Either I Am Inherently Wise, Or Awards Shows Are Mad Predictable.

Clearly the former.
I have obviously been slacking regarding my wall-to-wall coverage of Superficial Awards Show Goodness 2K7, but we will try to rectify the situation as best we can.

First, a few words must be said about the Golden Globes. My predicting powers are second to none:
Best Picture - Babel.
Right on. If you will recall, my exact words regarding this category were: "Bobby is the answer to the questions, 'What doesn't belong here?' and 'Why did Emilio Estevez let an anonymous man from the Hollywood Foreign Press Association suckle him for two hours last week?'" I love when we have the answer to questions before they're even asked. It's very Jeopardy!. At any rate, I have been in full support of the Babel Oscar push since Day 1, and this is definitely a step in the right direction.

"Take a bath with me, Hollywood Foreign Press. Rooowr."

Best Actress (Drama) - Helen Mirren.
ZZZZ. I got that one right too, but the chances of someone else winning were roughly equivalent to the chances of Barack Obama not having blue lips. Did I say that? Um...Hillary 2008!

I love the Eleanor Roosevelt corpse behind her.

Best Actor (Drama) - Forest Whitaker.
Again, was anyone surprised? While everyone knew the outcome of this race, I feel like I'm definitely in the minority in terms of actually seeing the movie and witnessing vomiting spectators. And while I really have nothing against Forest and his lazy eye, his bumbling performance at the podium in which he claimed he didn't know he was going to win was balderdash. SHEER BALDERDASH. So far, three for three.

I do not recall a movie in which Forest Whitaker played the creepy ghost painting in Ghostbusters 2. Shrug.

Best Supporting Actress - Jennifer Hudson.

Seriously. I don't know why they even had the last hour of the Globes. If Rinko staged a hit on her (which she should totally do, because she was ROBBED), the Post headline would be "Japanese Deaf-Mute Poon Flasher Caps Dreamgirl." That would be funny.

She'll probably never be in another English language movie, but we love The Rinko.

Best Supporting Actor (Drama) - Eddie Murphy.
I failed. I picked Brad Pitt. But that's because I'm RIGHT and he SHOULD have won. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times - you should not be rewarded for playing yourself. Christ.
However, sometimes it is necessary to own up to mistakes. I predicted that if Eddie won, the Spice Girls would mob the stage. This did not happen. But if they had reunited like they were SUPPOSED to, they would have.

If the father of her kid is also Eddie Murphy, I will never stop laughing.


Best Motion Picture (Musical or Comedy) - Dreamgirls.
Shrug. I suck. I said Borat. Let this be a lesson to all of us. In an Ali G/Beyonce grudge match, sometimes the pseudo British rapper does not win. My bad.

That's basically the outfit I wore to school every day in high school. Except the jumpsuit was neon green. This is why I talk to no one from high school.

Best Actress (Musical or Comedy) - Meryl Streep.
I'm making a comeback. However, if they had put Judi Dench in this category for Notes on a Scandal, which they should have, because she was HARDCORE funny, this would have been a much tighter race. Remember when Natalie beat out Meryl for a Globe in 2004 (5 MINUTES after Mariska won)? Sigh of happiness.

Note to Rinko: If you had flashed your poon at Clive Owen, you would have taken home the Globe.

I'm ignoring the other awards because they're not as fun. But as you can see, I am awesome at this. At least this year. Stay tuned for tomorrow's Oscar preview, and I MIGHT do something totally lame tonight and liveblog the PBS Supreme Court documentary, which should cut my readership roughly in half.


Random quiz of the day: Who can name the Supreme Court justice named after my favorite food?

A Birthday Party In Which The Guest of Honor Was Unaware of the Aforementioned Party.

We rarely sink to the depths of diary-like entries, but when a hardcore shindig occurs at Weenie Enema HQ, it is necessary to file a brief report on the festivities. As most loyal readers are aware, Olivia, the cat of Meow Mix House fame, celebrated her birthday this past weekend with roughly 10-15 people, most of whom never actually had any direct contact with the feline. That didn't stop several people from bringing ice cream cakes, birthday cards and weird catnip-laced playthings for Olivia, all of which will undoubtedly be appreciated once Olivia stops staring at the red sheet on the side of the futon.
Courtesy of DB Bogangles, a willing and able substitute for our usual photographer, Michelle, who was in Spokane for figure skating shizzle:

Although Bogangles strategically placed the catnip sack near Olivia's line of vision, it was sadly ignored and later put next to the food bowl, which Olivia will probably visit in the next few days. In the bottom portion of the picture, you can see the corner of Disney's Aladdin on VHS. Only the best.


