KEITH: Come on, pookie face, give the cameras some love.
NICOLE: No.
KEITH: Awwwww, who?s being a crankypants?
NICOLE: Shut up.
KEITH: Are my little Crabby Drawers? Are you?
NICOLE: Stop it! I just? I don?t want to break my streak.
KEITH: What streak?
NICOLE: The one where I wear something perfect when I?m your date to something, and then go all crazy when it?s you bein the plus-one.
KEITH: My widdle teeny weeny Snitty Nicky! Don?t be such a poopy pants. Let your public decide.
NICOLE: I don?t know?
KEITH: Pleeeeeeease, sugarlips? My little pumpkinny-wumpkinny?
NICOLE: Okay, fine, but only so you?ll never call me that again.
NICOLE: HERE. Are you happy, Chest Tat?
KEITH: So happy. You?ve got fur shoulders and a snakeskin body stocking. It?s like a DREAM. Why are you not on some deliciously campy nighttime soap opera?
NICOLE: Because those shows don?t exist anymore.
KEITH: Change that! You?re NICOLE KIDMAN.
NICOLE: I just? I?m not sure this really LOOKS very good. It?s a bit? flimsy. And my hair seems depressed. Even YOUR hair seems depressed, actually.
KEITH: Well, sometimes my hair gets mad at my soul patch. They squabble. Kids, you know?
NICOLE: Do you mind giving me a moment alone to think?
KEITH: Sure, peachtree. Whatever you want.
NICOLE: Hi, America. Now that I?m not married to Scientology, I can come to you earnestly and pray that you really like this. Because frankly, I kind of bungled most of awards season, and I have a small baby at home, so I can?t really solve my problems with tequila right now. So please. Like it. I QUIT BOTOX FOR YOU. LOVE MEEEE.
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