The 1000th Post Acceptance Speech

Please, sit down! Sit down! Stop it. Too kind. You are too kind.

Well, we made it this far! So far.

BEAT

You are reading the 1000^th post here to The Rundown and aren't you lucky?

BEAT

Technically, 1000 don't show up because several are still in Draft form and they do not appear on the blog itself, but only a mere handful. For all our purposes here today, this is the 1000^th post on The Rundown and we couldn't be drunker.


We've gone through many changes over these past 10 years or so - from a lowly Dreamweaver template on a free GeoCities site to our very own domain and website; from one day hoping for kids of our own to settling for marrying a carpenter named Brady and adopting a Himalayan Whistle-Kid we affectionately dubbed "Lime," in honor of Our Great Mother Earth - or Nature, I forget.

Of course, his real name is something else, but it has no vowels and no one has time for that shit.


From "hanging out" and chatting with and about disillusioned young things like strippers and porn "stars" to musing on real scum and sleazy industries, like Lindsay Lohan and Hollywood.

But here we are.


BEAT (tears)


I am sorry to say that Marty Shroveman is no longer with us. He isn't dead, he just came to the conclusion that working with Gentiles was a bust.

B.B. Durning, our manager, has taken up the slack while we search for a new agent, and we couldn't be happier with the results. From all of us to all of you, B.B.:

we just can't accept that many collect calls from prison.


To my future ex-husband, Brady, I'd just like to say that... you?

BEAT

You are my heart.

BEAT

Standing up here tonight, with these hot stagelights in my face and these hot tears running down my face? I almost wish I'd put your name on the deed to the B&B.

Live and learn, big guy - we, all, live and learn.

But I'm not here to feel sorry for myself. No, this is a night of celebration.

So stop crying, Brady.

Big fag.


To my adopted son, Lime, I'd just like to say:

"Retarded" in one man's language translates to "gifted" in mine.

And the only reason you aren't up here with me on this very stage tonight is because drool shows up under these gels and I got a deposit on this tux.


I'd like to thank my future ex-girlfriend, Lindsay, and all her "Gal Palz" for making my job so easy - so damned easy! Easier than... well, real damned easy.

I'd also like to thank the local law enforcement of Decatur County, TN, for having balls of steel and just doing whatever in the hell y'all want, as opposed to, like, your jobs or upholding the law or any such nonsense as that. As one of you said to me while I was locked-up for 7 days on a 12-hour charge, "Don't start somethin' you can't finish."

BEAT

You? You are a bunch of fat, Southern-fried crackers. No - no, really - I mean that.

BEAT


I'd also like to thank all the companies, sponsors, friends, readers, and bloggers, who have helped us get this far, but I'm running short on time.


So, last but not least, I'd like to say:

Here's to cheap beer and expensive cigarettes, paying too much for comic books you aren't going to read, learning how to eyeball hotties while shopping with your girlfriend without getting caught by either of them, and being better than you are famous.


BEAT


And for everyone out there who thinks this industry is full of a bunch of self-centered, self-involved ne'er-do-wells whose only job it is to look good in print and on camera? All of you who think this whole thing is just some fakery, some facade - some trick of the light or camera or clever wordplay? For all of you who say that those of us up here, doing what we truly love to do, are only here to make money?

All I have to say is:


I am also available for children's parties, bah-mitzvahs, and special occasions involving live, domesticated animals of a docile nature.


Thank you and goodnight.


BOW or WAVE (play to crowd reaction)