Pass the Cyanide: An Oscar Host With No Script?

The shock and horror of the Writer's Strike will come thunderously down on us in 2008. I am not referring to the economic impact of the countless lost jobs and regional business. No, I am referring to the disastrous improvising birthed by John Stewart, host of 2008's Academy Awards. Recall our collective Cheetos choking this year as we witnessed Ellen Degeneres harassing Steven Spielberg and Clint Eastwood in the aisle. Obviously unscripted, we can look forward to more of the same awkward moments of social ineptitude should this strike linger into next February, as by all accounts it will. Stewart is a funny man off the cuff, but anyone attempting to steer the mother of all awards ceremonies sans a writing staff ought to query Roseanne Barr on singing gigs at the World Series.

We also must brace ourselves for the mental horror of picturing poor planetary Bruce Valanche helpless at home, burying his face in a vat of Duncan Hines Chocolate Buttercream frosting, unable to scribble a knee-slapping groaner for Stewart after Sharon Stone walks out in a camel-toed body suit to deliver the Best Costumes Oscar. Yes, the poor host will have to stand there in front of millions of viewers worldwide and make it up as they go, warts and all.

Those of you with HD televisions are encouraged to decrease the screen contrast, lest you up-chuck your Doritos from John Stewart's flop-sweat and neck rash during the thunderous silence of crickets following an ill-conceived suicide wisecrack as the cameras pan to Owen Wilson.