The Captain Interviews Himself

The other day, I was thinking it might be interesting to interview an important and fascinating personage and publish the result on my blog. I immediately thought of me. Who better to interview? Who better to conduct the interview? Having concluded that the answer was the same, I resolved to do it. As some of you may recall, The Captain once interviewed a black bear. This was a challenge for sure, but nothing compared to the monumental task of questioning an individual who arguably knows more about me than I do. Why, that interloper even knows about the inner personalities who inhabit my innards, with a special connection to the vulnerable self who lives in my liver. How, I wondered, would I be able to coax anything novel or sensitive out of such a subjective object? How would I be able to maintain my objectivity with the subject? Why would I willingly subject myself to such object ridicule? And would either of us be able to stop this ridiculous punning long enough to articulate a question or answer? You see my dilemma. But we both agreed to set some ground rules to make it work. Rule number one: no punning. Rule number two: no asking or answering the following question – “Have you ever had sex with a sheep?” Rule number three: I will provide myself with the list of interview questions in advance in writing so there are no surprises (Ha! The poor sap doesn’t know I can’t be trusted! Ha! Yes I do!!). Rule number four: no recording devices are allowed (I’m gonna be publishing the interview on my blog, so I’m not sure why the dumbass agreed to this one!).

Neither of us will keep you in suspense any longer. So here it is: The Captain’s groundbreaking Self Interview!

Me: You realize that no one has ever been stupid enough to allow themself to be interviewed by themself?

Me, too: I’m sorry, could you repeat the question? You couldn’t hear it.

Me: Very clever.

Me, too: Yes, very.

Me: Thank you. Now on to the first question. What is your favorite color?

Me, too: How is that relevant?

Me: You are irrelevant, therefore, all irrelevant questions are relevant

Me, too: Since I’m probably the only person who understands your bizarre thought process, I’ll answer. Red, the color of your blood should it happen to be spilled.

Me: Nice. OK, so on to the real questions. I’ll start with one that I have been asked by many people to pose. What in god’s name did your parents do to you?

Me, too: This is a two part answer. Part 1 – They cruelly conceived me between my two sisters. My older sister would routinely lure me into her room with candy while my younger sister waited out of sight behind the door, poised to trip me or box me on the ear or stab me with a filed down Barbie leg she’d removed for fun. It took years of therapy just to get me trick or treating again. I was too afraid to stick my hand inside the door to grab the candy for fear of a little old lady hiding just out of sight with a machete ready to sever my hand. Part 2 – They once left us with my Uncle, who with no provocation whipped each of us with a piece of a refrigerator gasket cut cleanly and expertly to flogging size.

Me: (Glazed look in his eye) Uh….so….sad….Well, uh, that answers that. So what were you like as a young boy?

Me, too: For starters, I was young. And painfully shy. Whenever I was introduced to a stranger, I would develop sharp pains in my gut, somewhere near my liver. In fact, it was my uncle who told me that alcohol would ease the pain, so in answer to a question you are sure to ask, I took my first drink of cheap gin at age 7. Gotta give the sadistic bastard some credit on this one, because he was right.

Me: Did you have many friends?

Me, too: If you count the hand carved wooden figures I produced in the darkness of my closet, then 23, to be exact. If not, then no.

Me: When did you first realize that you had a talent for writing?

Me,too: I’m still waiting for that realization.

Me: I think you’re pretty good, actually.

Me, too: (Sheepishly) Really? Would you like to be my friend?

Me: Honestly, I’d have to think long and hard about that one. Red flags everywhere.

Me, too: (Glumly) OK.

Me: Can you tell a funny story from your childhood?

Me, too: Didn’t I already tell you the story about my Uncle?

Me: I was thinking of a story that didn’t include any kind of corporal punishment, something happy.

