Starfuckers Anonymous

My first admission is that I watched no more than ten minutes of The Academy Awards.  My best good friend Emilio came over on Sunday and we drank beer and played XBox for most of the evening.

My second admission is that I saw Tilda Swinton win her award and can’t remember anything she said in her speech.  Some idiot gadfly said her speech was funny.  I didn’t find anything funny about The Oscars.  The entire program is nothing but a glamorous circle-jerk.

My third admission is that I don’t think George Clooney is as great as he or anyone else thinks.  Hollywood’s manly man is nothing but a creation.  He’s a trendy mixed drink.  He’s a clever commercial.  Don’t get me wrong.  I still want to drink with the guy.  As far a man-crush goes, he’s not even on the radar.

I admit I have a man-crush on Daniel Day-Lewis.  He kissed George Clooney, but he opted for the cheek.  I can kiss him on the lips.  I’m not embarrassed.  I’m kissing my favorite actor on the lips.  It’s not gay, but it could be … hee hee hee.  Seriously, I think the man has done so many great things in film.  A kiss is the greatest form of showing affection.  I earnestly respect the man for perfecting the craft and choosing roles that are challenging and colorful.

The fifth admission is more of an indictment.  Diablo Cody!  Step before the judge!  Hello, Ms. Edgy Writer!  You write a clever little movie like Juno and win over all of the so-called hipsters with your shit.  Good for you.  That’s not your crime.  Weeping over a silly prize and pandering to the writers is your crime.  You looked pathetic up there.  I dream of winning an Oscar.  I even practice my acceptance speech in my dreams.  That’s not the point.  I won a vibrator on silentpillow and frankly … that prize is greater than an Oscar.  Why?  A vibrator is useful!  An Oscar is a gaudy piece of trash.  I would try to bite the head off the statue in hopes there’s chocolate underneath.  Fuck it!  I’ll melt the statue down and make my own Oscar Grill.  We don’t write for awards.  We shouldn’t write for awards.  We write because we love to write.  We write because we want to entertain people and piss them off and provoke and fuck around.  I write because I want more Asian pussy.  Give me an award attached to a Japanese bird!  No!  That’s not right!  I write because I write.  I guess I’m full of shit, too.

Awww, shucks.  Let’s hand out awards to anyone for doing anything.  Who’s the best?  I’m the best.  Disagree?  Here’s an award– Best Objector.

Thank You and Thank Me.

Supplemental: I tripped out when I saw that scene from No Country for Old Men during The Academy Awards with Tommy Lee Jones driving south on San Mateo Blvd. headed towards Central Ave.  Right by New Mexico Taxation and Revenue.  There’s a Bank of the West on the bottom floor.  I nearly picked up a tranny hooker on that corner!  New Mexico is a great place to film a movie after all.