If I were an Oscar-Nominee at the Oscars

I'm sitting at the Oscars dear; I've never looked so fine.
My dress, my hair, my make-up and my arse, they look divine.

My date is handsome too, of course but just the right amount;
He compliments me nicely but of course, I'm the one that counts.

The red-carpet is rather boorish, with the screaming of my name.
Honestly, like those fans have never seen one with such fame.

The cameras give me headaches and the shouting 'Over here!'
I'd rather they just hand it over so I could disappear.

I'm forced to mingle; to say hello to the others in my category,
saying 'There you are!' and 'Look at you!  Don't you look so pretty!'

But now the show has started, and all I do is wait.
They save the best for last, so I'll just anticipate my fate.

It's finally time to annouce the winner, to say my pretty name.
The famous actor from the lastest flick is ready to exclaim.

I blush a lot and look so shocked; it was me who he had called!
I rise and make my way to stage, trying not to fall.

I say I haven't prepared a speech, but I've got one in my head.
And they best not play the music or those producers will be dead.

"Oh, I can't believe I've won it!  I didn't think I would!
I'd like to thank two-hundred-forty people, if I could."

I fake tears and clutch my trophy; another sob for good measure.
I walk the wrong way off the stage grasping my golden treasure.

They all clap half-heartedly and finally it's done.
Unfortunately, by next year, they won't remember who has won.

The End

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