Leonardo DiCaprio made his way to the microphone, shaking his head. He looked a little manic in fact, as he let out a high-pitched sound of disbelief. The smile stretched across his face, but in an odd way, he didn’t look very happy at all.
He crouched to put the Oscar on the floor. Then he stood up tall, leaning into the microphone. “I have two words for everyone tonight.”
“Fuck,” he said pausing to make a circle with his fist. He slipped his pointer finger into his fist, jerking it in and out, making what some might call a lewd gesture. “You.”
He pointed at everyone in the audience, laughing for a moment, then conveying a mere micro-expression of pain. His face twisted and turned, as he conveyed the best moments from each of his roles. The romanticism of Jack Dawson, the profane tragedy of Billy, the unhinged twistedness of Calvin Candie. All the characters welled up within him, subsumed him.
The spirit of True Art rushed through him, his eyes turned a bright red. His laugh became deep, dark, inhuman. He picked up the Oscar statue, crushed it with his bare hands. He looked out among the audience and said, “Your accolades mean nothing.”
Sitting at a table with other Oscar nominees, Kevin James shit himself.
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Thanks to Reddit user Starzajo for inspiring this story with the prompt, “Leonardo DiCaprio in a fit of rage begins to torpedo his own career by deliberately acting poorly and taking on bad films. He finally wins an oscar for starring in Paul Blart: Mall Cop 3.”