Some of the funniest, most brilliant comedy writers I have ever read have their own weblogs. On those rare occasions when I find a really good one, I link to it; until then, I want to talk about that idiot Frank J. over at IMAO. After weeks and months of needling phone calls, whiny, begging postcards, and lurid and seductive e-mails with aliases like hot16F4U and CTheron@hollywood.com , Frank finally got past the Virus firewalls and the caller ID and managed to deceive me into giving him an interview at his website, LAIO, in one long, painful, real-time ICQ session. You can learn more about me in the first half of the interview, here.
Then, as if the man had not already stolen enough of my precious time, he insisted I ask him some questions. I refused, saying it was clearly beneath my dignity. After randomly dialing through the 310 area code he finally got through to me and when I again refused he made a sound that zebras make when the lion pulls them down and bites them on their ass. Since I had a few questions prepared for a 2nd grade appearance I’m making next week, I finally said what the hell and asked him the following questions...
Bill Whittle
How old are you, Frank?
Frank
One score and three years. A month from completing two dozen. I think that's all I plan on doing.
Bill Whittle
Okay, so that's 2003 minus twenty, carry the one.... so, uh, did your mom work around any strong radiation, say, in late '79, maybe early '80?
Frank
No, just weak radiation
Bill Whittle
Dental hygienist?
Frank
I never asked her what she does. Not my business. Anyway, that was back in her “smoking makes your baby cuter” phase
Bill Whittle
Fair enough. No need to stick your nose in.
Frank
I heard I was a fat baby. So the other babies made fun of me, so I fought the babies. I won, and then I became King of the Babies. Or so the legend goes.
Bill Whittle
Now Frank, you apparently also have a website, is that right? What was it called again?
Frank
IMAO.us. Everyone knows that. Only a dumb person would admit to not knowing that.
Bill Whittle
Yes, LHMO… Do you tackle the deep issues of the day, or do you mostly just f**k around?
Frank
Why can't one f**k around while tackling the deep issues of the day; that's what I ask? You have to think outside the box to stay ahead in the blogosphere. I coined that term. I have an actual coin that says "blogosphere"
Bill Whittle
Speaking of "a head," for the longest time you were a mystery man. Then -- so others tell me -- you put up a picture of a human with a monkey head. People were confused, frightened. Then, later, we saw a few photos of the real you, and then all of a sudden the monkey thing and the anonymous thing made sense. Why so much pain, Frank?
Frank:
I hate my readers. They really ruin the whole blogging experience. I was so focused when no one was reading me, and now I have the head of the monkey. It's a story as old as time.
Bill Whittle:
What makes you think you have "readers?"
Frank:
That thing in the corner that I click on one thousand times a day to see who has been visiting. It's weird, on days I tend to check it more often, it always says I have more readers.
Bill Whittle:
That happens to me too!
Frank:
They all come from the same IP address. It's like twilight zone.
Bill Whittle
Anyway, back to the issue of psychopathic rage...Happy Childhood, Frank?
Frank:
Oh God no! Constant beatings…My father tried to smack me straight, but, in retrospect, he didn't beat me enough.
Bill Whittle:
I sympathize with him completely.
Frank:
I've always harbored anger towards all living things.
Bill Whittle:
Please wait a moment -- I snapped off the point of this sturdy pencil as I made a few incredulous notes. There we go. So, back to your hatred of your readers… Are they both such terrible people?
Frank:
One's from Nigeria and keeps nagging me to help move his millions. Hey, that's your problem, buddy! And the other doesn't seem to speak English, but seems to like my color scheme.
Bill Whittle:
Is his name Hesiod?
Frank:
I think that's it. Other than that, they worship me as a God, though.
Bill Whittle:
So this God-like worship they bestow on you...does it help to fill the great, burning, cavernous, bottomless pit in your withered soul, or do you just dig hearing people say what a great guy you are?
Frank
The latter. I was able to fill the pit in my soul with those half peanut butter, half chocolate crème Oreos. Them's tasty.
Bill Whittle:
Took a couple of cases though, didn't it?
Frank:
The healing process takes time. And then there's all the crumbs...
Bill Whittle:
Anyway, back to your site, IJOH...
Frank:
IMAO
Bill Whittle:
Yes, IMKO --- does that stand for JESUS CHRIST LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THAT F**KING SQUIRRELL!
Frank:
Where! Where! I have my hammer!
Bill Whittle:
There! Behind your loving cup!
Frank:
My what?
Bill Whittle:
I have no idea what a loving cup is.
Frank:
Ah! It bit me! Now if the old wives tale is right, I'm going to become one!
Bill Whittle:
Let that fester for a few years, and you'll turn into Michael Moore: Feral.
Frank:
I've always wanted to grow a beard
Bill Whittle:
So has Michael Moore! Ba-boom! Thank You! Shows at 8:00 and 11:00!
Frank:
He always seems half way there; give him some credit. And he’s fat; I don't think we mentioned that he's fat. I felt I needed to mention that for some reason.
Bill Whittle:
To me he falls somewhere between "lifelike" and "unsettling."
Frank:
I wish he fell somewhere between the two edges of the Grand Canyon (rim shot).
Bill Whittle:
Did you see "Bowling for Columbine?" It ends with him charging the camera in a bowling alley. It's like watching a really gross, pale, shabby, incredibly dim-witted bull elephant coming right at you. Hundreds were crushed evacuating the theater in mind-numbing terror.
Frank:
I didn't watch it. I only watch government certified blockbuster movies.
Bill Whittle:
Well, Frank, we’re out of time, so let me say this has been absolutely banal. I hope now that the e-mails, the 2am telephone calls, and the slow drive-by's with the lights out have finally come to an end and you can leave me in peace. And please, don't embarrass yourself further by trying to deny the drive-by's -- that 1976 Pacer is all windows and your moustache fools no one.
Frank:
Hey, I was a second stringer for a Saddam look alike. Anyway, nice talking to you to; I'll have to get to finishing one of your essays one of these days.
Bill Whittle:
No rush, Frank. They'll zoom right over your head, regardless.
I’m going to turn comments on for this one; Frank thinks that anytime anyone reads his name an angel gets their wings. As for me, I need a long, hot shower. I feel very dirty, I feel used…just like a piece of meat.