Chris, Chris, Chris...
Did you
have to say all that just as I was trying to have a drink of coffee???
The first year I won, I started drowning my sorrows at about twelve noon in preparation for not winning anything. (Remember, I had several years of experience to draw on here.) So, by the time the awards had started I had drunk myself under the table, been removed from the ceremony by security guards, and arrested by some of Metropolis's finest. I sort of have a hazy recollection of throwing up on an Inspector Henderson's shoes and causing a... what do you call it...? Oh, yeah. A breach of the peace.
Mind you, that uniformed officer should never have left his squad car unattended. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to sing those alternative words to God Save The Queen over the megaphone. Nor would I have been able to tell all the jokes about President Garner.
I woke up in the drunk tank three days later. Then I had to appear in court, was found guilty and fined. And then I was deported.
The next year I couldn't make the awards either. I'm blacklisted. That's what happens after deportation. I'm told the ban on my entry to the States might be lifted in around 2015, but that will depend on getting clemency from the President.
You owe me a new keyboard!
