Interview with the Stampire

On my birthday a couple weeks ago (June 24), I sat down with my old buddy Kelly, aka 7masterheathen, writer for Psycho Carnival, and drank to celebrate another year that has passed. Boy, did we drink. It was only 9 am, but who cares? Kelly asked me to tell my epic life story: love, betrayal, loneliness, hunger and thirst. To be honest, I never knew what life was until it ran out in a red gush over my lips, my hands! So THIRSTY. So HUNGRY. Drinking certainly gives ya the munchies. I could barely keep myself from feeding on everyone in the bowling alley.

Except they all reeked of warm stale beer...and armpits..and sweaty moldy sockless feet in rented bowling shoes. Uuuuhhhggghh! I hate that smell most of all. Worse than the smell of piss on an expensive Persian rug. Like my expensive Persian rug two thugs urinated on some time ago, for example.

Anyway, in our Big Lestatowski moment together, Kelly asked me 5 questions..kind of like the game "20 Questions", the original online game that spawned the 2004 Toy of the Year produced under license to Mattel...only this game was different. Because that game sucked big whale penis. And lately so does BP representative, Doyle Slick. There I go again..getting sidetracked.

Here is the interview in lurid detail. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Kelly: Hey, Static. What's up, dude?

Static: For all intensive purposes, the sky. And also my chicken dung fertilizer stock just went up this morning. So things are certainly looking up!

Kelly: That's nice. So anyway, I invited you here to accost you with some questions that require deep thought. Are you up to the challenge?

Static: Not really, but I can't say no to a challenge. It's a huge fault of mine. Once on a dare, I almost videotaped you and I sharing a Slip 'n Slide coated with butter, in nothing but our jock straps. I had second thoughts when I considered that it could possibly end up on the internet.

Kelly: In case you were wondering - the video you mentioned does actually exist as opposed to it having been an irrelevant request. So take that any way you'd like.

Static: Is it on the internet?

Kelly: Well..no. But that can be arranged.

Static: No. No. I don't think that'll be necessary. Now stop with this tomfoolery..I'm getting bored.

Kelly: Very well. You're never one to beat around the bush, unless you're feeling extra randy. So..down to business.

Static: Speaking of extra randy, what the hell is Steve Buscemi doing here? You know how I get around celebrities.

Kelly: I have no idea. But I needed a bowling partner and he happened to be hanging out so...

Static: Steve Buscemi! What's up, mang..what are ya doing here?

Steve Buscemi: Not much, dude. I don't remember much. I was on a bender this weekend and I just came to when you guys sat down and rudely interrupted my little nap, you fuckers.

Static: Umm. Well shall we pretend you aren't here then?

Steve Buscemi: Shouldn't be hard to do. You were doing a fine job of it 5 minutes ago.


Kelly: So Static..over here, buddy. YOOHOO?! Our interview, remember?

Static: Right, right. Viddy well. Appy-polly-loggies.


Kelly: A group of lepers walk into a bar and make a mess of the place because their goddamn skin won't stop sloughing off and cluttering the floor. Eventually, the piles of dead tissue they leave here and there cause people to slip, fall down and crack their heads wide open on the bar tables and chairs. The bartender says to you, "Could you do something about these lepers? They're bad for business." What, if anything, do you do?

Static: My goodness, since it's obvious that this place is beginning to "deteriorate" and business is "dropping off", I think what this scene needs is a buffet fit for a king and a gracious host to take it up a notch.

Since it's not a prudent time to quibble over "biting off" more than you can chew, lest someone gets "sore" over such an incident, make no mistakes, just because they have leprosy doesn't mean they are "untouchable".

First thing on the agenda is to "dis-arm" the lepers. I'd make quick work of most, tearing them "limb from limb". I'd hit one leper over the head with a tennis racket and make spaghetti.

Next up, I'd twist off a head or two and tell someone to go deep for a pass, since everyone knows lepers are always willing to "lend a hand", they'd be more than happy to toss a few noggins in a bucket of hot water and make chowder.

Smash a few bottles of pure grain alcohol on some others and "dissolve" them with spirits.

Then while another one laughs his "head off" and another "cries his eyes out", I'd make leper sausage with a screen door and a baggie at the other end.

Finally, I'd have a "face-off" in the corner with the last leper standing.

