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The Journal of Literary Satire | Hastily Written & Slopilly Edited
Friday, June 13, 2003

Justin Timberlake's Acceptance Speech for the American Society of Composers, Authors, and Publishers "Songwriter of the Year" Award

by Bobby Rufferto

Society members, fellow composers, honored guests, and others … There are so many people that I need to thank for allowing me to be here tonight to accept this prestigious award.

First and foremost, I have to give props to my lord and savior Jesus Christ, who blessed me with this talent, the ability to sing and write, and the opportunity to show off my moves to the world. Word.

I got to give ups to my homegirl and my touring partner, Christina. Christina, you the bomb-diggity. Your brown hair looks so much more fly than that disgusting tramp that I used to date and her new brown hair.

I got to give some love to the other gentlemen that I share with, the boys of ‘N Sync. You boys should be up here with me. Your crisp dancing styles, your on-point singing and your phat beats only drive me, inspire me to new levels of inspiration and drivenness. You my boys.

Can I just give another shout-out to Christina, the greatest pop female singing sensation to hit the scene ever, of all-time, diggity-snap, yo. I don’t even think about anyone else, especially not any fake-breasted hos whose names rhyme with “Mitney Jeers.” Word.

I got to thank all the people who helped make this album possible, fo’ shizzle. Yo, my producer Harvey Mason, you the bomb, dog. My engineer, Andrew Coleman, you the best in the sound-engineering bidness, yo. You rock the soundboards like I rock the mike, you know what I’m sayin’? All right, baby. Gabe Schlessinger, my financial manager, you the fiziggity bobiggity shiznap!

I gots to give some more ups to Christina, my touring partner. She made me forget all about that no-good, Fred Durst-nailing, no-talent-having, Louisiana-raised, bleached, implanted, slave-for-me, piece of trash. Christina, you the woman. You’re beautiful, that’s for sure.

I got to thank my stylist, Mr. Raul, for telling me to shave the curls, baby. I dumped the ‘fro and now I’m here, getting hooked up with the mad bling, yo. Good times, Mr. Raul. I’ll be there for my appointment on Thursday.

I also gots to thank M.J., the gloved one, the moonwalker, the original king of pizzop, for allowing me to steal his schtick and make it my own. Word.

Most of all, I’d like to thank my moms for keeping me on the straight and narrow and off the mean streets of Orlando, no diggity. Moms, you helped me keep my eyes on the prize ands I would have never gotten to the New M.M.C. if it wasn’t for you. You my Ebony and my Ivory. I love you.

Finally, I’d like to give the biggest up there is to Bristina Spaguilera for… uh… I said … uh … I’m so gonna pay for this tonight.

Peace. I’m out.

Bobby Rufferto once broke his jaw on a Jawbreaker. Although it hurt incredibly, he is one to appreciate irony. He has not sued the confectioners. Do you think he should? He's conflicted: on the one hand, it hurt like hell; on the other, he now has a flip-top head which allows him to save money by buying a cheap, generic toothbrush instead of the pricey Reach toothbrush. Also, as a result, he can now entertain party guests by fitting a whole Magic 8-Ball into his mouth and shaking his head for your fortune. While we're on the subject, he did not particularly enjoy the movie Jawbreaker, but he sure digs that Rose McGowen. Oooh, she's naughty. Mr. Rufferto lives in New York, works in New Jersey, and teaches tango lessons in Iowa.