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Interview with a Steven King (Other) by Bachus
-- Steven, your new book "The Brand" Is absolutely
brilliant! What the hell were you thinking?!
-- Well, ah, Mr.,... What was your name again?
-- I am Gono, from Rolling Stono, a Chilean affiliate
to Rolling stone magazine, but for the Latin people.
-- Oh, I see... Well Gono, ah, it's about the
Ultimate name brand. The quintessential trend
satiation. Basically, a pair of shoes that cures
your fear of being short, and white, egotistically.
A shirt that makes you feel confident and loved.
A hat that can be worn any way imaginable, the
more ludicrous the better with velcro $$ tag.
-- Good God Steven, you're a fucking nut job!
-- Excuse me?
-- Never Mind, how are the wife and kids? Great.
Steven, are you a homosexual?
-- What?
-- Okay, moving on, last night in my hotel room
after jerking off to an asian with a penis and tits
named LoHi. I channel surfed into "Silver Bullet"
Starring Corey Haim in a Wheel Chair/
Werewolf killing tricycle flick that takes place
up in the mountains.
Co starring, Gary Busey, as a cool drunk Uncle.
-- Did you like it?
-- Almost... Moving on Steven, what is the Ultimate
"Brand" for you?
-- Oh, ah probably Smores crunch, and Duracell.
-- The copper top battery.
-- Yes.
-- Sellout Nerd.
-- What?
-- See that bird?
-- What bird?
-- The bird I like to throw up when I steal a cab
Ha! Ha! Anyway, So, is it true you're fucking Anne
Rice?
-- Who?
-- Anne Rice.
-- No.
-- Would you?
-- Yes
-- Me too, okay moving on. What's next after promoting
the latest in what can only be called the luckiest stroke
of fictional domination ever struck by any author anywhere.
-- I'm thinking about buying a space craft.
-- To fly?
-- No. To fucking plum level, Yes fly you
Chilean coke head.
-- Thankyou, Where?
-- You know, just around. Peoples' backyards, small towns
you know, the usual U.F.O haunts.
-- I see.
-- Well then, avoid my neck of the woods.
-- Will do.
-- Right-o.
-- Okay. Next week, we will be talking to Peter Straub,
and he will be telling us why working with Mr. King
is a fucking nightmare whether you're dead or alive.
Just read the Black house as proof of that, Good grief,
until then, fuck off and join a book club.
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