Article snippet: But if Washington is the Hollywood of anything, then the insufferably tedious White House Correspondents’ Association dinner held every year is, truly, the Oscars of Washington. Every spring, frumpy, ink-stained wretches squeeze themselves into ridiculously mismatched tuxedos and sequined gowns straining at the seams and — I am not kidding — walk across a plush red carpet to the snapping and flashing of cameras. These people are not known for their good taste. So, every year the cavernous halls of the Hinkley Hilton are thronged with champagne-swilling reporters and producers and pundits and all their favorite Washington sources, by which I mean “Democrats.”Sure, there are some Republicans peppered in there for appearance because, after all, Washington is all about appearances. The dinner reached its apex during the Obama administration, back when Washington and Hollywood LOVED their president. Actually, calling the White House Correspondents’ Association dinner the Oscars of Washington is an insult to Hollywood. Tinseltown has never seen such self-involved snobbery from so many superficial frauds. Saturday night’s performance was pure Washington media at its narcissistic finest. Olivier Knox — a giant bearded crybaby who leads White House Correspondents’ Association — wrote, directed and starred in the soap opera. “I don’t want to dwell on the president,” he began, sounding like Carly Simon. “This is not his dinner! It’s ours!” he cried. “And it should stay ours... Link to the full article to read more