At this point it should be quite clear that all the lepers are "de-feet-ed". And in usual fashion, I always save "the best part(s)" for last. I shall carry out all of the above while singing, "Lend me your ear and I'll sing you a song...", blindfolded and with one arm tied behind my back.


Kelly: What inspirational message would you like to share with everyone?

Static: I know that I rarely come across as serious, or sympathetic, or inspirational...but given the nature of your question, here's an instance where I feel that it is warranted. First of all, live each day as if it were your last. Savor the moment. Live in the present, not in the past. If you are going through hell, just keep going - faster. And never ever ever look to John Mayer for inspirational messages.


Kelly: How would you describe a pleasant evening, free of bugged-eyed freaks, annoying mimes and talking hammers?

Static: This one is iffy. The psychobabble justification happens to be that social isolation is a bad thing. However, when surrounded by bugged-eyed freaks, annoying mimes, talking hammers and other irksome drivel and flotsam jetsam on a regular basis...social isolation, seems to be a welcome retreat.

Such a relaxing vacation might include:

* a month in the Alaskan wilderness

* solitary confinement for a decade, or

* a trip to the nearest star at roughly 4.22 light years away

Who knows what contentment one may discover within the confines of their own mind that might transform them into bug-eyed freaks hammering mimes with the irksome drivel and flotsam jetsam of madness that solitude can bring...all from one pleasant evening "away from it all".


Kelly: President Obama and the rest of the world's leaders (puppets manipulated by interested organizations, in some cases, but I digress) travel from wherever they're from, go to your place, and pleadingly ask you for advice on how to make the perfect omelet. What is your response?

Static: The perfect omelet in this case, would be made by having all world leaders congregate together. Once I've invited them over, I'd take them all out for a walk within a very large satellite dish somewhere in the middle of the desert. After a while of pontificating on global economics, off shore drilling, and the pros and cons of bottle cap collecting, I would ask them to seat themselves. As they are seated, each guest would experience the gentle placing of an egg under each of their posteriors...after they were comfortable, a series of enormous mallets would magically appear in a cartoon-ish manner and crack them each on the top of their heads, shattering eggs and skulls..which would run about the inside of the dish like a river of sulfur and lava. They are then left to cook under the beating rays of the sun. Which should feed endangered vultures (such as the California Condor) for several weeks.

This is but one of my recipes for disaster.


Kelly: What would be your most embarrassing moment in your life so far? Besides with the three legged German Shepherd with the funny hat?

Static: Although the three legged German Shepherd with the funny hat shall always be a source of mental discomfort for me, I'd have to say blogging tops the list. It's the only place I've been so vulnerable.

Why, I've opened myself up to readers so much in recent years that they could, quite literally, take complete advantage of me.

IT's absolutely...horrifying. As a matter of fact, the more I think about it, I
believe blogging has been the biggest mistake of my entire life.

How is this possible, I ask myself quite frequently throughout the day. What am I
doing? Oh, my god, what have I become? I..I..I am a monster! I've become so
self-absorbed lately. I think, “Gee, I am NOT as big an asshole as they tell me.
I actually do have some self worth,” or I'm not a "big baby" or a
"drama queen". Noooo, not in the least. I mean, all I do is bitch
bitch bitch. Bitch about everything and then some. That's all my blog has become. Just some repugnant journal, an obtuse diatribe of shameless fuckery, and my readers are my over involved psychoanalysts.

Maybe I should get some goddamn exercise outside, like 30 to 60 minutes at a pace akin to a brisk walk?

OH, SURE! Seems like nothing. Ninety minutes on a bike at top gear while grunting
in between primally screamed expletives....or hours in a kayak futilely paddling against rapids with ears bleeding to iPod music seems much better than merely strolling along at a walking pace, or flexing my overly developed finger muscles on a keyboard.

That’s not exercise, it's sissycise. A freaking cry for help. FFS
just pull the plug already!! I'm like a vegetable who cannot communicate his
needs to anyone around him, trapped in this void of unrelenting misfortune and disaffection.

Oh, dear. I seem to have forgotten that the most embarrassing moment for me would
be when I begin to ramble. Never mind.

I think I'm goin' to Statmandu / I think it's really where I'm goin' to / Hey, if I ever get out of here / That what I'm gonna do / St-st-st-st-st-st-Statmandu...WEEEEHOOOO!!