Henson had been suspiciously tight-lipped in the media about Oscar's fledgling candidacy which, frankly, struck me as a little bit rude. Like, hello, Jim Henson?! I was decent enough to make a candidate out of your meal ticket; the least you could do is acknowledge me! That was basically the gist of what I wrote to him (not pictured). And I fully expected him to come seek me out at my Detroit residence, hat in his hand, and beg my forgiveness, or at least to offer me his fantastic recipe for sauteed Fozzy Bear with shallots and garlic.
Turns out, he's dead.
Now I'll never know the secret to how he made his Kermit the Frog au poivre so moist. So I've got THAT going for me.
Then I saw a headline somewhere that Vanity Fair had canceled their Oscar party, scheduled for this past weekend. Okay, I admit, I wasn't invited in the first place - which is a little bit strange, if you think about it. Only, please don't think about it. Think about fruit, like I do, all day long, five days a week, 365 weeks a year.
The point is that even without me there, I am sort of in love with the fact that Vanity Fair was having an Oscar party to begin with. Although, you kind of have to ask yourself why they wouldn't invite me as a courtesy, if nothing else, since the whole Oscar thing was, after all, MY IDEA.
Sadly, the first I heard of the Vanity Fair party was the cancellation. So my invitation is kind of a moot point. And now, Vanity Fair won't return my calls or emails asking for their guest list either.
Then yesterday morning, I heard that former Green Party candidate Ralph Nader announced his bid for the presidency on Meet the Press. Not that I would watch such a dorky show to begin with, since I have a life and my Sunday mornings are usually spent snorting blow off some hooker's ass in the back bathroom of some trendy Manhattan club. This weekend, I happened to take a break from partying my brains out so I could assemble some Ikea furniture on my living room floor - the Expedit bookcase in black-brown, and the Norden gate leg table (both of which are quite lovely, and very well assembled). But even so, I didn't turn on Meet the Press, because unlike me, that show is dorky. I believe I already used the word dorky to describe Meet the Press earlier in this paragraph, so it must be true.
The salient point, of course, is that, with Nader in the race, Oscar might lose the green vote. And Oscar '08 is really nothing without the green vote. Without the green vote, Oscar the Grouch is just a guy in a trash can, which, I can only imagine would make his electability go down faster than a White House intern ten years ago. (Zing!)
Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I got all hopped up on all the green talk this year and just went a little overboard picking a candidate who was, quite literally, green. Maybe Fred Thompson's bid made me think a grouch could work as President. Though, come to think of it, if a grouch can't even finish higher than fourth in a Republican primary, what chance does he have in the general election? (Zing again!) America might be clamoring for change, but maybe they're just not ready for Oscar the Grouch yet. Lord knows there were enough Oscar headlines in the news this morning to make a person think otherwise, but maybe... just maybe... I was... wrong.
No, that's not it. This is all Judge Reinhold's fault.
Dear Judge Reinhold,
Shame on you, sir, for not standing up and immediately endorsing another candidate after Bill Richardson backed out of the presidential race. You have left me, and hundredths of thousands of impressionable voters like me high and dry. We don't know what to do, and we are looking to you, Judge Reinhold, because Jesus is voting Republican (again).
If I ever see your silly face in a movie again, which is doubtful (another zing!), I will refuse to laugh at your zany antics or the madcap high jinks you land yourself in due to some colossal and only remotely plausible misunderstanding of your circumstances.
How could you leave your public guessing like this? How could you, Here Come Da Judge Reinhold? Nay, nay, I won't even call you that anymore. You are no longer deserving of your nickname, which was a token of esteem and respect in a time and place where esteem and respect, like clean underwear, are in short supply. You aren't even worth of the capital letters put on all proper nouns and names. From now on, you are simply to be known as judge reinhold the blah, which will occasionally be spelled wrong, just to emphasize my point.
F*** you, judge rinegold the blah. And no, the asterisks do not stand for L-I-P, or O-I-L, or even I-R-E. They stand for something much, much worse. But I'm not going to tell you what it is, which is just like YOU NOT TELLING ME WHO TO VOTE FOR!
Yours in song,