My Weekend at the Oscars

I had expected to spend the weekend at the Oscars, but there was a slight change in plans. Sir Ian McKellen and I decided to catch the C's game Friday when they played the Lakers. We were fortunate enough to be sitting right behind Jack. Mr. McKellen was fortunate enough to notice that as Jack bent over to pick up whatever was at his feet, his underwear was showing. In actuality, it wasn't, because Jack was wearing a blazer that covered his ass, but I'll let Ian tell the story as he saw it.

So anyway, he saw the exposed drawers (or rather, pulled up the back of the coat), and gave Jack a massive wedgie, practically lifting him off the ground. I didn't know what to do, so I stood up and yelled:

"That one was for you, Tommy! Go Green!"

We were asked to leave. Ian and I still went to the Oscars, but when he saw Jack again, all bets were off.

"That's right fucker," Mr. McKellen said. "You can't handle the truth: I shoved your drawers so far up your crack that you're still picking them out."

The security there tried to separate them, but Ian grabbed my mace out of my back pocket, and sprayed wildly, even hitting me with some. As I tried to clear my eyes, I felt his hand take mine and pull me away. We didn't stop running until we'd made it to a nearby McDonald's. I ordered us some food, and we sat in a booth.

"That was beautiful," he said. "Later, we'll go egg the apartment complex where those girls from The Hills live at."

Mads: My Night at the Oscars

I just got in today after a great night at the Oscars.

I had an in to one of the better after parties from my buddy Djimon Hansou. When I got there, I did a little 8-Ball's worth of pregame, and then found the Jaeger. I was in pretty good shape.

I had a conversation with Cameron Diaz, where I just could not fathom that she hadn't read Nostromo. She was a little uncomfortable with me when I tried to stuff a $25 Barnes and Noble gift card in her back pocket so she could go and buy it.

By the time I got over to the stereo, I had a strange desire to hear Sponge's "(Molly) Sixteen Candles". I stopped the song that was playing, and then messed up all the presets in getting my song on. Alan Arkin made the mistake of trying to help me. I turned on him and grabbed him by his collar.

"Sixteen candles down the drain… down the draaaaain… sixteen candles down the drain… down the draaaain… third place is you're fired!"

I waited for the other shoe to drop, but it didn't. Alan was too enamored with his own Oscar success that night, and all he did was pat me on the shoulder and laugh. The others were as close to as wasted as I was, and they started to act worse. It was a bad scene man, and I need to get out of there.

The last thing I remember, I was ordering four Big Mac extra value meals at a nearby McDonald's. I woke up in a beet farm with a 75-year old Chinese man who was playing SR-71's "Right Now" on an old, beat-up, beat box.