From: The Lost Interviews, Part 88
It means you’re a vicious, miserable son of a bitch. It means you’re ready to set anybody up behind their back and cause them to fall. And, if vainglorious petty evil and pretentiousness are the measure and the standard, and if you’re doing it for your own self advancement, then that’s arguably justifiable, I guess.
But you’re such a miserable, miserly, debilitated, decrepit, twisted toad, that setting up for a fall someone who’s completely innocent and decent simply comes naturally to you; doesn’t it? And what can we conclude from that?
That you stab people in the back – people that you fool into trusting you, getting them to think you’re just a good old jovial uncle-like character, who waddles and wobbles along, making one rasping bad joke after another, accompanying them down to the pub for a beer, who has their best interests in mind – just for the hell of it, just for the sport of it – isn’t that so, you cut of miserable, lying filth?
You look to destroy people just for the fun of it. Because it pleases you to do so. And claiming you’re a writer is just part of your grand, sick, delusional game – a game you think you can win; nay, what say I? A game you’re absolutely certain you will win, while the people you set up will fall like so many chess pieces – because they’re in your way.
They’re in your way and you can’t stand them – the jealousy, the envy, it just chokes you, red, until the blood’s spurting out your ears – because they’re truly talented, and industrious, with the promise of a real creative future ahead of them, as real writers, if they’re simply left alone to develop their own talent, or even given a little help and real well-meaning direction and encouragement along the way – but no… no, no, no – Welsh Losser just won’t have that, now; will he?
You don’t even think about it. You just strike and lash out, like a lizard, like a snake, underhanded and vicious, to remove them, to make space for your own foul and worthless earthly presence, to insinuate yourself out toward the front, into a penultimate position of authority, just under the boss, so you have almost all his power but none of his responsibility – incredibly, uncannily Ferret-like – to convince others that you’re the real article, while the guy whose career, and maybe life, you ruined, was, you then tell everyone, the real untrustworthy, scheming and potentially dangerous imposter – although that describes exactly YOU! Amazing, simply fucking amazing! – because it comes natural to you and it gives you a good, warm, tingling sensation inside – makes you all self-satisfied and powerful-feeling; doesn’t it?! Answer the question, Fester! Isn’t that so?!
Why, this is nothing short of character assassination! Outrageous! I forbid you to publish this interview, I argugulguargahlblagargulargablgrhuglplaaarrrgaaa (here, the interviewee becomes so wroth, he begins shaking all over, sweating grease and frothing at the mouth, his usually rust-grated voice, which doesn’t know when to shut up, degenerating to its most natural state of guttural demonism deep in the throat out of the blackest depths of the eternal truth roiling restlessly in the subconscious), I’ll sue – aaaargulgalubplaguuuraggrraaa – I’ll hit you with a libel suit so bad you’ll – hrrggllablplblagurragqoclokkkrrr – (and then he starts to change his shape, losing his shortish pug arms, which fuse with his multi-fat-layered ribs and the stub legs come together to form a tail. Naturally, hissing from the mouth, instead of fierce garbling, ensues).
