The Golden Globes are just around the corner. Is Buddy Guy up for anything this year?
If not, I’m not watching.
What if Buddy Guy and Dame Judy Dench were to pitch a wang dang doodle all night long? Now, that I’ll tune in for.
I haven’t seen any movies since Towering Inferno or watched any non-reality TV or gone out at all this past year come to think of it. Or read anything about The Golden Globes or really know what it is except it’s not the Oscars or the Emmys.
Nor is it the “Givies,” the new awards for celebrities who “give back” to “give back” to them for it.
Where will it end? Giving is a vicious circle. I’ve been saying that for years.
Just a couple weeks ago Obama was handing out still more awards to people such as David Letterman and Jonas Salk. Bella Abzug and Pink. An archbishop here, a minimalist composer there.
And of course, Buddy Guy and Dustin Hoffman.
This year’s Globies are being hosted by Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. If neither was in The Bridge on the River Kwai, I’m afraid I’m not familiar with them. I assume they’re lezbos?
Apparently both were on that SNL. That show ceased being funny when George Gobel left to pursue a solo career.
That was him who did that “Pat” character.
You know, all the Indians where I live look exactly like George Gobel.
You can look online for who’s nominated for what Golden Globe Awards if you want. I just don’t feel like it.
The Globies should be on soon.
You’ll have to check your local listings for when the hedonistic orgy of self-congratulation in service to mammon airs.
More false gods and sacred cows than you can shake a stick at by the rivers of Babylon in The Valley of the Shadow of Death, brought to you by Febreze.
But even it can’t mask the fetid, malodorous stench of canned laughter and prompted applause at the manufactured comedy stylings of those who hone their craft and polish their material.
Sunday! Going to Hell in a handbasket faster than you can bat an eye! 10 o’clock, nine Central!
Talkin’ ’bout Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
If Westboro Baptist doesn’t picket this bacchanalian paean to gold-plated calves and signifying monkeys, I think they’ll lose a lot of their credibility.
Much like Saturday Night Live did after they fired Julius LaRosa.
And there we wept by the river of Zion.
Let me know if Buddy Guy wins anything.