She's...kind of looking at it. After this photo was taken, the party guests accepted fate, and a system of mutual ignoring took place between the birthday girl and the attendees.


Psychologically speaking, we thought Olivia would be able to handle the influx of humans much better if stuffed animals were brought along to even out the human/animal equation. It is not known if Olivia even saw the faux cats, bears and octopi, but Big Bear loved being in the middle of the crowded papasan chair with his newly acquired homies.

And in case you feel bad because you weren't invited or you decide to flake out and not attend, you SHOULD feel pretty crappy, because you missed...a DVD viewing of the 1996 Olympics Gymnastics Finals!! Which...may be a burned DVD that I got on eBay that goes a bit apeshit during the balance beam rotation, specifically Dominique Dawes' performance. I think we turned it off to belt out some Backstreet Boys circa 1997 before Kerri decided to sever her ankle tendons.

Peter O'Toole Trolling for Poon is All Well and Good...Except If He's, Like, 95.

1.9 stars.

The term "nauseatingly disgusting" can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. For instance, there are some people who think that the gratuitous carnage and anal penetration on Oz is "nauseatingly disgusting." Some people, like myself, can deal with it out of respect for the hardcore badassness of the show. Some people think saccharine-laced gagfests like a film adoptation of a Nicholas Sparks novel fall into this category. I would agree. However, there are some things in life that are just so beyond gross that every single person with a rational thought process has to find them creepy and deeply disturbing. For instance, let's say - and I'm not speaking from any first-hand experience; I'm just trying to conjure up the most disgusting concept imaginable - you came across someone giving a dog a blowjob and the dog jizzed all over their face. That would be REALLY REALLY gross, and unless you're...no, I can't think of a single person on the planet that would be okay with that. Maybe there's a really sick pup (no pun intended) out there in the Nebraska cornfields into that, but I've got to think they're in an extremely tiny minority on this one.

This dog cannot be doing anything disgusting because it has clothes on.

With that in mind, I feel the main theme in Venus falls into the universal category of "nauseatingly disgusting." There is no doggie jism anywhere, but the entire plot is about Peter O'Toole's unhealthy sexual fixation on a girl younger than me. I had a brief conversation with the kid at work who looks like Bambi about movies in which older men go after younger women, and neither one of us could think of anything as astoundingly perturbing as what I witnessed. There is a HUGE difference between, say, Jack Nicholson and Helen Hunt getting together and Peter O'Toole and Jodie Whittaker having a weird sexual tension thing going on. (In the interest of legit journalism and whatnot, in real life, Jodie is a bit older than me, but I find this fact irrelevent because she's playing a girl who's supposed to be about 17 and looks it.) A 70-year-old man getting with a 30-year-old woman is strange and certainly attracts some negative attention, but there's SUCH a dramatic dropoff when you compare that to the same 70-year-old man going after someone 10 or more years younger. There's a blurry boundary line there, but believe me, Peter O'Toole crosses it and then some.

See? They have all their clothes on, and it STILL looks creepy.

Peter doesn't help the situation by aging HORRIBLY. Don't get me wrong - Peter O'Toole is one of the last remaining fixtures from the badass era of cinema, but it turns out that sucking on cancer sticks for 70 years makes you look...older than 70. It also turns out that having a weak Irish jawline exacerbates a wrinkly gullet neck situation. So Peter looks about 90 and like he's going to keel over at any moment. It's not a pretty sight. Not only do we have to LOOK at Peter O'Toole for an hour and half, but we have to watch him lust after nubile flesh. It is not made apparent why said nubile flesh has no problem with yellow, decaying teeth and more wrinkles than the pug I saw this past weekend with my cousin that was chained to a metal cellar door thing on the sidewalk wearing a maroon hoodie that said "JUICY DRAMA QUEEN" on it. I named her Drama Bojangles of Carpathia.


I still have no idea what the point of making this movie was. It can't simply be a showcase for Peter O'Toole's sagging old man face, because everyone knows about it, and the old chap has clearly had his day, back when the sagging old man face looked less like a poon. And it can't be because the idea of the movie itself was a good idea, because...it's not.

