Dogs doing lists #20: Red Carpet Bombing

Dogs releasing a homemade catapult full of mangled bodies and insisting emphatically as the assembled members of the Academy are spattered in gore and viscera, “YOU ALL WORE IT BEST.”
Dogs waking with a start halfway through The Artist, enthusing, “This is AMAZING.”
Dogs gesticulating wildly with a microphone in a futile attempt to conduct a red carpet interview before the whirling blades of a humming wide-mouth wood chipper.
Dogs examining the extent of Jennifer Lopez’s exposed nipple under a nuclear microprobe and determining that at its boundaries, it is perfectly indistinguishable from the entire universe.
Dogs stringing Billy Crystal’s polished, gleaming skeleton up inside a chandelier, and noting archly to a fellow wizened patrician, “It takes me back to a simpler time.”
Dogs advancing the picture carousel to the slide showing the boundary at which the raw fact of Angelina Jolie’s exposed leg flesh becomes a socially desirable object, and turning to an absent audience to marvel, “…and you were there!”
Dogs freezing before the cold blue light of the teleprompter and asking in a moment of panic, “Do you guys know how to post videos to Facebook?” as 40 million viewers watching in their homes drone simultaneously in instantaneous response, “Do you guys know how to post videos to Facebook?”
Dogs indicating Bryce Dallas Howard and explaining to nearby distracted celebrity enthusiasts that she played Miss Hilly in The Help, the only racist woman in Jackson, Mississippi in 1963, according to the movie, and, not knowing what else to do, raising a digital camera slowly to take one skewed, blurry photo.
Dogs submitting to a peer-reviewed journal in physics a mathematical proof that Jennifer Lopez’s exposed left nipple in our reality is, in fact, Jennifer Lopez’s exposed right nipple in a mirror reality, and receiving a verdict of MAJOR REVISIONS AND RESUBMIT.
Dogs searching your face with longing passion, imploring, “Kiss me— Kiss me as if it were for the last time,” and clasping you ever so close as the doors to the awards ceremony open grandly inward onto a howling void, sucking microphones and bowties and gleaming teeth and hairdos and Who You’re Wearing and Whom You’re With and the red carpet and all the cameras and you, and you, and you violently into oblivion as everything everywhere turns to a single bright pinpoint of light which flickers for an instant before fading forever silently into the darkness.