The Oscars are an obnoxious self congratulatory circle jerk you’re occasionally forced to sit through with your girlfriend while she cries and you consider breaking up with her. She would totally blow Cumberbatch. Not even hypothetically. Just right now, on this couch. Your best bet is to turn this into an under the radar Super Bowl. Bet half your mortgage on a few gut instincts. Vegas odds on Birdman winning Best Picture were 18 to 1. The key here is not to tell your chick what you have invested. She’ll think you suddenly give a shit about evening gowns and are finally making an effort. Throw a safety bottle of Jack in the bathroom cabinet and make frequent pit stops. It goes well with the bottle of cab on the table. You’ll be feeling pretty good once this shit show nears its finale. Just like that you made eighteen thousand dollars and you’re in a crying embrace. I think she’s onto me. Let’s double up on the Papa Johns and fire up the industrial lighting. We’re shooting a fuck tape for the ages. Call into work tomorrow. We need some more cab. It’s so magical!
Photo Credit: Oscars.go.com