Boring awards shows. Tonight you are graciously presenting what appears to be a golden bird of some kind to a hard-working, Hollywood writer at the Writer's Guild of America awards show. I'm guessing you are attending this soiree sans date because, let's face it, there probably aren't a ton of awesome ladies sitting around L.A. on a Saturday night just wishing they could get gussied up to attend an industry event that isn't even televised. As your friend, Jason, I would be willing to sacrifice my uber-exciting Saturday night plans to entertain you during the show. We could commiserate over the fact that HIMYM wasn't nominated in any category (blasphemy!); I could wipe drool from the corner of your mouth as you ogle the sexy cast of True Blood at the next table over; we could exhaust the supply of jokes that can be made about the new show Hung; and most importantly, we could very loudly root for Sesame Street to pick up a statuette in the children's show category. It's not only this show I would be willing to attend with you, Jason. If you are ever invited to judge the World's Ugliest Dog Contest, stump contestants as a panelist at Miss Gay America, or measure the length of the entries in Germany's Beard Growing Competition, I will be there to support you, ruler in hand. You're on your own for the Oscars, though. Just thinking about strapping myself into a fancy gown and sucking in my gut for that long walk down the red carpet makes me tired. I don't know how Kate Winslet does it.
Showing posts with label awards shows. Show all posts
Showing posts with label awards shows. Show all posts
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Reason 82
Boring awards shows. Tonight you are graciously presenting what appears to be a golden bird of some kind to a hard-working, Hollywood writer at the Writer's Guild of America awards show. I'm guessing you are attending this soiree sans date because, let's face it, there probably aren't a ton of awesome ladies sitting around L.A. on a Saturday night just wishing they could get gussied up to attend an industry event that isn't even televised. As your friend, Jason, I would be willing to sacrifice my uber-exciting Saturday night plans to entertain you during the show. We could commiserate over the fact that HIMYM wasn't nominated in any category (blasphemy!); I could wipe drool from the corner of your mouth as you ogle the sexy cast of True Blood at the next table over; we could exhaust the supply of jokes that can be made about the new show Hung; and most importantly, we could very loudly root for Sesame Street to pick up a statuette in the children's show category. It's not only this show I would be willing to attend with you, Jason. If you are ever invited to judge the World's Ugliest Dog Contest, stump contestants as a panelist at Miss Gay America, or measure the length of the entries in Germany's Beard Growing Competition, I will be there to support you, ruler in hand. You're on your own for the Oscars, though. Just thinking about strapping myself into a fancy gown and sucking in my gut for that long walk down the red carpet makes me tired. I don't know how Kate Winslet does it.
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