A strange ritual:
Awards with a gold man
As if men were gold
Or worthy of it
But I digress.
They call him Oscar
God bod, tuxedo ego
Ninety-two years young
King of the Gala
Old white guy taste.
You’d never find him
Shopping the Diamond District
Unlike KG he
Prefers his gems cut
Parlay busted.
If Oscar’s Nai Nai
Was diagnosed with cancer
He might call to say
Sorry to hear that
A sad farewell.
A proud Eagle Scout
Would never ride the subway
He’s perfectly nice
Dazed and gullible
With won to spare.
Oscar likes strip clubs
Women dancing just for him
A character arc?
Does not belong there
It’s tradition.
Women-led stories
He finds dreadfully banal
He wants more intrigue
Than switching timelines
Mobs, mayhem, Mendes.
Here’s what the game is
Courtesy of Benoit Blanc:
Oscar is drowning
In self-importance
A donut hole.
Prone to what blinds him
Unconscious prejudices
Ingrained bias toward others
Powered by voters
Unvarnished gold.
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