I watch the Oscars every year. It’s been a long tradition that started when I was a child. I’d watch the actors accept their awards and then secretly write my own acceptance speeches for when I’d win the little, gold, naked man. Unfortunately, I’ve never had the opportunity to give my speech but, regardless, I keep watching the show. This past Sunday was no different except that I had a little more excitement than usual. You see, last year Angelina Jolie threw me a giant bone in the form of her bony leg. My slightly schizophrenic self tuned into a little French voice coming from her right knee and I wrote Knee’d I Say More? Probably not. The little blog took off and for quite some time it held the #2 spot on a google search for “Angelina Jolie knee” just under the Huffington Post. Not too shabby.
So that bit of blogging success prodded me to pay just a little bit closer attention to the broadcast. I turned on the red carpet marathon on E! and prayed for the celebrity gods to throw me my next bone. I watched…and watched…and watched. Nothing–a big, FAT NOTHING!! There was nothing to say about Seth that he wasn’t already going to get from everyone else. There were no swan dresses or guys dressed in drag. Some lady wore hot pink tights and a short skirt, but hell, you can see that on any street corner in Dallas. Everybody won who was supposed to (even though Ang Lee snuck in like a ninja, grabbed some gold, and took off). They left Sherman Hemsley and Andy Griffith off the memorial list (boooo….shame on them). We had to endure Russel Crow singing again and they had his mic turned up louder than anyone elses. They added Jaws music and moved the orchestra to an entirely separate building (I’m guessing for their own safety because I know I’d shank the conductor with his baton if he cutt-off my once in a lifetime moment of thanking every teacher I’d ever had and my pet turtle). The only unfortunate mishap was when poor Jennifer Lawrence tripped on her big, beautiful gown, but that wasn’t a big deal. She’s the type of girl who let’s that crap roll off her back. She even gave the media the bird backstage and it was BEAUTIFUL!
So I wrapped up the night feeling really disappointed. There was nothing to write about other than the fact that, outside of the set design, it was the most boring broadcast I’ve seen in a long time. I set the possibility of writing a blog about the ceremony to the side and went on with promoting my recently published book (shameless plug). But then–THEN I got a rumpled little note in the mail that smelled strangely like wine, cheese, and baby powder. I was a little afraid to open it but I’m so glad I did. Inside that envelope was a letter that changed everything about the Oscars. It was the story I was looking for. It was the bone from the Hollywood gods. It was from Right Knee.
What he had to tell me will shake the film industry to its core. It is a tale of jealousy, spite, and sabotage (no, it’s not about an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras). I was directed by the note’s author to share it with the world, and I am. Do not blame me for this; I am merely the messenger. But here is the note verbatim.
**Once again, best read with a bad French accent to better aid in the experience**
Bonjour. It iz moi. I know that you have missed me. I know because you need me. You need me for zat little blog of yours. Oui. It iz true. But I like you. You have shared my magnifique self with zee world, so I trust you. I trust you to send my message to zee world because they must know zee truth.
I know zat zee world was confused when watching zee Oscars. Where are zee biggest stars? Where are zee Angelina and zee Brad? Were they not invited? Of Course they were invited, you stupid cows!! There iz a clause in zee Hollywood rule book zat no party or show may take place without zee inviting of zee most important actors and humans to ever walk zee streets– zee Brangelina. It does not matter if Angelina did not make a film this year. She iz nominated anyway. She iz just too kind and told zee Academy, “Non. Non. Let zee other little actresses have a turn. I will be too busy digging zee wells for orphans in zee Switzerland and fighting for zee right of truffles to not be sniffed by zee pigs.” She iz an ambassador. She iz a mother. She iz busy getting zee rug burn from zee Brad Pitt.
And so all was well in zee Jolie-Pitt château until I heard some rumors. Oui, rumors. It was told to me by Madonna’s left arm that she heard from Dame Judy Dench’s right elbow that zee Bradley Cooper’s ankles heard Jennifer Lawrence’s derriere say that she was zee new Angelina. Oui! It iz true, and I knew that it was my duty to protect my Angelina from zee boastings of some baby actress like zee Jennifer Lawrence. And so I used my long list of contacts and secretly slipped from one country to zee next until I was safely hiding in zee Kodak theatre. And I waited. I waited through zee horrible dribble coming out of zee Seth McFarlane’s mouth. I waited for zee Charlize and zee Channing to do their little dance. I waited for Zeta Jones to do her lip synching. I waited through all of zee most boring speeches ever written until…zee little whore Jennifer won her award, and then I pounced!
Oh, I know. You think she tripped on zat big, poofy dress. No. It was not zee fault of zee Dior. It was moi!!!
And I laughed. I laughed and laughed. “Zee odds were not in your favor,” I whispered from my hiding place. She was so shocked. She was so embarrassed. It was my greatest moment. I had defended the honor of zee Angelina.
Pardon? You do not believe me? How did I do all of this without being seen? It was tres facile for an international knee of mystery like myself, but I shall explain it for zee idiots. Step un was zee most dangerous of zee mission az I had to accept a ride from zee Gary Busey and Zee Nick Nolte. That was frightening for even someone who has been naked with zee Billy Bob. But zee step deux was to simply find a way into zee auditorium. Zat was like stealing a husband from Jennifer Aniston. Oh, shut up! You know it is true. Anyway, I hid with all of zee riff-raff…zee…uh, how do you say….Oh! Agents. I hid with zee agents and zee lawyers until my target came into view– Quentin Tarantino! Oui! He aided me in my mission and never knew it. I simply snuck up and attached myself to him. Why him? Because he would never notice something like having an extra leg. Zee only worry was zat his girlfriend is named Spiderbaby and I feared zat she would be so aroused by Quentin’s new leg zat she would hump me on zee red carpet and foil my plan.
Step trois: Once inside and Quentin was distracted by the shiny lights, I made a series of moves zat would make zat pathetic Daniel Craig jealous. First, I slipped into Tommy Lee’s pocket. (Did you really think it was zee Seth zat made him smile?) Then I spent sometime under zat bouffant skirt of zee Amy Adams (she is a natural redhead–this I know now). Then I nested in Helena Bohnam Carter’s hair, and then there was zat close call when I slipped up Daniel Radcliff’s pant leg. (Did you think he did zat dancing on his own?) Then there was a short stop in Jack Nicolson’s pants (there are crabs in there older than me). And finally, while zee audience was sleeping through one of those editing winner speeches, I leapt into the shadows of the stage and waited for my finest moment.
When zee Jennifer came trotting to the zee stairs all “La dee da. I am so special”, I pounced. My cat-like reflexes and training for zee Tomb Raider paid off and I tripped her good–real good. As she laid on zee stairs I made my retreat back into zee shadows. There was a close call when zat meddling Hugh Jackman came to help zee little tramp, but I made it. I won! Viva la Jolie!!
And a final word to zee other little starlets trying to impede on our territory. I am watching–always watching. Do you think zat Kristen Trampire cut her foot on accident? Silly people. Non. It was me. And zee public humiliation of tripping is the least of your worries. Have you seen zee little man who made fun of me since zee last Oscars? Non. And you won’t. Zee Seine is a dirty, dirty river. Things and people who wonder too close just simply disappear.
Au revoir, little people. Au revoir.
**No knees, celebrities, or French people were harmed during the making of this blog, but many were offended. C’est la vie.**