Archive for May, 2011

Another Failed Interview

Posted: May 27, 2011 by kaostheory in Interview
Tags: , ,

So what do you want me to do with this? We’ve been pretty dry for a while. Funny has kinda taken a backseat to musing, horny and/or questioning the very foundation of where life is going to go now in a haze of video games, wine and some low-level job searching.

(We’ve had some feedback ask us for more of your favorite stereotype and we have to oblige. – ed.)

What.

(Yep. Pack your parka or whatever the hell it is you wear in cold weather. You’re heading to Moscow to find Grigor again. – ed.)

…this is punishment for not updating all month, isn’t it?

(It’s not NOT punishment. – ed.)

You unconscionable prick.

(Just get it done. You whiny little bitch. – ed.)

Fine. Damn you.
——
Against the entirety of my best interests and all medical, social, psychological and legal advice, I dutifully accepted the assignment to venture once more into the Great White Asian North to seek out Grigor Neyterivich Rasklonokovski. Yes. You read that right. “Seek out” wasn’t a typo. I had no idea where he was. Not even a clue. I needed to search the ENTIRETY OF RUSSIA to find ONE DRUNK MAN. That’s nearly six point six MILLION MILES worth of ice and snow and tundra and wolves and bears and Abominable Snowmen and…I don’t know…babushkas or whatever. NOT an easy task.

I’ll spare you the details of the trek. All I’ll say is this: HE WASN’T FUCKING IN MOSCOW. I asked around for him and all I got was either confused stares or disgusted brushoffs. One dude punched me in the balls, spit in a glass of vodka, lit the vodka on fire and tried to throw it on me. I managed to dodge and run. Last thing I remember hearing was the loud “whoomf” of the building going up in flame. Not a good week, all in all.

He was in St. Petersburg, by the way. As I was heading to the airport to fly home, I decided to stop in one last tavern to get a drink and mope about how shitty things were going. As luck would have it, I passed by the alley right as a trash can came flying towards me. Quickly dodging, I saw the trash can slam into a lamp post and fall harmlessly to the ground.

“Go ‘way, Anton Stanilausky! Grigor no has you potato harvest!”

It took me a moment to register who was there and whether or not I wanted to respond but common sense had apparently decided to leave me.

“Grigor? Grigor Rasklonokovski? Is that you?”

“Who ask?”

“Grigor, it’s me. Your American friend.”

“American? Oh da! Hello American brother!”

He charged out of the alley, intent on hugging me. I screamed and tried to run but he caught me, wrapping me in a bearhug – that’s not just hyperbole, it actually felt like a bear squeezing me to death – and shaking me back and forth. He smelled like a distillery had been set on fire. And shit on. After a minute, he set me down and looked me over.

“You no look so good. You eat well?”

“I…eat well enough. Come on, Grigor. Let’s chat a bit. We can head into the tavern, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“You are Grigor friend for life, American brother.”

“Ah…huh. Okay. Well, let’s go and we can chat over vodka.”

“Now you think Russian!”
——
Dan Eats Cat Food: So, it’s been a while, Grigor.

Grigor: Da. Is long time since I feel warmth of fire and not petroleum vodka in belly.

DECF: Petroleum vodka?

GNR: Da. When live on streets and in metal sleeping bag, real vodka too expensive. Must make vodka from stolen fuel of military airplanes.

DECF: Isn’t that obscenely dangerous?

GNR: Life is dangerous, my brother.

DECF: Surprisingly deep there, Grigor. Has this…drink caused brain damage?

GNR:Well, Grigor can no longer see blue.

DECF:…I’ll put that down as “minor”.

GNR: Also Grigor now has third hanging man part.

DECF: Do…does that mean you have a third testicle?

GNR: Da! That is word. Thank you for explaining.

DECF: Is that because of a birth defect or because of the petroleum vodka?

GNR: No to both. Grigor move around Mother Russia past few months.

DECF: I was going to ask about that. I looked all over Moscow for you and just got a lot of abuse for my trouble.

GNR: Is sad story. After American friend leave Grigor after horse meal, farmer wake up and see Grigor eating. Farmer get very angry, start to shoot at Grigor. Grigor is not stupid and he run into town to hide. Farmer and brothers come to town and find Grigor. They beat him up very badly and tell Grigor to no live in Moscow anymore. So Grigor pack up metal sleeping bag, supply of sewer chicken and horse mix Grigor call “meatmash” and travel Russia. Chernobyl is where Grigor live for a week or so.

DECF: Ah so that explains the third testicle then.

GNR: All Grigor know is he wake up one morning to find himself surrounded by pack of wild dogs. According to neighbor Pavel Fourface, Grigor was drunk on toilet wine from celebration of Pavel daughter wedding and walk into old reactor of city. Grigor does not know what happen, only that next morning brings three testeecal, as you say, and position as pack leader of wild dogs. Grigor teach them to hunt for Grigor. Now Grigor has minions!

DECF: That’s…pretty insane, to be honest.

GNR: Is okay. Grigor does not mind. Is nice to have pets to sleep with and have protect over him.

DECF: Protection from what?

GNR: Police who want to put Grigor in prison. Other vagrants who envy for Grigor metal home and stash of petroleum vodka. Night birds.

DECF: What are night birds?

GNR: Night birds come in moonlight and attack those who live on street. Steal blood from them and fly off to their nests.

DECF: Are…are you talking about vampires?

GNR: Perhaps. Hobo mythology is different than that of the homed.

DECF: Can you give me more examples?

GNR: Perhaps next time, my American friend. For now, Grigor must go guard home from the advances of Grishna and the Leninites.
——
With that, he killed the very large glass of vodka in front of him, belched into the flame of the fireplace and walked out. I ran to the airport. It was time to leave.

(And then? – ed.)

And then what? It’s over.

(O…kay then. You sound mad. – ed.)

I lost my eyebrows! Anyways, I’m gonna go try to distill my own petroleum vodka. Sounds like fun!