We found the bloated bag of waste at a muffin shop somewhere in Northern London where he's been living since March. Wearing elephant shorts and 12-year old slippers, the little loser was seething with venom and regret. During the interview he munched on a stick of butter as well as a muffin.
US: How are you finding London?
C: What do you mean, ass hat? I found it. I’m here, aren’t I?
US: Yes, well. And the new show?
C: What?
US: Going well?
C: The show is going fine. I on the other hand seem to have a colon made of cheese cloth. I’m taking more antibiotics than Elsie the Cow. My lower intestine looks like the 405.
US: Inflammation?
C: Satan lives there!
US: Yes, you’ve had your issues…. How's the knee?
C: First of all, fuck yourself with a leaf blower you wedge of shit.
C: First of all, fuck yourself with a leaf blower you wedge of shit.
US: Well. Yes. And the knee?
C: The knee? The KNEE? It's like Allepo in there. There are refugees living in my knee. I haven't made it to the couch in five months. I'm on my tenth cane! The knee.
C: The knee? The KNEE? It's like Allepo in there. There are refugees living in my knee. I haven't made it to the couch in five months. I'm on my tenth cane! The knee.
US: And your role on the new show?
C: (mockingly mimicking) “And your role on the show.’ Jesus! Who writes these questions, Eichmann?
US: Ha ha.
C: The role is just swell if you’re not fond of speaking. My number on the call sheet Pi 3.22615718. I had a larger role when my sisters and I put on a play in our basement in 1957, you bivalve.
US: Plans for the future?
C: (shoving the rest of the butter down his gullet followed by the remaining muffin) I just want to see if I can digest this. Right now. That’s all I have.
1 comment:
Futirer????? Wow.
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