Well, that’s more like it. You wretched, devious, petty, evil, loudmouthed, miserable, bragging, lying, cheating, stealing, backstabbing, two-faced, delusional, hubris-filled, petty jealous, underhanded, arrogant, vain, full of yourself, head-wobbling, gravel-gurgling, trying to pull the wool over, rug out from under, scheming, Ferret-compatible, sneaking, stinking, gutless, slinking, slithering, phony, mountebankian, quack-hacking, shamming, forging, counterfeiting, crooked, fraudulent, deceiving, swindling, scam-arting, equivocating, stinking, lousy, prevaricating, deliberately misstating and misrepresenting others’ words and arguments, backstabbing, lowlife, scheming, completely untrustworthy, distrustful, self-seeking, selfish, self-aggrandizing, highly Ferret-interchangeable, Ferret-cooperating, comingling, slush-fund-laundering, cheating, stealing, backstabbing, miserable, weasel-and-rat-like, low-down, despicable, sick, slobbering, slavering, salivating, perverted, lascivious, pruriently sick-minded, frustrated, flaccid, anal-retentive inferiority-complexed, vengeful, twisted, abnormal, walleyed, conceited, shifty, freakish, creepy, tumor-like, leechlike, parasitic, bloodsucking, host-devouring, no-talent, lying, filthy, sneaky, no-good, narcissistic, lying, two-faced backstabbing, seditious, traitorous, treasonous, cowardly, morally and physically weak, paranoid, hidden sneaky shifty one-eyed, grease-trembling, stinking, malformed, half-mannish, you coagulated slab of sewage, you porcine wad of super-refined scum, you washed-out plug of canalization, you diseased gray ejaculate, you inkish pipe sludge, you gullet-gorged garbage, you chunk of un-disgorged vomit, you gooey gob, you esophageal phlegm, you amphibian glob, you reptilian carcass, you slough justice and shed truth with your every skin, you scrap heap, you lump of shit, you fragment of self-fooling futility, you failed self-fulfilling prophecy, you doomed fecal-faced parcel of pap, you shred of perdition, you corrupt aberration of foul fishy troll-like slime.
This shall not go on! U-a-u-a-u-a-u-a…
Yeah, we’ll be the judge of that. Oh, and by the way; why do you look like a pedophilic ice cream man? You corroded curmudgeon, you foul infection, you debris-encrusted abscess, you morally bankrupt sore. You crusty, voided seeping secretion. You malodorous alluvial suppuration. You rotten-egg-stenched dripping viscous gel-like discharge of pusillanimous pus. You rancid oozing miscreant wedge of inflammation.
O a uh o a aarr uuuhh hem em gur u ooww…
You know, you’re such a piece of worthless shit, I have a mind to kill you.
Wha-who-wa-wu-no-ha-ha-what do you mean ar ar – that’s not funny anymore. Let me go. I demand, I demand –
Yeah, you think you can get out of here – you warped foreshortened cache of trash? You think you can get past those steel-reinforced doors?
I’ll call the police. I’m recording this. I demand my lawyer.
Hey, Smith – get me the knife!
What’s that?
I said, get me the knife – from the kitchen – the big one!
Get it yourself!
Hey (to Losser), you fat sick stump of a fuck, I may get that knife, or I may not get that knife…
Ur a ar, this has gone too far, let me out, I demand, let me out, I’m going, I’m a ar oo aaarr a
Yeah, like I said, I might just get that knife. But if I don’t, do you think the co-producer of this show and my colleague, John Smith – that’s right, the angry crusading and violent longshoreman sitting behind the curtains in the soundproof room back there, currently enjoying an egg salad sandwich and a chunk of cheddar cheese – do you think HE would just simply let you go?
A oo u ar eh er a eh – no, no, stop this, stop this this instant, right now, I demand, it’s not funny anymore, open those doors, let me out, I demand, I’ll have you, I –
Well, first thing, say you’re not a writer.
No, no, I can’t say that because I AM a writer! I’m a writer, I’m a writer, I’m a writer, I’m a writer, Kyiv-based, expat writer, an American, the only one, I’m a writer and an author, and I’m an artist, I’m an artist and a writer, I’m a writer, I’m a writer, I’m a writer –
Hey, Smith!
Whaddya want?!
Get me that damned knife!
I said get it yourself!
You don’t know what I have to deal with, here!
No, I think I do!
I’m a writer, a writer, an artist, an author, a writer, a writer, I am, writer, a, I’m the writer, writ large with a capital R – writer, ha-ha, ho-ho, writer, writer, writer –
Get me that knife!
Get it yourself!
Aaaaaa-aaaaaa-aaaaaa-yeeeaaaaaa-aaaaaa-aaaaa-aaaaarrrggghhh…!!!
Filed by Jack Step, February 15, 2013