It's all about the glittery muscled arrogance of Hollywood. The screaming junkie-like need of Celebrities to be noticed, acknowledged, feted, fawned over and lavished with a slobbery, weepy, sick-sexy love. The same stab of emotion that the Versace-less Prada-less, uncosmetically-enhanced, tap water-swilling yokels in the heartland must feel for their tractors. Or so the Celebrity class assumes.

The Academy Awards ceremony has not been canceled. Repeat, NOT been canceled. It will in fact go on as scheduled even though by every objective standard the year 2000 was a raging canker sore of cinema.

Maybe the worst year ever. A sprawling Battlefield Earth-Gone in 60 Seconds-Pay it Forward-Autumn in New York-Blair Witch II-Hollow Man-Big Momma's House-Coyote Ugly kind of year. A year when Jim Carrey and The Director Formerly Known as Opie working in tandem could grind the memory of Dr. Seuss into so much big screen corpse-sausage and convert it to a bonafide box office smash.

Yet we're supposed to forget all that and focus on the rare isolated triumphs and singular moments of beauty, like weedy little flowers that spring up in a festering landfill.

Meanwhile, theaters in Manhattan jacked their ticket price to $10. A cool sawbuck to gaze upon the spectacle of Dude, Where's My Car? This follows closely the news that most major movie chains will replace their liquefied popcorn butter with the urine of concession stand workers.

Cost cutting effort? Or perhaps just a general disdain for the non-discriminating taste of a populace that made Adam Sandler, and Pauly Shore before him, an obscenely wealthy mega-star? Hard to say. We should just shut up and be grateful. Anything spilling out of Hollywood is to be cherished and clutched to our sweaty yokel-bosom.

So in the spirit of unquestioning dewy-eyed Celebrity adoration, and as mandated by the United States Constitution, here are my predictions for the most magical night of the year, Oscar night.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is edged out for Best Foreign Picture by darkhorse, The Rugrats in Paris.

Although Steven Soderbergh snags the Best Director trophy for his riveting, visually compelling work in Traffic, he admits during post-show interviews that working with Julia Roberts in her racy, revealing Erin Brokovich attire was "like overseeing a non-stop bonerfest, so in that sense was more rewarding."

Sylvester Stallone is given a Lifetime Achievement Award after promising to just go away.

Kevin Costner takes home one of the willowy girls who escort folks on and off stage throughout the ceremony. Unfortunately, he guesses wrong and ends up with the one who used to be a man.

The Best Song award goes to Bob Dylan. Accepting for the grizzled bard is the Soy Bomb guy, who writhes shirtless and spastic for a full 20 minutes until blood vessels burst in his nipples. It is considered by many to be the high point of the night.

Surprise couple of the evening are Katherine Hepburn and Gervase from the original Survivor. They suck face like they're at a spiked-punch prom until Jack Nicholson beseeches them from the stage to get a room.

During the pre-show hype, hate-hag Joan Rivers insults one starlet too many and is gang-stomped to death on the red carpet. With her dying breath, Rivers describes her assailants as several women who looked "atrocious, ghastly, like they stole their dresses from homeless drag queens, a rodeo of whores, pul-eeze."

While accepting his award for Best Actor, Russell Crowe is interrupted when a boozy Meg Ryan lurches towards the podium, spewing a string of profanities directed first at him, then at men in general. The situation escalates into a heated gender feud as the ex-lovers are joined on stage by an all star cast, including Gene Hackman, Luke Perry, Minnie Driver, John Cusak, Bjork, Reese Witherspoon, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Gary Sinise, Hillary Swank, Bruce Vilanch and two of the Baldwin brothers, the fat one and the squinty one. There is some shoving and talking smack but finally order is restored when Charlton Heston fires off several rounds from a Glock he had hidden in his truss.

Sylvester Stallone returns his Lifetime Achievement Award after signing a deal for a Saturday morning animated show, The Get Carter Babies.

Melissa Rivers announces she will continue her mother's shrewish legacy after inking a deal with Satan. She will maintain a television career even though she is so utterly devoid of talent her blood can be used as an antidote for people suffering from excessive talent. Also, she thinks Jennifer Love Hewitt looks like a trick or treater at the mental ward in that dress, and those shoes are totally vomit-inducing.

Sitting at home wrapped in tent canvas, Marlon Brando says screw it, and breaks the seal on his third gallon of fudge ripple which he spoons out of a monkey's skull.