Someday, They Will Clap for My Death at the Oscars
Watching the extremely boring and dull end to the Oscars last night, it was hard to forget those Hollywood stars and starlets that have left us this year. Especially because they force it in your face, as if looking at James Cameron’s rapidly deteriorating smug face and wispy hipster haircut isn’t reminder enough that we will all someday die.
I realized something as the yearly “In Memoriam” tribute ran, running the gamut from some sound technician you’ve never heard of, to some washed up actress you never knew existed. As I understand it, the audience cheers louder in accordance with which person they are the happiest died. This is really the only logical conclusion one can reach.
For instance: people are really fucking happy that Michael Jackson died, while they are deeply saddened that Army Archerd passed away.
And as I watched this, wiping the Cheeto crumbs from my fingers unto my bare chest, I realized something. If I play my cards just right, someday people will clap for my death at the Oscars.
Getting the Biggest Cheer on the Oscars ‘In Memoriam’ Segment Tip #1
My first line of business is to get some big roles. I’ve contacted my agent. He’s between homes right now, so he said it might take him a while to get back to me, but I think that will only motivate him to net me that big job even faster. That and his addiction to methamphetamines.
Getting the Biggest Cheer on the Oscars ‘In Memoriam’ Segment Tip #2
Second, I’ll need to do something really fucking awful, so that they cheer and hoot when they show my image from whatever shit-fest family drama I acted in. Like Michael Jackson, he did some inappropriate things with children, and look how much people jeered him at the Oscars. I’m thinking something along similar lines, but with animals. Any suggestions? Platypus and armadillos top the list so far.
Getting the Biggest Cheer on the Oscars ‘In Memoriam’ Segment Tip #3
Finally, I”ll want to have one night stands with as many hot actresses as possible. Women statistically outlive men consistently, so most likely they’ll still be pissed that I dumped them, and still be acting when I pass on due to “natural causes” (hello prescription med overdose!!). Those old bitches will really give me the cat call. And you know what? They’ll still be hot for me.
I’ll keep Sporting Hipster readers updated on my progress…