James Cameron Wants to Kill Himself

'Cause Karma Exists, Y'all...Even in Hollywood

With mediocre music, abysmal dialogue and a recycled plot that was already panned by critics and viewers a zillion times before, James Cameron unleashed the racial "white guilt fantasy" abomination that was Avatar upon the world, using sinfully copious amounts of hype to turn that atrocity into the highest grossing film of all time.

When confronted and asked about the racist themes in his work, Cameron was predictably defensive and clueless (stating he felt it "was a hardly racist message at all"), not to mention unsurprisingly sexist.  Needless to say, it did not endear him to us.

Mr. Rich & Privileged--who spent ten years and $300 million to make this film--expected it to just walk into the Academy Awards and then walk right out again, the triumphant, conquering hero.

Indeed...the Academy did not agree.

Not only did The Hurt Locker win far more awards than it was nominated for (overall), but it was directed by James Cameron's ex-wife.  The whole evening, jab after jab after jab went to Avatar.  First, the hosts felt the need to remind Cameron he was competing with his ex.  Middle, a crew member who won an Award for The Hurt Locker talked about how they just made the movie they wanted to make--no focus groups and no pre-screenings [read: no hype]. Last, when Miss Thang herself held an Oscar in one hand for Best Director and an Oscar in her other hand for Best Picture (just 2 of the 6 awards won...keep track now...), co-host Steve Martin felt the need to stop Bigelow from exiting the stage so--while he had one arm around her--he could quickly remind the audience, "...Avatar is now of the past."

Ladies, listen closely here, 'cause this concerns you.  Fuck slashing his tires.  Fuck burning down his apartment, or bitch-slapping his new woman.  Just wait until he unveils his decade-in-the-making magnum opus, go to the Academy Awards, and steal all his fucking thunder.

Y'all, she sat right in front of him the whole time (pay attention to the symbolism here, children).  She didn't talk to him.  She didn't hug him.  She didn't thank him.  In fact, she avoided acknowledging his existence as much as humanly possible.

So, ladies and gents, Ankhesen Mié's Woman-Says-Fuck-You Award goes to the daring, brilliant, beautiful 58-year-old-but-looks-35 Kathryn Bigelow, the first woman to ever win an Oscar for Best Director (damn Julie...I thought it would've been you).  She's also the reason this post earns an "Idols" tag.  Now, I haven't even seen her movie yet, but now I have to, especially since Jeremy I've-been-acting-for-20-years-but-I've-been-overlooked-as-hell Renner stars in it and (no doubt rightfully) got an Academy nom for his performance.

And now...the why-Zoe-Saldana's-face-is-on-here part of the post.

Talk about a pimp.  True, I wish she would eat more.  And I wish she would quit weaving it up so much.  But this black woman--in the same year--not only starred in the highest grossing film of all time, but also in the highest grossing Star Trek film of all time - which held its own last night, thank you very much.  She's collecting checks on both sides, so to speak, and has agreed to sign on for sequels--again, on both sides.

Talk about makin' that money and not giving a damn.

Now, in Trek, as you all know, Zoe's Uhura locks lips with Quinto's Spock, resulting in the ire of some insignificant, irritable white folks.  Fans have urged the writers' to break these two up in the sequel, but the writers' have politely told said fans to go fuck themselves.

So all you white writers' out there trying to figure out how to win over audiences of color, you may want to take a few notes on that.