In case you think I've been exaggerating about this, I'm going to provide you with two clear-cut examples from this movie that will probably make you want to throw up a little in your mouth. Like I did two weeks ago when the homeless woman on the bus who smelled like cat pee fell on me.
1. The first five minutes of the movie involve a Peter O'Toole prostate exam.
It's not brief, it's not tasteful. It's a trough-dropping old man, it's a lubricated finger, and it's a lot of uncomfortable noises, only one of which comes from the top portion of Peter's body.
2. The poon-sniffing incident.
It's not nearly as funny as it sounds. Towards the end of the movie, Jodie Whitaker, fully aware that Peter O'Toole has an old man lust crush on her, fingers herself and lets him inhale her musk. He breathes deeply and then tries to SUCK the fingers. I died a little everywhere.

SPIRIT FINGERS!

In conclusion, Venus is grosser than the diseased udders on the mad cow costume on eBay that I wanted to buy, and I am boycotting all movies with advertisements depicting old men with neck vaginas.

I Clearly Cannot Be Anti-Musical Because I Spent My Entire Austrian Vacation Watching The Sound of Music.

2.1 stars.

I can already foresee the deluge of hate mail. "You're anti-black movies!" "You're anti-musicals with SUBSTANCE!" "How can you not like the amazing songs in Dreamgirls?" It's not that I'm anti-Dreamgirls - it's that I'm anti awarding acting accolades for musically-themed endeavors that mistake singing for cinematic quality.

Dreamgirls is not technically a bad movie; I found it rather enjoyable. But it's enjoyability stems from factors that should automatically eliminate it from Oscar contention. The story is thin, the acting is overrated, and like many musicals, though certainly not all of them (see title), the random songs interspersed throughout the movie weaken the overall plot, not strengthen it. For instance, arguably the best song in the movie is the one Jennifer Hudson belts out in the middle, "And I'm Telling You, I'm Not Going." She's an amazing singer, and definitely one of the few highlights of the movie was watching Beyonce pretend that Hudson's superior singing voice didn't bother her. When Jamie Foxx tells her towards the end that the only reason she replaced Jennifer Hudson in the group was because her voice was bland and better suited for mass consumption, you can legit SEE Beyonce trying to remember that it's only a movie and her character's supposed to have a good voice, but not the best voice. Poor, poor Beyonce. Not a particularly good actress, and just a pretty good singer. At least she CAN sing. Jay-Z just raps.

Destiny's Child apparently aren't the only recording artists releasing songs with the same word repeated at least twice in the title.

The Jennifer Hudson situation is a grave one and needs to be discussed at length. Jennifer Hudson is not an experienced actress, and it shows. She's not BAD, but she's not playing a particularly in-depth character that requires thespian abilities. Hudson was hired because she has a great, great voice, and the compliments regarding said voice are totally deserved. I don't think I have ever been in a movie theater where people in the audience actually CLAPPED following a song. I DID clap during American Pie when that Willow girl from Buffy said that incredibly crude statement about her flute and nether regions, but that's because I was 14 and was beyond immature and wholeheartedly appreciated a profanity-laced curveball thrown at me. This is clearly no longer the case. I am oozing maturity.

Heh. Poop.

But the general population is confusing Hudson's superior singing talent with acting talent. It's an understandable mistake. The entire movie hinges on the songs, and she sells them like the wolf. If Oscars were given out to people who merely stood out from the rest of the cast, Vin Diesel and Chance from Homeward Bound would both be polishing off their statuettes as we speak. Perhaps there ARE some Academy voters out there who think like that. It's sort of like the baseball MVP debate. Do you give an award for Most Valuable Player to someone who merely collects impressive statistics throughout the year on a mediocre team, or do you give it to someone who doesn't have the same numbers, but was playing on a better team? I think you give it to the person in the better movie who has to rely on, I don't know, their ACTING to generate Oscar buzz. Shoutout to Rinko.

"What's the matter Sassy, wake up on the wrong side of the litter box?" Best Michael J. Fox movie EVER. With the exception of Teen Wolf.

