As I do every year, last night I attended the Academy Awards. Due to the recent breakup with my longtime girlfriend, Sissy, I elected to take a professional escort - a common practice for single individuals at this and other high-level celebrity events. My date was an exotic and beautiful Vietnamese girl named Miso Hhoni. I picked her up at her apartment and we immediately hit it off despite her not speaking English or me speaking Vietcong.
Thanks to one of my wealthy friends who owed me a favor, we arrived in style in a late model Buick LaCrosse with 23" wheels and a thumping stereo. I was blinded by camera flashes as I helped Miso exit the Buick's luxurious back seat (later I noticed she wasn't wearing any underwear, but hey, in this city all publicity is good). All eyes were on us - Miso radiantly draped in a daring, sassy number by Blanch Blechstine that I provided, and me rocking a Premier Signature Edition by Men's Warehouse. Originally worried that Miso's dress might be too risque for the current hyper anti-sex "me too" Hollywood climate, I was relieved to see that most of the women there, as usual, were dressed like sluts - no problem.
As we made our way down the red carpet, we were deluged with questions from the assembled media, and I did my best to give them what they wanted while Miso mugged for the cameras, playfully exposing a breast while darting her tongue through a "V" she made with her fingers (a Vietnamese sign for "hello"). I noticed Ryan Seacrest looking for celebrities to interview so I grabbed my date and chased him into a corner where he could interview us.
My attorney told me the shame and embarrassment I suffered from being pepper-sprayed by Ryan Seacrest then frog-marched to a police command post in front of thousands of people "will buy you a Miso every night," whatever the hell that means. One thing I do know is that the gushy apology letter and two tickets to "The Shape of Water" I received this morning from the Academy aren't going to come close to making up for the selfie that little whore Miso just sent me of Seacrest prancing around a hotel room in his birthday suit. Not even close.