Dear Mr. Michael Pitt,
The Academy of Television Arts and Sciences cordially invites you to attend the 63rd Annual Primetime Emmy Awards, to be held from 5PM – 8PM on the evening of September the 18th and the NOKIA Theater. Black Tie. Please R.S.V.P.
Dear The Academy of Television Arts and Sciences,
I, Michael Pitt, will be attending the 63rd Annual Primetime Emmy Awards with my date, birdlike model Jamie Bouchert. I understand your black tie dress code and I’m willing to wear a jacket, shirt and pants, but it’s simply ridiculous that you’d ask me to force myself into a pair of dress shoes.
You see, I’m trying very hard to cultivate the impression that I don’t give a fuck, and that’s hard enough to do when I have to sit in the same room as those cheery virginal twerps from Glee. How am I supposed to convey to people that I have a Bauhaus song stuck in my head when onstage in front of me is that manufactured cheeseball, Johnny Drama ? I mean, I don’t even know who Johnny Drama is. So understand that I’m really in between a rock and a hard place here, okay? I want to attend your event, but I also need for people to understand that I am above your event — so I insist on wearing the scuffed footwear of my choosing.
P.S. If the plumbing breaks, please don’t ask me to fix it. I’ve run into that problem in the past, and just because I’m wearing work boots, that doesn’t mean I’m actually a fucking handyman.