RRRR: Lemon drops melting

Apropos of nothing...

This was the first year that I watched (some of) the Academy Awards, after several years of apathetically missing it. I never put much weight into the winners, realizing the politics involved in such a haughty event. But when I was young, I cared enough to at least pay attention every year. This is no longer the case as I approach Oldpeoplesville via the Real-Life-Shit Route.

In fact, my favorite moment of this year's Oscars broadcast didn't even happen outside of my twisted headspace.

The Kodak Theatre's house and stage lights dimmed on cue to set up whatever video they were about to show. All I could think was how amazing it would be if someone hijacked the projector; and instead of showing whatever self-fellating, feel-good movie montage they had planned, they started playing audio of the Judy Garland tapes to the startlingly dark room, full of Hollywood's present-day finest. Can you imagine the horror?

Ideally this would happen a couple hours into the night, when the celebrities were a little liquored up and collectively drunk on their own fabricated fabulousness. Insecure imbibers.
Note: this has nothing to do with exploiting the sadness of Judy Garland (and these tapes are sad). Rather it could serve as a well-timed reminder (a PSA for POS?) to mind their substances and maintain a semblance of reality outside of Hollywood.


Are you hungry?
Are you sick?
Are you begging for a break?

Are you sweet?
Are you fresh?
Are you strung up by the wrists?

We want the young blood.

Are you fracturing?
Are you torn at the seams?
Would you do anything?
Flea-bitten, moth-eaten?

We suck young blood.

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