momentous week in the atrophying of U.S. democracy, I don’t have the stomach for Hollywood’s annual pageant of self-love.
How am I supposed to care about Best Picture when there is a Joker in the White House?
Forget the Oscars! Now that this sham impeachment trial is over, it’s time for the Trumpars!
So put on a tux, gown or filthy sweatsuit and let’s gather at a suitable venue — a mall food court, perhaps, or a cemetery — to celebrate the greatest performances this week in Trumpywood. To be glued to cable news, as I was, felt like having a front-row seat at a rigged chariot race just before the fall of Rome.
The “In Memoriam” at the Oscars should include a slide that reads: “GOP.”
Whatever the Republican party used to be, after this impeachment charade, it’s now a cult of terrified zombies feasting on the oxygen-deprived brains of Fox News viewers.
I laughed watching Donald Trump stammer through his vindictive “victory” speech on Thursday, flanked by the
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bootlicking zombies who enabled his treacherous assault on law and everything that has ever made America great.
If Trump were a canteen, he’d now be filled with raw sewage. The free world needs him as much as a neo-Luddite needs an iPhone. Trump is a leader in the same way Listerine is a happy hour cocktail.
So without further ado, or Ryan Seacrest, it’s time for the Trumpars!
And the Trumpar for Best Actor in Character Assassination goes to … Donald Trump Jr.!
When Mitt Romney broke ranks with his cowardly colleagues by voting to remove Trump from office, he accurately predicted vicious backlash. This was soon led by Donald Trump Jr., a brittle dingbat born with a silver spoon who, without his family name, couldn’t land a job slicing pepperoni at a Papa John’s. Junior, furious a cult member might have a functioning brain and conscience, put down his Hunting Endangered Animals colouring book and lashed out on social media, sharing a sophomoric meme of a denim-clad Romney: “Mom Jeans — Because You’re A P-ssy.” Given his own questionable fashion choices over the years — and leaving aside the fact he’d get his ass kicked by Honey Boo Boo — this was a beautifully unhinged performance from a tragic son who has never felt loved. Kudos!
And the Trumpar for Writing (Original Screenplay) goes to … Donald J. Trump!
After asking a foreign government to help dig up dirt on a political opponent, the U.S. president claimed he was “totally exonerated” in a Senate trial that had neither witnesses nor logical conclusions. And in a twist ending worthy of M. Night Shyamalan, Trump started his victory speech by holding up a copy of the Washington Post, a newspaper he condemns as “fake news.” It was like watching Hitler show up for a rally garbed in a Jesse Owens T-shirt. Tremendous!
And the Trumpar for Best Animated Film goes to … Tucker Carlson’s Constipated Resting Face!
Just before he goes on air, do producers attach electrodes to Mr. Carlson’s scrotum, so he can be zapped while listening as guests spread disinformation? Can you imagine having beers with this guy? Even if you were yammering on about the weather, he’d glower like he hadn’t had a bowel movement since New Year’s Eve. Pixar has got nothing on the lifelike expressions of this Trump-loving scowler. Brilliant!
And the Trumpar for Best Ironic Documentary goes to … the Religious Right!
What would Jesus do? Nothing Trump does. Yet, month after month, scandal after scandal, Evangelicals have embraced a lying, thrice-married, pornstar-affair-having, p-ssy-grabbing president who only prays when he’s in deep doo-doo: “Please, Lord, don’t let me go bankrupt again.” Romney was a profile in courage. He is a man of true faith. Trump is a 300-pound, philandering Beelzebub who has spent his life taking a branded wrecking ball to the Ten
Commandments. Christians supporting Trump — that’s like Buddhists championing McDonald’s. But this dazzling documentary crackles with unforgettable duplicity from those who don’t seem to grasp that separation of church and state under a madman like Trump is in the best interest of … church. This doc has turned an entire generation against religious hypocrisy. Bravo!
And the Trumpar for Best Actress in the Gaslighting of America goes to … Laura Ingraham!
I find it hard to listen to Ingraham, mostly because she has the rasp of a chain-smoking truck driver addicted to playing slots. But this week, she took her husky freak show to a new level of subterranean low after threatening to leave cable, move to Utah and run against Romney when he’s up for election. It was a gritty performance of unbridled petulance, rich with intellectual dishonesty and smug disdain for reality. If there’s a sequel to “Bombshell,” this blond barracuda of bumbling bombast will be the inspiration. Kudos!
And the Trumpar for Makeup and Hairstyling goes to … Whoever Works on Lou Dobbs!
I’ve known a few morticians in my time. But while they were great at their jobs, none of them could have ever made Dobbs — a 17th-century ventriloquist’s dummy — come to life as he did this week, defending Trump’s indefensible acts with unnaturally ruddy cheeks and ghoulishly dyed hair and an even greater devotion than the Manson Family had for Charles. How much in the budget of “Lou Dobbs Tonight” goes straight to Crayola, so the makeup slaves can make this snivelling windbag seem alive when he goes on his proTrump rants? Dobbs is the true “Maleficent: Mistress of Evil.” Down with newcomers! Long live Dear Leader!
And the Trumpar for Music (Original Score) goes to … the Anti-Nancy Pelosi Mob!
Hilariously, the same brainwashed kooks who rationalize Trump’s neverending sins are now calling for Pelosi’s head after she ripped up her copy of the president’s state of the union address. Yes, the same tools who go mute whenever Trump dry-humps presidential norms are outraged — outraged! — Ms. Pelosi treated that speech like an unwanted flyer full of false advertising, which is what it was. The orchestral score of indignation blaring from the tiny violins inside doomed Trumpywood was a catty symphony that rivals any collaboration between Taylor Swift and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Well done!
And the Trumpar for Production Design goes to … All of Trumpywood!
By trampling the constitution and any remaining sense of right and wrong, this week, DJT loyalists created a haunting set and multiple scenes on how to destroy a republic from within. The lies! The excuses! The shifting of blame! The faux indignation! It was all there, as Trumpywood began its feverish descent into authoritarian rule. This movie won’t have a happy ending. But, then, no Trump production ever does.