Okay, now we get Will Smith’s reference while mangling his Oscar presentation — something to do with a college sportscaster, or maybe Jimmie Walker. And if Barry trips over a line during tonight’s Not-the-State-of-the-Union Address, he has a go-to catchphrase at hand. It even refers to hoops footage, which would tie everything together. Not to mention Mr. Smith on record wanting to play Obama in the biopic.

And if you survived that introduction, you’re welcome to participate in our Not-SOTU Open Thread/Good Times Singalong, which is also eerily appropriate tonight: Temporary layoffs. Easy credit ripoffs. Scratchin’ and surviving. Hangin’ in a chow line. Next year, if we’re lucky, we can do Movin’ On Up instead.

Back in the day, what drew us to Gawker websites was the voice of their writers. Ana Marie. Mark (and later, Seth). Jessica (and later, Jesse). Even Ken at Sploid, before he turned into an asshat.

It wasn’t about the “news” — you can get news anywhere — and it really wasn’t about the attitude. It was about their humanity, expressed in the joy and pain of cranking out a dozen posts a day. The sites were blogs, and their hosts were personable, like friends at a party.

All of which peaked long ago. With each staff and design change, Gawker Media has been peeling off the very things that made it work.

And now, there’s nothing left.

The last thread that tied us to Gawker Media’s Golden Age was cut Sunday, when Defamer was folded into the Mothership and Seth Abramovitch relieved of his duties. Their Oscar liveblog — the highlight of the Defamer year — was his last post.

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Five beers into the Oscars — the opening dance number had that effect on us — we realized we hadn’t thought about the Monday morning post, and we couldn’t concentrate enough to study RML’s tip about the Canadian terrorist threat.

Not when we were additionally addled to see George Bush still in the news. No, not the George Bush who’s applying as a greeter at Elliott’s Hardware in Houston. And not Poppy, either, who tried retail work but was thwarted by the scanners.

Please, sit down. Clear your desk of sharp objects. Because there’s a third George Bush. And he’s gonna be around a long time.

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Speaking of naked hairy guys, we were watching the night of the Oscar Streaker, and we remember David Niven’s zinger: “Isn’t it fascinating to think that probably the only laugh that man will ever get in his life is by stripping off and showing his shortcomings!” Later we heard the whole thing was staged, but we refuse to believe it. This is Hollywood! Why would they sully their integrity?

We doubt tonight will offer such excitement, but we’re revving up our Open Thread/Party Tent anyway. The new producers and host Wolverine promise a streamlined show, but we offer this bit of friendly advice: Don’t fuck with the Death Montage.

What we know about fashion you could stuff in that beak, but Dodgerblue’s wife would kill us if we didn’t set up a Red Carpet Open Thread, so here it is, to be quickly forgotten at 8:15 p.m. when our real Oscar coverage starts.

If you have cable or satellite, we think E!!!!!!!!!!!!! (damn shift key) is running the preshow, while ABC has a recap at 8 p.m. Someone holler if PETA stormtroopers show up as zany Nazis and threaten to blitzkrieg the Kodak Theatre.

Title: The Day of the Locust

Author: Nathanael West

Rank: 805,708

Blurb: “Tod Hackett is a brilliant young artist — and a man in danger of losing his heart. Brought to an LA studio as a set-designer, he is soon caught up in a fantasy world where the cult of celebrity rules. But when he becomes besotted by the beautiful Faye, an aspiring actress and occasional call-girl, his dream rapidly becomes a nightmare. For, with little in the way of looks and no money to buy her time, Tod’s desperate passion can only lead to frustration, disillusionment and rage.”

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Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Clown Troupe attempted to take their traveling salivation show to England this week, where they planned to protest performances of a play about Matthew Shepard. But authorities were not amused by the rude mechanicals, putting them on the next flight back from Heathrow.

“Both these individuals have engaged in unacceptable behavior by inciting hatred against a number of communities,” said a U.K. Border Agency mouthpiece. “The government has made it clear it opposes extremism in all its forms.”

Instead, the bumptious buskers had to make do with a street performance Thursday outside a high school in Prairie Village, Kansas. Their new show, “With a Frog in My Throat,” drew an audience of hundreds.

British government bans Fred Phelps, daughter from entering U.K. [Kansas City Star]