Before I launch into my fabulous guest post from my BFF Adam, I’m here and here.
Enjoy, Pranksters!
Avitable here – you may remember me from Becky’s birthday post and the most epic motherfucking soul portrait EVER. The reason for my post today is that I just wrote a book called Interviews with Dead Celebrities which compiles a series of, well, interviews with, umm, dead celebrities, that I’ve written about on my site over the last few years. Then I added a bunch of new material to it, put it together and published it on Amazon.com.
This post is an exclusive look at one of the newly written interviews, previously unpublished online anywhere, and here to make love to your eyeballs. Please to be enjoying my interview with the deceased Diana, Princess of Wales:
Name: Diana, Princess of Wales
Born: July 1 1961
Died: August 31, 1997
Profession(s): Princess and member of the British Royal Family
Best known for: Princess Diana, known for her charitable endeavors, was also most famous for divorcing Prince Charles and later dying in a car crash in Paris with her companion Dodi Fayed, inspiring Elton John to write that song about her.
Fun fake fact: Her shit actually did not stink.
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Avitable: Princess Diana, I apprec-
Diana: Knock it off. I know what you’re going to do, and I’m going to beat you to the punch.
Avitable: You know what I’m going to do?
Diana: Yes, and before you can start doing tasteless morbid jokes about me, I’m going to do them first.
Avitable: I don’t even know what you’re talking about!
Diana: Sure you do. Here we go.
What does world hunger and a Mercedes have in common?
Avitable: Diana can’t stop either.
Diana: There we go. What’s the difference between me and a blade of grass?
Avitable: About six feet.
Diana: Ha! What does Dodi stand for?
Avitable: Died On Direct Impact.
Diana: So hacky. What’s the difference between me and Casper the Ghost?
Avitable: Casper can go through walls.
Diana: Terrible! How am I like a cell phone?
Avitable: You both die in tunnels.
Diana: Okay, that one was slightly amusing. Why did I cross the road?
Avitable: Because you weren’t wearing a seatbelt.
Diana: Groan. When is a princess not a princess?
Avitable: When she turns into a pole.
Diana: Meh. What’s the one word I could have said that would have saved my life?
Avitable: “Taxi!”
Diana: Haha! Okay, that one was good. I think I got that out of my system.
Avitable: I’m glad – that was fun, but I was going to use this time to talk about your charity work and all of the good things you did during your life?
Diana: Oh, well we can do that, then!
Avitable: Too late! Now I just want to tell Princess Diana jokes! What’s the difference between jelly and jam?
Diana: I don’t know.
Avitable: You can’t jelly a Mercedes into a pillar at 65 miles an hour.
Diana: Did you just write that yourself?
Avitable: Yup.
Diana: It’s probably the second worst thing ever written in my honor.
Avitable: What’s the first?
Diana: That dreadful song written by the queen.
Avitable: The Queen of England wrote a song?
Diana: No. I’m talking about Elton John.
Avitable: Ba-dum-chihhh
Diana (bows): Thank you and good night.
If you enjoyed that interview, you can pick up Interviews with Dead Celebrities, currently available for the Kindle (or you can read it with the free Kindle app for your phone, iPad, or computer), and soon to be available in print.
If you didn’t enjoy it, you should buy a copy so you can make fun of it and deride it mercilessly. Either or . . .
This one time (…in band camp) I swore my bed was possessed. I had nightmares every night I slept in it, although, to be fair, none of them involved me spewing oatmeal or cottage cheese out of my mouth while levitating or turning my head around at a 360 degree turn, and my mom, having trouble sleeping one night, slept in it while I was off sleeping somewhere else (I can only surmise I was thoroughly up to no good). That night, she too, had a nightmare.
Clearly, the bed was possessed.
My mother and I decided that the best course of action was, naturally, to perform an exorcism. I mean, what else can you do when you have a (possibly) possessed bed? We burned some sage or incense or something and put up a crucifix that my brother had (allegedly) stolen from somewhere or another chanting, “The power of Christ compels you.”
It worked. The nightmares stopped.
I hadn’t thought about possession or The Exorcist until it dawned on me that they’d made an Exorcist Part II and then I was just plain annoyed – I mean, where can you go from there? (Answer: Egypt)
Last Wednesday, I was taking a gander at the snaps I’d taken of Alex’s first day of school on my mostly-broken iPhone and realized I should probably actually export the things to my computer. There were some pretty cute snaps in there and well, how else can I put together a long montage video to play at his high school prom? I mean, I do have a therapy fund set up for the kid – I may as well do as many horrifying things as I can while I can.
