Just 15 minutes before his call time on the red carpet, Jeremy Piven had just rolled home from a six-day bender, thrown on a shirt, covered up his hickeys with a random satin scarf he would try to call an "ascot," and had his mom refresh his hair plugs with some Elmer's glue. Fairly certain he still smelled like skunky booze and feet and pretty much positive he was still drunk, he resolved to go ahead run with it: Wave to the fans, blame his beer sweats on the heat, and wash off the tequila funk some other day.
Now, if only he could remember why he was holding the pointy and gold naked lady...
Ah, of course: for imitation body shots.
