It’s Oscar weekend. Usually my favorite night of the year from the first Blahnik on the red carpet to the last acceptance speech cut short for going over time. But this year I’m not in the mood. Maybe it’s because they had to borrow a host from the wax museum, or because there isn’t a single piece of bombast that will sweep the night, or maybe it’s because I’m bitter not be nominated for my screenplay that didn’t get made into a movie. I remember the first time someone I loved broke up with me. I knew I had a vital choice to make: to be bitter or to be happy that I had known great love.
I would like to thank my hand for scratching my ass. I would like to thank my 10th grade English teacher for asking me to touch him inappropriately, thus supplying a decade of disgust. I would like to thank my parents for fucking me up just enough but not ruining me completely. I’d like to thank everyone who ever lied to me, and this means you most of all; great material, babe. I don’t want to thank all the other wankers in the category. I will not assume you like me. I will not thank the Lord. ANd I promise that I will take this vote of confidence and twist it into something debased and degraded. Thank you.
Who are you going to thank?
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