I'd like to thank the Academy for validating my place in the dramatic arts and for upping my per-picture price enough that I can open my own restaurant. It's a new concept. No name. Stars and babes only. If CAA or ICM or William Morris doesn't handle you--you don't get in. Mickey Rourke on his Harley, bringing drinks. Arnold has broadly hinted that he'll be the bouncer, at least on opening night. A back room behind the back room, screening dailies from the big-budget vehicles. This is going to put Aykroyd's joint out of business!
I'd like to thank the Academy for this--for making this award on the 27th day of the third month, because that makes 30--which is my Ying number on the Fate Index. I can just feel the energy releasing, because three-zero is the sacred digit according to the writings of Zora. Well, not the writings, actually--I have all the tapes and we, all of us in my Gobu, we get in a rhomboid kind of arrangement, standing on our heads, and we chant along with the Messenger. I'd like to thank my Messenger?
I'd like to thank the Academy; and as I stated here tonight, staring down at my feet in humility, I see my Nikes, and I remember my drama coach saying to me, "Just Do It!" But moments like this make your mouth so dry! Anybody got the refreshing taste of the real thing, Coca-Cola? Oh, right now I feel like I'm up in the clouds somewhere--in United's Friendly Skies, to be specific! Tomorrow, though, I'll be back down to Earth again, driving my Lexus, in the relentless pursuit of perfection that drives everyone in this industry. Speaking of industries, did you know Archer-Daniels-Midland is supermarket to the world?
Thank you again to the Academy. I say thank you, thank you, thank you--and my doctor says Mylanta!
I'd like to thank the Academy for giving me this award and giving the finger to my director--who I know for a fact was lobbying against my nomination and refused to participate in the ad campaign.
I just feel sorry for such a negative person. My every script suggestion--refused, even laughed at point-blank. He exercised some clause in his contract to prevent me from talking to the cinematographer. Made sure my villa was a mile from the location, knowing--knowing--I'm limo-phobic. Temper tantrums if I was late by so much as three hours.
Thanks to the Academy for reminding everybody that pictures are an interdependent discipline. That there's no room for prima donnas. And for understanding that I refuse to pose for photographs.*