Because the movie so obviously depends on Jennifer Hudson's character Effie, Beyonce gets little face time and no legitimate personality until she decides to storm out of Jamie Foxx's Boogie Nights lovenest and bring Effie back for the Dreams' grand finale. Which is totally the right move, but Dreamgirls would have been a lot more interesting if we actually got to find out what Beyonce was thinking as she slept her way to the front of the group, Foxx style. Early in the movie, Beyonce has a 2-minute scene in which she announces that she would never just start boning random guys, and then within about 15 minutes, oh wait, she's aiding and abetting Jamie Foxx's hormonal needs. Beyonce? Did your slut awakening speech get cut in post-production?
As an aside, I thought Jamie Foxx was much better than Eddie Murphy, who was playing what appeared to be a character that's exactly like Eddie Murphy, minus the Gary Glitter leisure suits. We cannot confirm this until we speak to Scary Spice.

"You dumped GIRL POWER? Zig a zig AH."

Weenie Enema is initating a letter-writing campaign to get the Spice Girls to do a reunion tour in our apartment. Does anyone know if they take Pepsi as legal tender?

Looks like they do.

An Anti-Cat Bias in the Media. (guest post by Olivia the cat)

Hello, Weenie Enema readers! I would like to thank Emma for letting me have some face time with her audience today. Since I spend most of my day staring at Ingrid or sleeping, this is a huge opportunity for me to be mildly productive. I would like to call your attention to a news story out of Australia that I found when I went on Emma's laptop before my 9am nap. An Australian bank issued a credit card to Messiah, one of my feline counterparts Down Under. Her "owner," Katherine Campbell, went through the process of putting Messiah on her credit card plan as a demonstration of how shoddy the bank's security procedures are.

Excuse me? Why isn't the media taking the time to acknowledge how INNOVATIVE this bank is? Bridging the gap between cat and man is crucial, and the Bank of Queensland is responding to a pressing need in the feline community. We're already at a stunning disadvantage in this cruel, cruel world, forced into a life of menial domestication and reality shows we have no control over. Humans berate us for misleading reputations of being self-involved and uncaring, when nothing could be further from the truth. Our species has risen far above the inane stupidity of the canine. We bury our feces, don't attempt to sexually ravage nearby legs when the opportunity presents itself, and our grooming capabilities elevate our natural scent to the stratosphere. But no. We're SELFISH because, like the humans who unjustly criticize us, we need our alone time. We don't DEPEND on the people who provide us with shelter and food for constant attention and love. And because we unintentionally showcase man's neediness and desire for lower forms to bow down before them, we are not labeled as their best friend - that job goes to the mindless creatures whose idea of a good time is inhaling the putrid stench of a fellow dog's urine on a fire hydrant.

Once again, I thank Emma for letting me voice my inner thoughts to her small, but lovely blog community, and I would like to make it perfectly clear that the above diatribe directed at humanity in general in no way correlates to my personal feelings about Emma. She is very nice and smells like Ocean Breeze Caress Body Spray.

In conclusion, cats should have bank accounts in both the Northern and Southerm Hemispheres, and here is a picture of me sleeping on the bottom shelf of Emma's video commode next to three seasons of Law and Order: SVU, which has a character named Olivia. It's probably just a coincidence.

Spice demolition...via wikipedia.

Isn't someone supposed to be monitoring this stuff?



Or click here.

Victoria Beckham
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Victoria Beckham
Background information
Birth name
Victoria Caroline Adams
Also known as
Ugly Spice
Born
April 17, 1964 (age 42)
Origin
Goff's Oak, Hertfordshire, England
Genre(s)
Pop
Occupation(s)
Singer-songwriter, Fashion designer
Years active
1964–present
Label(s)
Virgin, 19 Entertainment, Telstar
Associatedacts
Spice Girls
Victoria 'I like deep fried mars bars' Beckham (born Victoria Carol Adams on April 17, 1974 and also used the stage name Victoria Adams-Wood) is an English singer best known as a member of the Spice Girls and for her marriage to footballer David Beckham. Victoria is a really bad pop singer, a really bad songwriter and a really really bad fashion designer. Known also as "Posh Spice", a nickname given to her by the BBC's Top of the Pops magazine.

Michelle Malkin Plus Emma Equals BFFs.

Michelle Malkin is going to Iraq, ostensibly to find a dubious source from the AP, but to also report on what's actually going on over there. Since I heart Michelle and I feel it is necessary that she have the funds to purchase a Diet Pepsi in the Green Zone, I have humbly donated a dollar to her venture, money which undoubtedly would have been spent on a Hershey bar later in the week. If you're not anti-Michelle, I would suggest doing the same.

Also, within the next day or so, expect a scathing review of the overrated Dreamgirls, which has a 30-second cameo by Jaleel White.