Interviews Too Good to Be True
My interview with a vampire didn’t go as planned.
I’m glad I recently dined at Golden Dragon, keeping
a pair of chopsticks to dyke the holes in my neck.
In my last job interview, I told the manager I was an
Icelandic penguin trapped in the body of a metaphor.
I got the job only because she didn’t understand
what I’d meant and hadn’t read the latest policy on
discrimination.
I showed up at Elton John’s mansion with my laptop
after learning he was holding interviews to replace
his long-time lyricist, Bernie Taupin. When the police
carted me off in handcuffs, they wouldn’t believe I
was Daniel and that song was about me.
Owing my newspaper friend a favor, I interviewed
the curator of the Brooklyn Aquarium about recent
acquisitions even though I’m allergic to sea food.
Now, every time I’m near Red Lobster, my throat
swells and people think my eyes are painted golf
balls glued to my face as a joke.
Curious to know if I could also eat 72 hot dogs in one
sitting, I interviewed the latest winner of Nathan’s
contest over the phone. When he said he prepared by
masticating his kielbasa for months, I misunderstood
and bought myself a gallon of K-Y jelly.
Horror Sleaze Trash 