Hathaway in the Final Stretch

They say that the hardest part of running a marathon is the last 0.2 miles of the 26.2 mile length.  I can't really say.  It has been over a decade since I've run one.  I've completed marathons where the last 13.1 miles were hell and I had to pull my depleted body over the finish line.  I've run others where I sailed across the final marker like some kind of fucking pimp daddy who was out for an afternoon stroll.  It all depends on how well you train, mostly.  The race is kind of an afterthought.  Speaking of which, winning an Oscar for playing Fantine was kind of an afterthought when Anne Hathaway first heard about the film adaptation getting the green light.  We are at that place in the race where we found Grandma Smurf this past Sunday sitting at the end of her bed in pajamas at the Loews Hollywood Hotel behind the Dolby Theater with a fag dangling out of her mouth and channel surfing for the BAFTA's.  "Joshua, where the fuck are you?  I can't find any British stations."  The young sprite broke the bad news to her after informing her that England was eight hours ahead, the ceremony was over, and the results were accessible on the internet.  He then preemptively ducked out of the room before she started grabbing items from the Mini-bar and throwing them at the television.

You see, Ms. Princess Diaries III is about at the 26.0-mile mark.  When George Clooney uttered her royal syllables in London on Sunday, she played the role of shocked recipient so well, she gave Kelly Clarkson's actually genuine reaction to winning a Grammy that same night a run for her money.  Little Oscared Annie kissed her husband, received props from Sally Field and someone who looked like Helena Bonham Carter, while walking up to the podium in her admittedly cute Burberry dress.  Bitch almost forgot to cash in on a warm embrace from the hottest man on the planet before she gave her speech.  She tried to make jokes again, like threatening to sing and giving a shout out to costar Eddie Redmayne who apparently had it coming out of both ends somewhere in the city thanks to food poisoning (or just expressing himself about Anne's win).  She acknowledged [her] cast and crew, hair and makeup artist Paul Gooch who had to play therapist to her whiny ass while doing up her face, her director, leading man, the studios, and producer Deborah Hayward.  This time, she decided to acknowledge all of the people responsible for Les Misérables before it was a movie, like the team behind the musical and then Victor Hugo, of course, who wrote the novel.  She ended with, "Thank you so much honey, I love you."  I'm assuming she was talking about her husband and not Hugo.  Unless she's into 19th-century French skeletons.  Is she going method for a possible role in Mr. and Mrs. Comfort?