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Who I Want at My Roast

Since I know one day you'll all want to roast me, I'm going to lay out exactly how I want the evening to go down--

First off, I want one of the Mowry twins to be my Roastmaster. I don't care which one...although if you could get Tamera, that would be preferable.

Secondly, I do not want a SINGLE MEMBER of the cast of California Dreams there. Not a single one! Don't cross me on that, or you'll regret it.

Thirdly, make sure Suri Cruise is the last roaster of the night, because trust me, she'll have the good shit.

Fourthly...Fourthish...Whatever, Fourth: I don't want anybody making fun of my Bejeweled Addiction, or how they found me locked in my house surrounded by Domino's boxes, hitting the Enter button on my keyboard and talking to my James Lipton doll.

Fifth, I want to sit on a throne shaped like that nun who used to critique paintings on public television.

Sixth, Meg Ryan is going to say a few things, and by that time she'll be eighty and senile, so just be kind and laugh regardless of what she says. Poor thing.

Seventh, I want a gong and a mallet in case anybody tanks.

Eighth, when one of the Mowrys who will be Roastmaster-ing me (Tamera, Tamera) introduces Heather Locklear, she is to refer to her as "Goddess Divine of All Things Holy."

Ninth, instead of giving a speech, I'm going to insult everyone in the room to the tune of "Get Into My Car" by Billy Ocean.

Tenth, and lastly, don't let anybody talk about how insane my amazing body is...

...I'm sensitive about it.

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