Wouldn’t that be Cool?

When you’re watching the Oscars, and someone gives a really lame acceptance speech, do you ever wish you could be in the middle of the audience and just get up and say: “Good sir, I should compare your speech to a mindless knave coaxing his donkey to pull his cart of beans into the local village. If you had any amount of spunk, or spree, any amount what-so-ever, you might have indulged us with a more vivacious, or if anything more coherent show of your disposition at the present instance. I myself could give a variety of spicier soliloquies that would put to everlasting shame the one you just vomited upon us.

For example. ..

Cocky: Damn straight baby! Uh! How you like me now?!

Unappreciative: You know, I never really wanted this piece of crap anyway. Anybody want this? George Clooney, you didn’t win anything, you want this?

Sexually Frustrated: You know, I’m going to end up giving this little guy baths, dressing and undressing him, even sleeping with him, thank you!

Politically Active: I will not accept this award until politicians stop behaving like animals and screwing everything in sight.

Self-demeaning: When are we going to stop awarding all these piss-ass-soap opera dropout-Hollywood sensationalist-Barbie doll models and start recognizing the real artists out there?

Ever-bitter: I’d like to thank my dog Lucy, Frank the director, my parents, and most of all, Mrs. Bottleheimer fort keeping me after gym class, locking me up in a closet and ha ring her way with me. I told you I wouldn’t forget.

Success Story: You know, I remember a year ago today, 1 was in some back alley, with a needle in my arm, prostituting myself, while smoking crack. I was so glad when you paid me to do the same thing in a movie. And now you’ve given me this award for it. I love you!

100% Male: Ya! I’d like to thank the leading lady’s husband for letting me make love to his wife, in front of the camera, several times. Well, you can have her back now.

Pseudo-modest: I remember when I was like most of you out there, burnt up, washed out. Or like the rest of you who arc watching this on T.V., meaningless nobodies with nothing better to do than watch people like us walk around in our glitzy dresses and tuxedos, while you eat your T. V. dinners. I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten where I was going with this…

The realist: There’s only one key to success in Hollywood, and that’s “spread legs on the casting bed!”

This, poor sir, is just a drop in the ocean of possibilities you had before you. But, as you obviously are a man of little thought, you chose to make our ears heavy with your pitiful drivelings.” That would be cool, huh? I mean, if you could do that.