(Episode 2 of Rappoport Podcasts — “HIV, The White House, and The Montana Prophet; When The HIV Debate Went Public, Almost” — is now posted. To listen, click HERE. To learn more about Rappoport Podcasts, click HERE.)
We’ve heard from everybody else.
I’m expecting a comment from Putin.
“Well, Chris should have moved INTO the slap. Getting inside it allows you to grab your opponent by the collars. Then you pull him TOWARD you, step aside and flip him on to the floor…”
Here’s the thing. The joke about Jada and GI Jane wasn’t funny. Not because Jada has a medical condition, but because the joke wasn’t FUNNY. It referred to a 1997 movie. Stale.
It’s possible—I’m having my psychologists in the lab analyze the situation—that the lameness of the joke was the actual trigger that set Will Smith off. Because HE’S lame. It’s complicated. I’ll report the findings next month, when we issue a final statement.
Also, what would expulsion from the Academy mean? Will Smith wouldn’t be able to attend future Oscar ceremonies? A blessing, not a curse. The ratings of the annual snoozefest are dropping every year.
Everybody knows what the ceremony needs.
A new host.
THEN we would see something.
An entire audience in the theater in a state of rage for all five hours. Rage pouring from every pore of its being. Utter madness from the get-go.
Trump strides out on stage. He says:
“Well, I see there are a lot of Jews here tonight. What I want to know is, why aren’t you supporting the state of Israel?”
And the awards ceremony proceeds from THERE.
Above and beyond the acts of violence broadcast to the global audience of two billion people—the war in the Ukraine takes a break so everyone in the country can watch the show—viewers are hearing a massive Greek chorus of women in the theater screaming I’M TRIGGERED I’M TRIGGERED I’M TRIGGERED.
Will Smith, believing he can make up for what he did in 2022 by doubling down, rushes the stage to deliver a hammer blow to Trump, but a gaggle of private security mercenaries tackle him, drive him to the floor, and…shave his head.
Why not? Even if the exact meaning of this act is unclear, it works. We don’t need subtlety. And there is an echo of Sampson from the Old Testament.
NOW we’ve got an Awards Ceremony. We’re cooking.
50 network crew members with hand-held cameras race through the hall to catch outbreaks, as old enmities between actors, agents, and producers resurface.
“MY STUDIO CONTRACT WAS FOR FOUR POINTS OF NAKED GROSS, NOT ADJUSTED GROSS, YOU ASSHOLE.” Bang, pow, bam.
Hollywood comes to life.
For some unknown reason, a studio executive strips down to his underwear and prowls the aisles. Off to the side, a priest is marrying Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg.
ABC News anchor David Muir cuts into the show to announce that all movie theaters in the country have been shut down. “The White House just released this emergency order,” David says. “The situation is fluid at the moment. We’re waiting to learn the reasons for the lockdown. Unconfirmed Russian rumors of a new virus variant are circulating. We’ll take you back to the Awards Ceremony right after this message from Market Equities, the company that is quietly transforming Montana. Airports, highways, ski resorts, hotels, fine dining, casinos. Better living for travelers…”
High above the Oscars auditorium, Chris Rock is sitting on a platform clipping his nails. A mic boom lowers so we can hear him.
“Folks, what you’re watching down there is actually a battle scene from the remake of Braveheart. They’re filming it right now…nah, that was lousy joke, too. I do a lot better when I’m on the road. Promise.”
Trump has left the theater. He’s on his way to Florida.
Out from the wings staggers Joy Behar. She comes to stage center and picks up a mic. She takes over.
“Okay,” she says. “Now we’ll have order. No more crap. No more demeaning of underserved groups. Everybody sit down and be quiet. No more jokes. Jokes are out.”
Across the world, two billion people switch to another channel.
— Jon Rappoport