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Wardrobe choices would be unconventional.
The physical awards would be edible.
Elaborate compliments would be directed at deserving winners.
There would be victory laps.
The ladies would be vocal about unfavorable snubs.
A blatant disregard for all indie films would be displayed.
Food would be eaten.
A lot of food.
Especially waffles.
But definitely not salads.
Every detail would be meticulously planned out.
The show would not be filmed in high-def, obviously.
Green screens would not be used.
Both ladies would operate the show as a platform for leveraging gender equality.
Bold denouncements would be made.
Some inevitable catastrophe would cause the show to almost collapse.
Well-founded threats would be made.
Then there would be stress drinking.
And classy drinking.
And shots, just because.
Followed by drunken crying.
Outlandish dancing.
Shameless flirting.
Dramatic outbursts.
And diva storms.
But ultimately everyone would become aware of their poorly executed workout regimens.
At the end of the show, they would engage in self-praise.
Their exits would be equally boss.
Liz would have a three way with James Franco and his Japanese body, Kamiko.
Leslie would finally get it on with Joe Biden.
They would go there.
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