You know it's a special occasion when John Travolta pulls out his favorite wig. Since John Travolta is always hijacking the iPod in the Scientology's bath house to play Rodgers & Hammerstein's greatest hits, the producers of the Oscars asked him to introduce the tribute to movie musicals last night. Everybody's talking about how John Travolta can't pronounce Les Miserables (Note: Please, he mispronounced that shit on purpose to make himself look straighter), but everybody should be talking about the glorious beast on his head. Yes, every Papillon is throwing a shank eye at Travolta since he stole their signature hairstyle, but they have to admit that his center part is immaculate. I'm sure Moses himself parted Travolta's wig. I'm not talking about Moses from the bible, I'm talking about Moses the resident wig master at the Scientology beauty salon.
Travolta didn't only work a stunning lace front, but he also worked a hot velcro patch on his chin. When you tea bag Travolta, you can exfoliate your taint on his hot velcro patch at the same time.
Here's a few more pictures of Travolta with Kelly Preston last night and since we're on the subject of lush beards, let's pay tribute to some of the best ones last night. In order: Travolta with Kelly Preston, George Clooney with Stacy Keibler, Hugh Jackmeoff with Deborra-Lee Furness, Justin Theroux with Jennifer Aniston, Jean Dujardin and Ben Affleck with Jennifer Garner.
If you're one of the lucky ones who missed the Oscars and want a full-on recap, just pour a glass of lukewarm tap water into a paper bowl full of instant oatmeal and watch as it slowly slowly slowly cooks, because that's about as exciting as the boring mess some of us sat through last night. Everybody kept saying that last night's show was like Werther's Original night in the rec room of a Boca retirement home since it felt like a moth ball air kiss from the Academy to the olds, but saying that is an insult to memaws and papaws. The olds didn't like that shit either. Trust. The olds thought they were getting a dancing Billy Crystal, but because he's fucked with his face so much they got a dancing mummified Kim Jong-Il instead. Most of the olds probably took off their teefs and went to bed before Best Supporting Whatever was passed out.
But besides Meryl Streep's speech, there was a bright spot among the bleakness. It came when Jean Dujardin wiped the permanent smugness off of George Clooney's face by winning Best Actor. Then Jean Dujardin kept the tingles coming by face posing for his life in the press room with Meryl Streep. Jean Dujardin is damn fucking charming. He's like a skinny Gaston from Beauty and the Beast without the doucheness. Sometimes his face looks like he's starring in a toothpaste commercial from the 50s and other times it looks like he's watching two unicorn babies slide down a complete double rainbow in the distance. Jean's face is always set to magic.
Looking at him holding onto that Oscar trophy makes me think that he probably gives the most charming handjobs ever. I bet he smiles that twinkly smile the entire time and gives you an extra twitch in your crotch when he raises his eyebrow at you. Normally, I'd think that smiling while cumming is totally creepy, but it isn't when you do it with smile master Jean Dujardin. It's impossible to not feel happy inside when you're staring at a French man whose smile makes you hear cartoon birds singing and shit.