Yesterday, Patrick Swayze lost his battle with pancreatic cancer. Today, as usual, I score the only posthumous interview to be found. Take that, real journalists!
Me: So, um, Patrick, thanks for being here.
PS: You sound hesitant, chile’.
Me: Well, you’re in blackface and have a wig with dreadlocks on.
PS: It’s the only way I can communicate with you. I’m being channeled into the body of Oda Mae Brown.
Me: There’s no need to do that. I have the ability to interview people after they die for one final interview.
PS: Oh. Well, uh, do you want to play some Righteous Brothers and make some pottery?
Me: Gay much?
PS: Fine. Ask your damn questions.
Me: I watched Black Dog in theaters. Can I have my $5.50 back?
PS: Ha, very funny.
Me: Well, I’m kind of serious, but really – why did you make such shitty movies, over all?
PS: No, no. Look, you’ve gotta understand what it’s like, man. You come from the streets and suddenly you’re up here, and these producers, they are throwing money at ya, and it smells so good, and they really take care of you. I mean, I never knew producers could be like that, you know? And they’re so rich, they’re so goddamn rich, you think they must know about everything. And they’re slipping their scripts in my hands, two and three times day, different producers. So, here I think I’m scoring big, right? And for a while, you think, hey, they wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t care about me, right?
Me: I understand. You were just using them, that’s all.
PS: No, no that’s not it. That’s the thing, man, see it wasn’t like that. They were using me.
Me: But honestly? Does that excuse Father Hood? Three Wishes? Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights?
PS: Look, spaghetti arms. That is my movie space. This is your blog space. I don’t go into yours, you don’t go into mine. You gotta hold the frame.
Me: That doesn’t even make any sense.
PS: Nobody puts Adam in a corner.
Me: Now I know that you’re just quoting lines from one of the three decent movies you’ve starred in. Why can’t you just answer me honestly?
PS: I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of what I saw, I’m scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.
Me: Oh, come on! That one wasn’t even your line!
PS: Fine. I’ll stop quoting movie lines. I’ll tell you my secret.
Me: Go ahead.
PS: I can’t really act. I have three expressions: surprised, angry, and tightly intense. After that, I just dance or kick or run really fast, and then they cut to another scene.
Me: Yeah, I figured. I’ve seen a lot of your movies, even the shitty ones. You should have stuck with that ballet gig.
PS: Yeah, but then I never would have met my wife.
Me: Wait, you’re straight? No way!
PS: Of course I am!
Me: You like women?
PS: I was married to one for thirty years!
Me: Hm. I just assumed the whole sex appeal to women thing was an act, like Tom Cruise, Ryan Seacrest, and George Clooney.
PS: Nope. I am a veritable pussy magnet.
Me: Now you’re trying too hard to sound macho.
PS: I carried a watermelon.
Me: And we’re back to the movie quotes. You’re a waste of my fucking time.
PS: Yeah, I guess that’s what you *would* see. I’ll never be sorry, Baby.
Me: Jesus. Move on already – go to heaven or hell or the giant ballet academy in the sky. I’m done with you.
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