I thought it might be both interesting and cute to interview you. I couldn’t literally interview you, of course, so I took the liberty of supplying your answers myself. If for some reason you feel these aren’t the answers that you would actually give, or that they don’t accurately express your true thoughts and feelings, then it’s probably due to some fault of yours. It’s silly to think that I could in any way be held responsible for such a discrepancy.
PORFLE: How does it feel being interviewed by me?
YOU: Oh my god, it’s such an incredible honor. Just being acknowledged by you is the greatest and most deeply, emotionally exhilarating feeling I’ve ever known.
PORFLE: Oh, ha ha. How flattering.
YOU: Well, you are the greatest.
PORFLE: True. Do you enjoy having sex with timber wolves?
YOU: I sure do. Llamas, too.
PORFLE: Why are you so incredibly stupid?
YOU: [thoughtful] Gee, that’s hard to say. I don’t remember ever getting kicked in the head by a mule or anything. Maybe my mom accidentally drank floor wax or something before I was born. Or it could have something to do with the fact that I like to make babies laugh by smashing cinder blocks over my head.
PORFLE: That could do it. So, who do you like better–the Rolling Stones, The Who, or the Backstreet Boys?
YOU: Oh, “Da Boyz”, definitely. Like, yo, I am so totally down wit both their great music and their incredible sexual magnetism. In fact, just fantasizing about their bobbling buttocks gives me a hands-free “blast-off” that would send the space shuttle crashing into Mars.
PORFLE: How many Barbra Streisand concerts have you been to?
YOU: Hmmm…it would probably be easier to simply mention the ones I haven’t been to. Let’s see…there was that time I was in a coma for two years and missed her “Havin’ Sex With Water Buffalos” tour. And then there was the time that I was in a train wreck while on my way to watch her perform in that big benefit concert for hemorrhoids. I crawled out of the flaming wreckage and managed to drag myself through forty miles of malaria-infested swampland, but unfortunately I arrived at the Palladium just as Barbra was farting “People” as her final encore. I got a faint whiff of one of her wonderful Beluga caviar farts, but that was it.
PORFLE: Are you sure it was a Beluga caviar fart?
YOU: Oh, yes. Because when she cuts one of those, she actually makes it sound like the word “Beluga.” You know, like this [imitates huge three-stage fart] “Baaa-LOOOO-gaaaaa.”
PORFLE: Wow! It would be interesting to hear her perform an “Oysters Rockefeller” fart.
YOU: She attempted one once, but the first three rows had to be rushed to the hospital and the theater was condemned. Now she simply ends her shows with the standard “Eggs Benedict” fart, which the kids really love. And the great thing about it is that it’s authentic–she actually eats a huge platter of Eggs Benedict before the show.
PORFLE: Are you still having an affair with vice-president Dick Cheney?
YOU: Yes, but we’re trying to cool it off a bit. I mean, once something’s white-hot, it’s eventually going to either melt or explode. Our carnal escapades are just too intense–it got to the point where we were afraid our sexual couplings would rip a hole in the time-space continuum. Also, we were scaring my neighbor’s cats and peeling my good fuschia moire wallpaper off the walls. Anyway–he completes me.
PORFLE: What’s your favorite color?
PORFLE: Are you a religious person?
YOU: Yes, if you consider Larry the Cable Guy to be a “religion.”
PORFLE: Ever had any interesting celebrity encounters?
YOU: No. Well, there was that time I accidentally sat on Dakota Fanning. But I didn’t know it was her until I got home later and discovered her faceprint in my left buttock. Also, one day on the subway I was listening to Barbra Streisand on my iPod, and, without really being aware of it, I started farting along with her “Eggs Benedict” encore. I honestly had no idea that Dakota Fanning was standing right behind me. She had amnesia for a month. Really, I have nothing against Dakota Fanning–the two incidents were just an unrelated coincidence. Oh, and there was the time I was emptying my cat’s litter box out the window and it landed on–
PORFLE: Dakota Fanning?
YOU: No, Patrick Stewart. Fortunately, he was reciting Shakespeare at the time and didn’t notice it. That night during his performance of “King Lear” at the Globe Theater in London, he still had a pile of cat turds on his head. To this day, he can’t figure out why the reviews were so unfavorable. Oh, and as luck would have it, Dakota Fanning was in the front row. She finally passed out from the horrific stench in the middle of Act II.
PORFLE: Based on your own personal experiences, what valuable advice do you have for today’s youth?
YOU: Never pretend to be a brain surgeon just because you think it would be “fun.” Never think that it’s a good idea to introduce live chickens into a formal dinner setting. Never attend your own wedding disguised as a giant duck. And most of all, never–ever–try to catch Oprah Winfrey if she falls out of an airplane without a parachute.
PORFLE: Wow…what useless advice. Your comments are ridiculous.
YOU: Well, you wrote them.
PORFLE: No, I didnt.