Welcome to this week’s installment of Can’t Care, Moviejawn’s weekly roundup of all the entertainment news we just can’t care about. This week it's all about the Golden Globes which is an actual awards ceremony actually happening this actual weekend.

Francis Friel, The Projectionist

Here come the Globs. I can't care.

Wanna know how many of the best pictures nominees I've seen? I saw DEADPOOL. Fuckin DEAD fuckin POOL. Friends, this movie is slop. Give it a Glob, see if I care (the answer won't surprise you). I hope it cleans up. I hope it mops the floor with the other nominees. I hope it cleans MOONLIGHT's clock. Bring it on. The whole world is in goddam flames, I have negative three hundred dollars in my bank account right now, I just lost my job, and I just discovered that my copy of Surfer Rosa has a huge scratch in it and the needle jumps all over the goddam place and I can't fix my turntable, cause I don't have the tools necessary, and even if I did have the tools I can't promise you that I'd know how to fix a machine like that. A new needle? Just replace the whole record? Burn the whole house down? Who has the fucking money to buy records?? I have a ROOM full of movies I never watch because I have no fucking time and I can't even convince people to buy this shit or even borrow it so they can enjoy some stuff maybe they haven't seen, like, seriously? NOBODY wants to watch DREAMS THAT MONEY CAN BUY?? I have it on dvd! Come over and watch it! IT'S FUCKING GREAT. It's unreal to me. And while THAT movie is sitting on my shelf next to all these freakin' Criterion box sets and PT Anderson blu-rays and Lillian Gish SUPER-SAVER-PACKS, this DEADPOOL pile is up for a bleepin' award? Get the fuuuuuuuck, Globs.

How perfect would it be if while Jimbo is up on stage tousling Dudepool's hair, a huge lighting rig knocks him right in the head and his mask falls off? Jimmy wears a mask. Ain't no doubt in my mind, partner. It's gonna go out over the wire services, he'll be maskless, totally exposed and not even Horatio Sanz will be able to save him from the hungry hungry hoards of bloodthirsty media vampires who promised him the world, just host our dumb shows, Jimmy, you'll have the everything you ever dreamed of, Jimmy, just wear this mask. Don't blow the cover. Stay in the shadows with us, Jimmy. One of us, Jimmy. Watch out for lighting rigs, Jimmy. But no, they are hungry, thirsty, starving for content and this is just the kind of fucked-up backwards story they love. Fallon Falters in Fashion Faux Pas. Gonna be all over Facebook, college newspapers, junior high lockers (where do people even get news anymore? Do they just whisper to each other, CHILDREN OF MEN-style? I have honestly no clue), and he'll be finished. Just like that. Up in smoke. Drowned in masks. Shea Stadium will host a huge event where they steamroll over celebrity masks. So gross. So USEFUL, in this new age we live in. Together. Pull off all their masks. SHOW YOURSELVES, YOU DEVILS.

It hardly matters. The Globs, like everything else, will come and go. No one will remember or care. Will be like it never happened. Bowie's been dead almost a year and people still care, still remember, cause he DID something, he CONTRIBUTED. What have these films, any of them, given us? I might just make it my business to not see any of these mothertruckers that are nominated for these joke awards. What's the point? Give me the rating scale these CLOWNS are using to judge who lives and who dies and prove to me that these piles outshone other films released last year. I AM CALLING YOU OUT, HOLLYWEED. Fuckin try me.

Jimmy, I hope you sleep comfortably these next few nights. Cause after this CEREMONY you're gonna have a lot of explaining to do. And I'm gonna make it my business to find out whose nephew you are, what attic your painting is hanging in, and which and exactly how many bodies you have on Lorne and I'm gonna make your Mask Malfunction the absolute least of your worries.

Enjoy what's left of your career, you demon. The Globs are the bottom of the barrel. No one's watching. No one gets it. We can't care.

Rosalie Kicks!, Old Sport

Guys, award season is upon us. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Critics are foaming at the mouth. Hollywood hunks pressing their suits. Movie starlets plotting the most perfect ensemble that will only be worn for a single night but cost more than I make in a year.

Guys, I can't care. 

You say: Award shows. Hold on lemme catch some: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Oh wait, the Golden Globes. Globes! That are GOLDEN! Wait... are you sure they are not geese? You don't say, old sport. How extraordinary! Oh wait...CAN'T CARE. 

