Welcome to our second annual Oscars liveblog. If you feel a little dirty about being here while the show's on (seriously, who watches TV while on the computer?), think about the guy who's sitting in the middle of a party and ignoring everyone while tapping away at a laptop in between swigs of champagne punch. (Sorry, no keg beer this year. We're fancy-like now, y'all.)

Sorry we haven't been paying much attention to the pre-show. We've been spending the last couple of hours making the place look nice for whoever actually shows up to the party.

In established blog tradition, new stuff will be up top. Here goes nothing:

8:23pm: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! God help us all. The sky has opened, Beezlebub has dumped his infernal payload of obvious evil on an unsuspecting Earth. Life as we know it is over. Drive to the desert and start a new civilization, hoping that our horrible, horrible mistakes will not be repeated. This is the end, friends. See you in Hell.

WORST. OSCARS. EVER.

8:19pm: Ang Lee wins the Best Director award. Not even a shaky command of English can excuse his "I wish I knew how to quit you" joke. If there's anything the last few months have taught us, it's how hacky Brokeback jokes are.

8:13pm: Despite our well-documented hate of Crash, we picked it in our Oscar pool. Yet we take absolutely no joy in its win for Best Original Screenplay. Can we all get in our cars right now, seeking the connection only possible through fender-benders, and smash into each other? Then maybe have some heart-to-hearts about race relations? A huge increase in our insurance bill is about the only thing that will make us feel better about winning our pool.

7:58pm: Jamie Foxx suppreses his "Uhhhh...UUHHHH" response long enough to announce Reese Witherspoon as Best Actress. The music underneath Reese's speech makes the whole thing seem especially rushed and breathless. Househusband Ryan Phillipppe fails to tackle anyone in joy, perhaps prolonging his career a few more years. The seatbelt securing him to his chair suddenly seems like a great idea.

7:45pm: In perhaps the biggest mortal lock of the evening, Philip Seymour Hoffman takes Best Actor. Sadly, he renegs on his promise to David Letterman to bark like a dog for the entirety of his speech. Thanks his mother, which is touching, but still...dare we say, completely boring. Presenter Hilary Swank chases him off the stage, hoping to perhaps absorb some of his humility. Hoffman, we suspect, will not be conspiculously scarfing Astro Burgers to celebrate his much-anticipated win.

7:30pm: Clooney presents! Clooney, your Best Supporting Actor winner, introduces the shortest Dead People Montage in recent memory. Mr. Miyagi, the guy from Fast Times, Sandra Dee, Chris Penn, Shelley Winters, Anne Bancroft, Ismail Merchant, and Richard Pryor, all dead.

7:24pm: Pimp song wins! Difficulty of pimping recognized by Academy!

7:21pm: The Academy proves that there is no song they can't ruin with an overchoreographed dance number with "It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp." The performance's one saving grace: no appearance by Don "Magic" Juan and his gilded pimp-cup.

7:17pm: Remember when we said there was no keg beer this year? We were misinformed. There's a keg, and we've been mainlining it for the last hour or so. So much for classy.

7:10pm: Honorary Oscar winner Robert Altman compares his films to sand castles, but never specifically mentions the particularly misshapen beach sculpture Pret-a-Porter among his precarious structures. The Academy proves it can tame anyone for the cost of a little statuette.

6:53pm: Regular Defamer readers know that Jessica Alba earned her presenter slot on talent alone, but we still can't help but feel like she might have slept with clockwatching producer Gil Cates to land her podium slot. Hey, we're just sayin'. Into the Blue wasn't exactly a contender.

6:49pm: Gustavo! Brokeback Mountain wins for the score that helped launch roughly one million parodies. Will any of us ever forget those delicate guitar chords that made Michael J Fox and Christopher Lloyd, or Mr. Miyagi and Daniel-san, or Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze, suddenly seem gay? No, we will not.

6:33pm: Speed co-stars Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves reunite to present Best Art Direction, reminding tens of millions of viewers of the last time people really cared about them.

