Not really.
Go back to Canada and the other two places.
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I might.
"It's over for us. If this oil comes ashore, it's just over for us," Rowell said angrily, rubbing his forehead. "Nobody wants no oily shrimp."
"Oh, That Wifey!"
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My dog.
4 comments:
HOLLYWOOD LOVES US! IT REALLY REALLY LOVES US! These movies would all be crap without editors!
I'm on strike till I get my honorary Oscar, dammit!
Thank you. Thank you. You commie, homo-loving sons-of-guns. I did not expect this, but I, and I want it to be very clear, that I do know how hard I make it to appreciate me often. But I am touched by the appreciation and I hoped for it enough that I did want to scribble down, so I had the names in case you were commie, homo-loving sons-of-guns. I would like to thank Bob Burden and the makers of Dolly Madison snack cakes. And this is in great due respect to all the nominees, but courageous artists, who despite a sensitivity that sometimes has brought enormous challenge, Mickey Rourke rises again and he is my brother. Thank you all very much.*
(What? I didn't get an award? I'm s'posed to go back to the other place? CRAP! I'm that guy who is halfway out of the seat when the other guy's name is called. Well, I don't care. Mickey Rourke rises again and he is my brother.)
*With a tip o' the hat to Sean Penn.
I'd like to thank all the little people. Billy Barty, Hank the Angry Drunken Dwarf, that guy who played Bananakafalatta, Randy Newman. Oh, wait. He just sang about short people....
Never mind. I'd just like to thank my homeboy Jesus and my second husband David Tennant.
Dammit! I just stepped on one of the little people by accident. My shoes will never be the same.
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