Tears Will Be Shed, Hairdressers Thanked

Tears Will Be Shed, Hairdressers Thanked

We all remember where we were when we heard our first hairdresser thanked for helping some scrote take Best Supporting Truss at the Oscars.

Tonight we give thanks for the dizzy array of witless gush on display about inspirational figures and experiences that led to the kind of emotional incontinence Hollywood excels at. 

Viewers will play drinking games that allow them to empty the bottle at the mention of trigger phrases like ‘struggles with his/her demons’.

The whitest ever women-of-colour will call out to the ghettos of Midtown and Tribeca which they fought so long and hard to escape from, just to be here with us tonight.

While the awards themselves remain so hideously white, its hard not to feel actively compromised as you watch.

Meanwhile an audience comprised mainly of cadavers, will applaud and occasionally wipe pretend tears from their blank, ketamine fuelled eyes.

Eventually you’ll be so disgusted with yourself that you’ll start watching some Clint Eastwood turd like Every Which Way But Loose.