6:27pm: The presentation of Crash's Best Original Song nominee, complete with burning cars and multiculti couples dancing among the flames (of racism, we assume), is roughly 300% more subtle than the movie itself.

6:22pm: Charlize, almost on cue, shows up to announce documentary feature in what one of our party operatives refers to as a "Project Runway" dress. Are they kidding us? Santino would never put a bow that staggeringly huge on a frock.

Oh, and the March of the Penguins crew wins, making them look a little less ridiculous for bringing three-foot stuffed penguins to the ceremony. Cocky? Sure. But they won, bitches, so deal with it.

6:20pm: Finally, someone calls out Charlize Theron for "Hagging It Up," and decries Keira Knightley's bold attempts at "Acting While Beautiful." Both will later be appropriately punished by mortal Best Actress lock Reese Witherspoon.

6:12pm: An eagle-eyed operative noticed that Will Ferrell's name was mispelled on the jillion-dollar Oscar marquee, whose technology obviously doesn't include an automatic spellchecker. Oops! Someone's getting fired tomorrow!

6:06pm: Rachel Weisz fights off darkhorse Amy Adams and runner-up Catherine Keener to take Best Supporting Actress, keeping her acceptance speech down to about 15 seconds. She'll be handed a thick stack of hundred dollar bills backstage by producer Gil Cates for not wasting any more of his valuable airtime than necessary.

6:00pm: Narnia wins for best makeup, but more importantly, this new playing music stuff underneath the entire speech makes it very easy to slowly swell the orchestra and make sure small categories like this one don't get more than 15 or so seconds to thank their loved ones. Thank you, Academy, for saving us from the expressed gratitude of below-the-line personnel!

5:52pm: Technical difficulties robbed us of a Butterscotch Stallion joke, and one about how Disney strongarmed ABC into using its second-rate Chicken Little characters (think Zach Braff with a head cold) to present an award. Consider yourselves lucky.

Somehow, Jennifer Aniston and Russell Crowe step up to the podium (separately) without having a nervous breakdown or punching someone, respectively. They've both come so far! Geisha wins for best costumes (we think, it's loud in here, and alcohol makes us bad lip-readers), perhaps saving at least one job at Sony.

5:35pm: (The incandescent? smoking hott?) Naomi Watts announces Dolly Parton's performance of her song from Transamerica, which Parton performs in a rather garish, rhinestone-studded strap-on. It doesn't look at all realistic, and while Parton is obviously trying to show solidarity with the tranny community, we fear she will be pilloried on she-male message boards everywhere tomorrow.

5:27pm: Ben Stiller bravely appears onstage without longtime straight-man Owen Wilson, clad in a green-screen gimp suit meant to represent achievement in visual effects. We are aroused, a little, though we are loathe to admit it.

King Kong wins! It shall not be shut out!

5:17pm: Nicole Kidman looks great, if a little facially immobilized, presenting the Best Supporting Actor award. Even enough Botox to kill three B-list actresses can't can't stop her from announcing that Fat Clooney wins the award, and Fat Clooney immediately recognizes that Black and White Clooney will probably not take the directing award. But each pound added and every drip of lost spinal fluid subtracted was worth it. Clooney will not go home empty-handed.

Also, are they going to play cheesy music underneath every speech? WTF?

Clooney mentions race, cue immediate cut to a nodding Jamie Foxx. Apparently, Morgan Freeman was in the bathroom.

5:13pm: Stewart and his gang attempt the Greatest Brokeback Joke Ever Told, a montage of totally gay-seeming moments from cherished Westerns. Gay cowboy overload achieved less than fifteen minutes into the ceremony.

5:10pm: First joke about Dick Cheney shooting someone in the face. Jon Stewart quickly retreats to his comfort zone.

5:08pm: A Defamer operative has sharper eyes than we do: "Someone behind phillip seymour hoffman was blackberrying..." God bless the Blackberry, His little gift to Hollywood people who can't be bothered to interact with other human beings.

5:02pm: Wow, Billy Crystal and Chris Rock perpetrate the evening's first Brokeback Mountain joke. And with the race taboos thrown in! We're ready for three hours of edgy explorations of homosexuality!