I really wish I could throw Taraji P. a bone here. She is a really friendly lady, and she had to suffer through the indignity of being in the Emmytones singing group, which boldly soldiered forth even after tanking so hard after its first number that I could swear the telecast piped in even more fake applause than it did when Charlie Sheen walked out and all but about six people in the audience visibly sat on their hands. It may have made each of them die a bit inside. Full marks for not walking off immediately. I don’t know if I’d have been so strong.


My friends and I have a red gift bag that we loved so much, we kept it rotating among us for years and years and through birthdays and Christmas/Chanukah, until it basically fell apart around whatever gift it contained. That’s what this looks like to me — like a fancy bag that’s been regifted and reused so many times that the glitter is molting off of it, and pretty soon Taraji will be wearing a bodysuit with a few golden pubic scrolls. I just saw Henson at Fashion Week, and can report that she has a great bod, but can you tell? No. Sometimes we complain about people being too obvious, but this isn’t obvious enough. We may need to be bonked in the head a little, Taraji. Please. Bonk us next time.

Although, who could’ve imagined Dumpy Gift Sack wouldn’t even be the worst part of her night? Oh, Emmytones. If you’re not totally hung over this morning then you might be the real heroes.