I watched Deadpool twice on its opening night. There is a framed picture of a Deadpool alternate cover signed by the artist hanging in my living room right beside my wedding photo. I have six Deadpool Funko Pops at last count. WAIT. Seven when you count the stuffed one. I may have a problem, but no I do not have a problem.
When Deadpool broke records and made the box office its bitch, I was so very happy. When the marketing was top notch and continued well past the time period most films advertise, I was filled with immense glee. When Ryan Reynolds and the movie received Golden Globe nods, I cackled like the crazy person that I am. But that’s the Globes, the nutty cousin of the Academy Awards. The one that experimented in college and knits sweaters from cat hair. Shit just got real.
The Writers Guild of America nominated Rhett Rheese and Paul Wernick for Best Adapted Screenplay. That’s a big deal, kids. Also? ALSO? Deadpool was nominated for Best Picture by Producers Guild of America.
A film basically has to have a nod from the Producers Guild of America to be a real contender for an Oscar.
ALL OF MY DREAMS ARE COMING TRUE. Possibly. It isn’t a lock.
If Deadpool earn an Oscar nomination, you will never hear the end of it from me. If it wins? If you think I’m insufferable now, bahahhhahahahahahah!!!! TAKE THAT, SUPERMAN! NO OSCAR FOR YOU, DICK. HOW MY ASS TASTE, WOLVERINE??