Ah, the CMA Awards — technically it stands for Country Music Association, but we know it as Carrie Makes Apantloadofwardrobechanges, because La Underwood hosts the telecast and routinely swaps dresses at least six times. In the past we’ve put her on mock trial for this glut of fashion, and this year will be no different. All rise: You are in the court of the great nation of Fug, with our guest judge the Honorable Bai Ling presiding. Let’s get this party started.
The prosecution would like to know just how many Party City stores Carrie had to raid in order to complete this dress; the defense IMMEDIATELY and vociferously objects until it’s clear that I just typed the word “Party” and not “Panty,” because Panty City is a completely different place altogether. Judge Bai announces that she once bought a condo in Panty City but left it because it didn’t have a helipad. The prosecution is momentarily flummoxed by this, so the defense jumps into say that the gown is kind of cool and ornate in a flattering, fun-to-ponder way, and that the only demerit would be that the bottom half doesn’t rip off to create a nifty cocktail dress. The prosecution recovers and points out that, YES, that is a demerit, because that would be hilarious, especially if said skirt then doubled as a cape. The defense is all, WHO ARE YOU, and Judge Bai suggests that we move on because cape rhymes with Snape and Snape doesn’t wash his hair. Everyone is pleased to leave that strange moment behind.
After much whispering, the prosecution decides to open with, “How many Party City stores did she have to raid…” and the defense objects AGAIN, because that is so BORING, and also, clearly the answer is only one. The prosecution wonders if this is a dress or an apocalyptic warning portending a plague of weaveable back hair, and the defense argues that it’s just a super handy sleeve because you could use it to hang the dress in hilarious places. The defense further notes that Brad Paisley appears to find it dreamy to behold, and so we should all follow his example. The prosecution makes a mental note to add something to the Paisley/Williams-Paisley pre-nup retroactively (and sneakily) that allows him free rein to gaze into ANY middle distance, even when said middle distance is full of boobs. Judge Bai squeals that boobs are like cheetahs, but different. Awkward.
The prosecution starts singing “Greased Lightning,” and the defense is all, “Yeah, we’ve got nothing, she looks like she just went golfing on the Starship Enterprise.” Everyone high-fives and calls for a margarita break. Judge Bai refuses, mumbling something about a misunderstanding about Margaritaville and an all-you-can-eat Buffett and a bag of Funyuns. The bailiff is all, DUDE, ME TOO. Silence.
Feigning tears, the prosecution laments that it would love a cup of coffee, but alas, all our nation’s coffee filters have been misappropriated. The defense declares that the prosecution should suck it up and deal, because this is very pretty, and Judge Bai interrupts to declare that it’s not polite to tell anybody to suck it up unless that person is the dancing elephant who lives in your ear.
Dreamily the defense heaves a sigh and waxes rhapsodic about autumn foliage and romantic walks and fresh squeezed orange juice, at which point the prosecution snorts that it doesn’t care for pulp. Judge Bai sits up straight and threatens to put the prosecution in contempt, because everybody knows that pulp is fiction.
The defense calls this an a flotilla of romance and a veritable iceberg of roses, and the prosecution chortles, YES, AND IT WILL SINK YOUR CASE LIKE THE TITANIC, and then laughs and laughs and laughs. Judge Bai rebukes the prosecution for laughing about something that killed Leonardo DiCaprio. The prosecution leaps into the ensuing abyss by congratulating Carrie on being so widely talented that she can dance The Nutcracker and host the CMAs all in one night. The defense wonders if Brad Paisley, by the way he’s clutching that thing, thought The Nutcracker meant something else entirely.
The defense bursts into spontaneous applause. The prosecution tries to come up with a remark about hotel linens and a folding accident, but ultimately can’t form a coherent thought except to suggest that Carrie should have put on a wig if she couldn’t finish her updo. Judge Bai wonders softly to the bailiff if this is available in hot pants.
The defense attempts the applause gambit again, but the prosecution is ready this time and wonders where Rhett Butler went. Snorting, the defense suggests the prosecution secretly is very attracted to the Go Big Or Go Home concept of this gown, and the prosecution retorts that it looks like she’s a walking munchkin theater, raising the clumsily made curtain for their performance of Tornado: A Love Story. The defense boos. Judge Bai reminisces about the time a tornado once made her breakfast. Both sides immediately rest their cases, and Judge Bai sends the jury out for deliberations, with the careful instructions that only ONE person within each juror can vote.