Me, too: Hmmmm… well, I remember my parents were friends with a couple who had a loving little boy about the same age as me who could have been my twin. He caught a bad cold or something and died suddenly. I vividly recall how they were incredibly distraught. Their sadness lingered for years and wouldn’t leave. I felt so sorry for them. So one day I ran away from home to go and live with them to take the place of their lost son. When I showed up at their door and told them of my plan, they broke down in tears and hugged and kissed me. However, after two weeks with me, they soured on their surrogate son and called the cops to come and take me back home. But there was a silver lining. Their sadness left them, so much so that they vowed never have another child. Is that happy enough for you?

Me: The Captain’s version of Happy Days. I should have known better than to ask! OK, let’s try another line of questioning. How do you come up with the, er, “unique” ideas you write about?

Me, too: Oh, you know, the usual. Juniper Juice, White Crunch, Clarity, Dr. Feelgood.

Me: Never mind. How do you explain the contradiction that is The Captain? Your writing is unconventional and indicative of some sort of deep-seated disturbing overstimulation, yet you work in the staid, buttoned down corporate field of Insurance?

Me, too: Sounds like I’m overcompensating.

Me: How did we get to the topic of sex?

Me, too: We didn’t.

Me: Oh, er, right. So you believe that your “idiosyncrasies” are a reaction to the stifling work environment you experience?

Me, too: Let me put it this way. When you get a root canal, you reach for the morphine, don’t you? Well, that’s The Captain, anthropomorphized morphine.

Me: Damn that’s weird, but sadly I know exactly what you mean. Next question. Rumor has it, you keep a Black Bear in your backyard as a pet.

Me, too: Not a rumor. That’s true.

Me: How’s that working out?

Me, too: Overall, better than expected. In fact, the entire experience has had a positive impact on the stray pet population. My next door neighbors have been irresponsible, refusing to get their female dog fixed. Every freakin’ Spring, they’d be knocking on doors trying to find homes for the puppies of their promiscuous bitch. Well, after Smokey moved in, that problem went away. We haven’t seen a puppy in our neighborhood since. Plus, all the cat owners started to put their pets on a leash, dramatically reducing the number of stray cats in our part of town.

Me: Well, it’s clearly fruitless to ask you a serious question, so let me ask you one of those really stupid, trite questions that people ask when they can’t think of anything intelligent to ask. If you ran the world for a day, what one (and only one) thing would you change?

Me, too: Ha! So I get to play God.

Me: Not necessarily. You of all people should know better than to automatically posit the existence of God. I know you studied that crazy 14th Century English logician William of Occam and his lex parsimoniae, better known as Occam’s Razor. I was there! Remember the words of that slippery Franciscan? “Entities must not be multiplied beyond necessity.”

Me, too: I tried for years to forget. Thanks for reminding me, asshole. OK, so I get to run the world for a day.

Me: Thank you. Much better.

Me, too: That’s easy. I’d give that poor couple their boy back.

Me: I’m stunned. That’s a noble thought.

Me, too: Not really. If he hadn’t died, I never would have run away to live with them, and they wouldn’t have called the cops on me, and I wouldn’t have bitten that fat cop (OK, the fatter one) on the shin and been charged with assaulting a police officer and ended up with a police record and that damned Probation Officer I reference so often in my writing.

Me: Wait, I’m confused. Weren’t you a little boy when this happened? Your criminal record should have been wiped clean.

Me, too: Well, I waited a little while before I actually went to live with them.

Me: How long is a little while?

Me, too: Er, 10 years.

Me: And they took you in?

Me, too: I told you they were distraught. Initially they thought I was their son come back to life. I did look just like him. After a couple weeks, they snapped out of their psychosis when they realized I wasn’t actually their son.

Me: That would explain why your parents never came after you.

Me, too: Thanks for resurrecting that pain.

Me: Hey, it hurts me, too!

Me, too: But it’s still a happy ending. They were finally able to move beyond their grief.

Me: Excellent point.

Me, too: I knew you’d understand.

Me: Thanks.

Me, too: Shit. Smokey broke out and is chasing that husky teenage girl from down the street again. He’s in heat. Gotta run!!

Believe The Captain when he says: If you must bite a cop, do it before your 16th birthday!

Yours and Yours,

The Captain