So last night I found out my identity was stolen. And not just by some kid who saw a number -- I'm talking a calculated group of thieves snatched up everything on me and used it to go to town. It's times like these where I wish I could kick ass like Jason Bourne; I wish I could hunt down these awful awful people one by one and force them to watch The Hottie or the Nottie for 17 days straight, non-stop. If you've never had your ID stolen, it sort of feels like being raped by the devil. I feel violated, I feel alone, and I feel like I need a hug. Actually, I feel like a naked Lindsay Lohan -- all doped up, looking for help, but not really sure where to begin or how to pick up the broken pieces.
And you think to yourself -- why would someone do this? Why are there people in the world who feed off screwing up other people's lives. And these people probably have families and friends -- some of whom may or may not know what's going on behind closed doors. Heck, some of them may even read Cinematical when they're not selling your social security number on the internet. And if you are reading this, Mr. or Mrs. Identity Thief, I want you to know that you haven't crushed my dreams of posing naked for Vanity Fair or New York Magazine at some point down the line. That will happen! Just not today. Because I've been on the phone with the bank wishing you a long and painful death.
But hey, we're live-blogging the Oscars this Sunday night! So check out how we're preparing for the big night right ... over ... here.