Poor Taylor Swift

The Golden Globe Awards.

If ever I saw a shit-show, last night was it. My, how the gowns have turned conservative! There was no cleavage for this dirty old man. The only one that wore something revealing was the one who had nothing to show off.

Mark you, this is not a complaint. Just unexpected, that’s all. It’s really a good thing because I had no distractions. I was free to concentrate on the jitters of the non-drugged and the fake laughter they forced on us all. Nothing funny was said or happened. The monologue was as funny as a case of salmonella. Morton Downey Jr. was there. Matt Damon, Mark Buffalo, and Ben Aflac of insurance fame were there. I didn’t recognize anyone else except DeNiro. And what the fuck was Kate Beckinsale wearing? She obviously regretted her wardrobe and made it worse by reminding everyone else that she had attended Oxford. You know, the place where they make those old-fashioned shoes? Yeah.

Oprah photoshopped her figure live or on a few seconds’ delay. Now she’s David Copperfield. Look at all the pretty people, rich, styled, yet still coveting more. And more will never be enough.

The award winners didn’t make me want to go back to theaters. On the contrary, this whole thing reinforced my decision to never attend one again. Not for stale popcorn, watery Cokes (what are they now, $25 bucks for a large?).

Look. I love movies. I am even into the odd series or two. Last night’s ceremony did make me put “Succession” on my watch list. But mostly, I hate the drek that is integral to any series. NCIS was a disgrace for always killing female lead and supporting actresses (their characters, not the actual women). These days, no one from the original cast is left. We lost David McCallum last year. That broke my heart. NCIS is shit now.

Hollywood is fickle. One day, you’re the talk of the town, and the next, you can’t even get voice work.

But last night did have one highlight for me.

In a new category that I suspect was created just for her, Taylor Swift lost to a plastic doll!

That’s right: the Eras Tour wasn’t the better when it came to the best box office smash. Barbie was. I almost want to see it now except, goddammit, I had 4 sisters, and a house full of Barbies. I took their heads off, I gave them nipples and pubic hair and I mutilated the fucking dolls. Especially Malibu Barbie. There was no excuse for making such a nightmarish toy.

So, miss “use ’em and leave ’em” got a taste of what’s headed her way sooner or later.

Today, my faith in justice is restored. Thank you, God.