The Oscars (statuettes presented annually by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences) will be awarded this coming Sunday night, February 24. Why not create our own awards, the Thelmas? It’ll give us something fun to do… and perhaps evolve into a yearly ritual that grabs media attention.
The movie from which our statuette gets its name is, Thelma & Louise. It ended when the feminist “heroines” drove their car off a cliff:
Ergo, our award will go to films that have similarly driven equality and justice to destruction.
We can do this many ways.
For example, we can use actual nominees and comment on their actual plots:
Another movie from the unhinged misandric mind of feminino Tarantino. What is it about his being raised by Mommy Dearest (dad kicked to the curb) that makes him include a castration scene in all his movies?
Or we can use the titles of actual nominees and create fake misandric plots:
A brave film showing feminism at its finest. During Hurricane Katrina, Ms. Django temporarily frees her husband from his backyard doghouse, the better to make him pull a raft full of Wimmin’s Studies crones to a DV shelter in New Orleans.
We can also create fake films with fake titles and fake misandric plots:
From Here to Paternity
Jethro is an unemployed IT worker sleeping on park benches in Femville. He’s joined one night (well, more like 18 minutes) by “town pump” Lurleen. She subsequently gets preggers, shitz a spawn, and points her gold finger at J-man. Jethro then spends the rest of his life in a coalmine, paying for his baby-mama’s condo and visits to Oprah-endorsed feminist shrinks.
We can use past winners, too.
Gone With The Wind
A blue-pill goober foolishly approaches the enormous backside of a feminist while carrying copies of the Magna Carta, US Constitution, and other documents proving men have rights. She comments on same by releasing gale-force flatulence in his face.
Or we can create faux films based on real events:
The Osbourne Conspiracy
A nitwit fembot bones a rockstar to steal, er, share his wealth and appetite for eating bat heads. She then carves out a career for herself as a sit-down comedienne, making audiences roll in aisles hearing stories of penile butchery.
The possibilities are endless.
I tried my hand at it a couple decades ago:
A variation would be to emulate the Boston Globe’s resident-evil fembot, Ellen Goodman, and mimic her annual “Equal Rites” award:
I tried 21 years ago, too, calling mine the ’Busters:
In any case, we should to do more than talk. Sure, not everyone is ready. Some need to educate themselves more. And others are constrained by monetary obligations and/or varying interests. I’m just suggesting a few ideas for those who are ready.
Stick it to ’em!