I sat all happy-crappy at my computer after plugging the glorified email machine into the back, waiting to see my gloriously bad photos get imported into iPhoto. This, of course, somehow made my computer extremely unhappy, so I had to sit there for upwards of 45 seconds while it flashed the circle button, which usually means I’ve got too many tabs open at once or have been looking at Internet porn so often that I’d managed to snag me a virus.
(better than an STD, I guess, but I’m unclear as to whether or not computers can catch those things)
Instead of my craptastic pictures taken through a broken lens, I got, well, these, which I promptly framed. Possessed iPhones don’t happen every day, y’know.
Amelia decided that the small kindergarten seats were bullshit and immediately found the teacher’s seat. At the time, she was NOT, in fact, possessed, although the doll behind her makes that statement questionable.
*shudders*
And my rose, which I’d been lovingly trimming blackspot from, well, it appears to have been overtaken by The Devil. Partially.
Howdy there, Half of Alex! Happy first day of school! Don’t kill anyone, okay?
Who knew the kid was divided so neatly down the line?
This is only marginally better than the time Dave’s old camera decided that all pictures forevermore would look as though they’d come from a lens dripping with Vasoline. It was quite good for the complexion, but made everything appear to have been shot in soft-core porn lighting.
I guess it’s time for another exorcism, Pranksters.
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So dish! What kinds of weird crap have your electronics done over the years?
When I was in college, back when the Internet was an primarily an IRC and not the place to find free porn by googling, “That ball with spikes on it,” intending to find a description for a Mace, not some guy wearing spikes on his ballbag, I had a group of people I chummed around with. These people, of course, didn’t include my roommate It Means Butterfly, because she spent her days hollering at me for not putting things away properly and sitting by the computer waiting for her boyfriend Dave (not The Daver) to pop up on chat.
One of my friends was a guy that I sorta kinda maybe had a crush on, James, who happened to allow me refuge in his room when It Means Butterfly and Dave made sweet, sweet, monkey love in the bunk above me. At the time, James was still pretty squarely in the closet, which means that my gaydar wasn’t nearly as well-honed as it is now.
My crush subsided, of course, as crushes are wont to do, and we became strictly friends. At least in my book.
One afternoon, It Means Butterfly happened to be out at class or something, so I had a rare moment to myself in my dorm room, which I probably spent pining for my ex-boyfriend because that’s what you do at 18. You pine for old boyfriends rather than actually enjoy your single-dom.
When the phone rang, I’d been hoping it was Pashmina down the hall who’d been trying to score some more rum so we could get properly wasted, but it wasn’t. It was my buddy, Derek.
“Hey Becky,” Derek said when I answered. “Where’s your roommate?”
“Eh,” I replied. “Not sure.”
It was quiet for several seconds, which made me want to blather on – it was an awkward kind of silence, not the sort that happens among two friends who know each other well, but something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up like a dog.
“So….” I continued, trying to figure why he’d called me to say nothing. “What’s up?”
“Uhhhhh,” he groaned. “Not much.”
The seconds ticked by.
“How’s, um, class?” I asked, trying to begin a conversation.
“It’s (pant, pant), okay,” he said, clearly not interested in this conversation, which, to be frank, neither was I. I liked discussing class as much as I liked discussing those crappy and eerily crude forward emails my dad sent me.
Again with the silence.
“Um, so what are you doing today?” I asked him, not wanting to believe that Derek was an Uncle Pervy. I mean, this is the guy who helped me dress to go to the bar so I appeared to be older than 14. In turn, I looked like a very delightful hooker, but I thought it was hysterical.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Grunnnnnnnt….
This was getting weird.
I began babbling because that’s what I do best when I’m awkwardly uncomfortable, “So did you hear that my dad sent me this horrible forward about some old lady and her vagina? It was totally WEIRD – I mean, he’s my dad, and Oh Em Gee, did you SEE the way Matthias’s crappy roommate has been stalking me around campus because that’s just creepers, and really I’m so hungry, wanna get some Chinese food from that shitty place that delivers and tastes like it’s probably rat meat and shit, do you think it’s actually rat meat because their beef tastes a little off and shit I wonder if that’s why it tastes like that do you think it’s actually rat meat or cat meat because either way, I feel sick to my guts now and I may need to go hork in the bathroom and did you know that someone left a bloody tampon in there because that’s so fucking gross who would do that?”
Silence.
I stopped blabbering on to see what he’d do next.
All I could hear was “pant, pant, pant, pant YESSSS.”
Fucking shit. Mouth breather. Shit.
I levitated toward the phone jack, giving some laughable excuse about waxing a cat somewhere, and hung up with him.
I stared at the phone for a second before wandering down the hall to Pashmina’s room. Without knocking, I walked in:
“Dude. You’ll NEVER guess what just happened.”
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New post here about what NOT to do at warehouse clubs.
