Watching the Oscars While Knocking Back Nyquil

The entire telecast was horrendous, of course, and every mean thing a person can say (Franco was irretrievably loaded, Hathaway looks and acts like a Beagle) has been said already, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have a few lingering questions:

The first being: what sadist allowed Kirk Douglas to do what he did and shouldn’t that person be charged with some crime?

Second, why does Helena Bonham Carter keep looking like that?  That being equal parts Puzzled, Irate, and In the Grips of Gastric Distress?

Third, did Matthew McConaughey always look like a barbecued seahorse?

Finally, I am asking God right here and now to get Charlie Sheen to host next year’s show. 

(Speaking of God, remember a few years back when everyone--and I mean everyone--ended their acceptance speeches with a humble and cloud-splitting Thank You to God?  What happened to that? When was God fired? Now it’s back to thanking the wife and their fabulous offspring, Twitter and Tweet!)

Please, God, after you get Charlie to host, make his co-host be Colonel el-Qaddafi. Give those boys whatever they want—Waterbeds! Tents! Armani diapers!

P.S. It would also be good if Gwyneth Paltrow could stuff all her hair in a pink vinyl shower cap and sing, a capella, our National Anthem.