Excuse Me Everyone, My Career Just Exploded All Over My Pants.

by Leonardo DiCaprio 

Goddamit! Not again. This happens to me all the time and, honest, I can't say why. Here I am just minding my own business, talking to my agent over the phone and--without shaking it or dropping it or anything--bam! my career just explodes all over my pants. Brand new Gucchi wool-crepe trousers, FYI. Trousers Martin Scorcese sent over for Earth Day (Martin Scorcese the director, not the toy-banjo retailer). Goddam...Sheesh-Kabob! Seriously, what the "F"? I see people like Ben Foster and Michael Richards drop their careers all the time. Just let them, "hey! oops!" fall on the ground and roll around a bit and dent and then, later, open them up and, whatta you know, nothing happens. Not me, though. I'm just doing my thang, not worrying about my career at all and here it comes up and explodes on me. Son-of-a-gun. 

I can't help it when my agent calls me up and tells me, "thank you Leo, thanks for being Leo DiCaprio." If he sends me rich chocolates and camomile in the mail, that's not my fault. If Daniel Day-Lewis sends me a scarf for Christmas, why blame me? Honestly, what did I do to deserve that kind of treatment? I know I grossed 56.3 million dollars at the box-office in 2006 but, golly, that was two years ago!

And the scripts! The scripts!!!! When will they stop! Ughhh! Look at me, look at my hands, Honest-Holly, I've got a stack of scripts this big. What am I supposed to do with all of these things? Sure, I dump a pile over at Ryan Gosling's every Saturday morning but that only gets me two, maybe three Scorcese-heads full of grade-A, riveting, Hollywood-homer scripts about charming loners and the worlds they're shut out from off my hands. I could probably dump a few trashbags of them over at Matt Damon's but that's just silly, right? Why me, God, why me!

And if I get nominated for one more Oscar I think I'm going to throw up. It makes me sick, really: all the praise and the accolades and the pats on the shoulder. Not to mention the hugs. It's like: "Hey Everyone. Stop hugging me, okay? I get it. I was great in Gangs of New York." And now this pants crap. I remember, when Scorcese called me on the phone about Gangs my career exploded instantaneously. Just all of a sudden. All over my desk and my computer and everything. At least James Cameron had the decency to let my career explode all over my pants after we rapped preliminary shooting. But that was a serious pain in the petunia. Every time a thirteen year old girl saw Titanic for the eighth time my career just erupted on me, wherever I was. That got kind of embarrassing. 

Up! Here's Tobey MacGuire calling. He probably wants me to team up with him and produce a small but compelling HBO series about detective cats in Myanmar. Okay. I got go. See you everybody at Revolutionary Road!