Monday, August 08, 2005

Interview with a Vamp (no, that's it...just 'vamp') Part 1

I love being interviewed - well, except for being interviewed for a job, which I hate, and which I am, by the way, still awaiting word on...
But here's an interview that I can get immediate resolution on. Amy over at Inherent Passion (which is an awesome blog and you must visit it soon) offered to interview me because I'm so damned interesting. Well, okay...she offered to interview anyone, and because I'm so damned boring, I begged her to toss me a bone. She did, and I present to you Part 1 of 5 in the series, Interview with a Vamp.

1. You have a private conversation with George W. Bush for fifteen minutes and he is REQUIRED to do at least one thing you tell him without question. Can you give us a synopsis of the conversation and what the one thing would be, without of course having to kill us?

One thing? What the fuck do you mean, "one thing"? How do you ask the man who has spent more time this term on his ranch than I've spent masterbating, ONE SINGLE THING? But okay... I'll pick one. I'll even pick an easy one.

Me: George the Lesser, please tell me why you haven't fired Carl Rove yet?

His Illustrious Impotency: Turd Blossom? Now, Funky... why would I fire the man responsible for placing me in this office?

Me: W, I though Billy Graham said that God placed you in this office?

Shrub: God? Oh hell no... He don't like me one little bit. *snicker* But don't tell His fan club. They think I'm His Son.

Me: Monkeyboy, are you avoiding my question?

The Resident in Chief: Yes, Mr. Gannon, you have a question for me?

Me: Porgie, there isn't anyone else in the room.

Dubya: Hey Funky, look what I can do *jumps up in the air like Stuart from Mad TV and wiggles his fingers*


Dumbed-ya: Ha! That's it - that's my one thing. Condi, get this bitch out of my office.

Really - that's the conversation as it took place in my brain. I really don't expect him to answer a question directly in my fantasies either.

Tomorrow's question:

2. OK, you and I have decided to load up the families into our respective minivans (what? I have one, don’t you?) and drive toward each other. We shall meet somewhere in the middle of our respective locales traveling at a speed of, oh wait, it’s not a word problem, it’s a QUESTION!! Where we will meet and how will we torture our husbands and children while we’re there?