Another year. Another bunch of Hollywood's "finest" awarding mostly undeserving films that I just can't care about. Where is Michael Shannon on this list? Show me the list. Where is he? Where is his GOLDEN award? Why don't they care about him? That guy worries about us, and those Hollywood chumps simply just can't care. Ugh, just come in with the urn. 

OK. So I like La La Land. Guys, it was good....but they ain't no hoofers and they certainly are NO Astaire and Rogers. Not gonna lie...it is a great homage to all those classic hoofer musical flicks I adore so much. On top of that it makes you remember how truly wonderful it is to dream. But does it deserve all the awards? NO. Hands down - Moonlight is where it is at. Everyone should watch Moonlight. Moonlight stays with you, it becomes part of you. La La makes you smile and then you go right back to being your angry self again. Moonlight took chances, La La took the easy road - doing something that has been done already...but hey! let's pretend it is fresh, new and exciting! Oh yea and let's give another movie an award that is all about HOLLYWOOD.

Ugh, I am sick of hearing about the AWARDS RACE! I'd rather watch paint dry. Guys, we all know how this will turn out. We have seen it before. Hollywood is run by a bunch of decrepit old sports who can't even really see: they are blind. Movies: They don't watch em'. Films: They can't understand em'. Without a shadow of doubt, this awards season, just like every other, will only lead to disappointment and Arrival winning something (Christ). Here's to the most undeserving films...I give you THE GOLDEN GOOSE. 

Listen though, I am still watching the Oscars though cause two words: TACO BAR.

Jaime Davis, The Fixer

In the immortal words of my cartoon spirit animal, Adventure Time's resident drama queen Lumpy Space Princess, OH MY GLOB, YOU GUYS. The Globes are here, and they're like a real awards show that's happening yet AGAIN, and they're better than the Oscars, right, so sit up and pay goddamn attention!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Because the Globes are the FUN awards! The ones where movie stars deign to brush shoulders with tv stars! The ones where everyone sits at banquet tables like they all For Real Friends™ (hint: they ain't), eating they $700 a plate cuisine (I made that number up, obvs), drinking and drinking and drinking copious amounts of liquor because DUH - could you sit at a table with Billy Bob Thornton for however the fuck many hours listening to him drone on and on about "Well, when I was with Angelina..." without trying to flush your brain and insides down the toilet? No, you couldn't. No one can. But oooh...the GLAMOUR! The GLITZ! The...Jimmy Fallon?

I guess I should be more excited for this mess? Maybe not.

Awards season used to be like my Superbowl, my Christmas, my World Cup all rolled into a few exquisite months of movie-watching and awards guesstimating. Who would win? Who would act a fool at the ceremonies? HOW FREAKIN LONGGGGG WOULD THE TELECASTS LAST??? But over the past couple of years my enthusiasm for a system that continues to acknowledge predominantly white men working within the establishment has left me feeling more than defeated. And exhausted. I'm tired, y'all. And let me just admit this to you: I haven't even seen a majority of the nominated films. For like the first time in, I don't know, The History of Jaime Leah Davis On This Precious Earth. What the actual fluff? I'm not entirely giving up - there are a couple more films I'd like to see this weekend, but Nocturnal Animals? Nope. Florence Foster Jenkins? Hell nope. Rules Don't Apply? Goddamn nope. War Dogs? FUCKING NOPE NOPE NOPE.

And Jimmy Fallon is hosting. Cool. I used to be way into his late night show (because The Roots. Watch it for The Roots, guys). But then all of a sudden I just couldn't with him anymore. And then I tried again, during the tail end of the election when he interviewed Hilary Clinton and Donald Trump on two separate nights. His interview with Trump was all jokey homeboy banter mess while his interview with Clinton was more cerebral, an attempt at "hard-hitting late-night journalism," as if that's a real thing. Why did he ask Clinton the "tough" questions but basically honk and fart his way through an interview with our now President-elect? What the bloody fuck. I'm sure it could be worse - we could have Jimmy Kimmel hosting, or worse, Jeff Foxworthy. Or that Cable Guy dude who does antacid commercials now. Whatever Fallon, you're fine. Just don't fuck it up. THE WORLD IS WATCHINGGGGG. But really, why can't The Hollywood Free Press Association hire RuPaul instead to host? Cause you know bitch would make all the winners lipsync for they life. I'm 358% down with that.