WARNING: This Author Interview from Hell contains sexual references, profanity, adult commentary, and a lot of other fun stuff.
What can I say about Biff Mitchell? Nothing... I barely know the guy. Most of the people I've interviewed, I've interviewed for a reason. I knew them personally, or heard of their book or something. I met Biff Mitchell's book "The War Bug" somewhat before I met him. It made enough of an impression on me to think Mr. Mitchell would be the perfect candidate for an AIfH. I was wrong, but it's funny anyway! Read on if you don't mind profanity in all it's glory and some really, REALLY strange ramblings.
Steve: What subject do you mistakenly think you know a lot about?
Biff: I know a lot about the subject of not getting a hangover, and I put this knowledge to the test frequently and enthusiastically. Each test is followed by 1) AWARENESS (this occurs when I wake up and become aware that I don’t have a clue where I am), 2)
ACCEPTANCE (this occurs when I accept there are ten thousand little people with hammers and dynamite rampaging in my skull), and 3) ENLIGHTENMENT (this occurs when I realize I was mistaken about knowing how not to get a hangover). Strangely, I don’t recall any of my theories for not getting a hangover. Come to think of it, I don’t recall any of the tests. But I do
remember the hangovers. Can we talk about what I mistakenly know about women now?
Steve: What’s the perfect gift for the cyborg who has everything?
Biff: I’ve only met one cyborg who had everything, and he may have been all talk. I met him in a club in downtown Toronto. I was sitting at the bar getting pleasantly shit-faced when he sat down beside me, three piece suit and all, and started rambling on about his big house and with its giant in-ground pool, his new Hummer, the new fur coat he’d just bought for his wife and the luxury condo he’d just bought for his mistress. He explained in excruciating detail his business expertise and how he’d turned a small business loan into a multimillion dollar business, but I never did figure out exactly what it was except that it had something to do with software. Every time I said anything about myself he countered with something better or bigger or more expensive, like: “Yeah, I just got back from the Florida Keys.” “Florida Keys, eh? That’s nuthin’! Me an’ the missus just did the Far East thing – Japan, Hong Kong, Bangkok…the whole shit load. When, we got back, I took the mistress to
Hawaii.” He paid for my drinks and then he talked at me as though paying for the drinks was like renting my ears or some kind of attention ownership. He screwed up a perfectly good drunk, an evening that I could have spent saturating myself with Scotch and thinking all kinds of pathetic thoughts like, being a movie star or anybody else but me, or maybe just feeling sorry for myself, or maybe just falling flat on my face on the floor. That’s always good for a kick in the ribs. But this cyborg went on and on and on about his 25 hundred dollar a bottles of wine and his 35 hundred dollar a night room and his two-story lake-front lodge in the Appalachians and his 50 thousand dollar home theater with the cinemaplex-size screen and the only thing I could think of as the perfect gift for this cyborg with everything was a fucking OFF switch for his mouth.
Steve: Thinking computers may not be far off... will they ever design a
computer able to think like a woman? Why or why not?
Biff: Finally, we get to talk about what I mistakenly know about women. OK, let’s look at the relationship between you and your computer.
The assembly instructions are written in a foreign country and they look like something you can
understand, but no matter how many times you read them, they don’t make sense. But you go ahead and set it up anyway, just guessing where everything goes. Amazingly, things work. At first. Then things start to go wrong and you can never figure out what’s wrong until after you’ve just about gone plum crazy, and it always turns out to be something simple – something, apparently, that you should never have missed. And suddenly, for no obvious reason, your computer starts
to need things. New things. Expensive things. Extensions and performance enhancers and entertainment things. And the more of these things you buy, the more newer things it needs until, finally, after you’ve sunk every cent into it, the hard drive burns out, taking your whole life with it.
Computers may never think like women, but they sure as hell act like most of the women in my life.
Steve: If you had to choose an ally to go to war with, but it could only be
a common household product, which would it be and why?
Biff: Being from Canada, which is dangerously close to the United States, and thus highly influenced by American culture and attitudes, the common household product I would take as my ally to war is the AK-47 assault rifle. This practical kitchen utility is particularly helpful for most common kitchen tasks such as burgeoning... er... tenderizing beef, shredding vegetables for salads and opening large economy-size cans that won’t fit in the automatic can opener (directions for AK-47 can opener use: place can on wood stump 40 feet away, set AK-47 can opener to full auto, point AK-47 can opener at can, depress trigger of AK-47 can opener, enjoy!). The handy bayonet can be used for slicing fruits and breads and it makes a great little replacement for dental floss. I would choose this common household product to be my ally because it has a hollow stock containing a cleaning kit, and I believe that cleanliness is next to godliness.
Steve: If you could be stranded on a deserted island with any woman, who would it be and why?
Biff: I would choose to be stranded with part of a woman... Britney Spears’ belly button, which I affectionately refer to as my little Oops Button. Yes, Oops Button and I would gather around the frond fire each night and discuss the aesthetics of bodily indentations and the angst character of being the remnant of a once thriving life-support system, now relegated to that absence of material substance we call “hole”. But in this case, a best of species hole. An intelligent, discerning, devil-may-care-I’m-one-of-the-richest-fucking-holes-in-the-world hole. I’ve been in love with Oops Button ever since she winked at me from the cover of a YT magazine in the supermarket years ago, back when I was a craver of flesh and form. She called to me and said: “Throw down the bonds of mortal flesh and devote thy lust to the hole.” I’ve been an Oops Button hole man ever since.
Steve: What’s the one sign missing from the Zodiac?
Biff: Politica
Element: Hot Air
Mode: Malleable
Ruler: YourAnus
Sign: Circle surrounded by anal hair
Motto: Speak much, say little.
Politicas have an unwavering need to be popular as displayed by their periodic “polling”
instincts characterized by pre-poll arrogance, mid-poll denial syndrome and post-poll memory loss. Politicas are adept at spending as much money as possible on as little as possible, a task generally accomplished by investing heavily in non-productive human resources somehow related to the body-politica. Politicas are adept at taking up space with little or no
measurable displacement of substance.
Steve: What is your best, worst quality?
Biff: My best quality is my total ignorance of my worst
quality, whatever that is.
Steve: Who the hell do you think you are?
Biff: I am Rote, the carnal demigod of mischievous nouns and stray verbs. I entice young women with my large semicolon and smooth oxymorals and lure them to my Thesaurhut where I conjugate their split infinities. In the olden times, I prepositioned Synon, the goddess of sort-of-same, punctuated her colon with a twist of tongue. For this, I was banned from Assgard and cursed with a permanently swollen diction.
Steve: You're an author, dammit! Promote yourself.
Biff: I’ve received many letters from fans who’ve read The War Bug and they all claim to have accrued good health, inside knowledge, larger penises, and a spectrum of other benefits. I haven’t had time to read any of these yet, but their exuberant contents are
apparent just from reading the subject lines:
--Rochelle Pruitt: “boost the size of his Bug”
--¼åÁiÔÄČďÿ “4Þ@µµÛĈŒǑƏui ÿñ67ßĀāʼnő 90ÆÕǒķ¿ÊŦũ” (Translation: G.W. Bush: Red War Bug an’ now have brain. Sort of.)
--Jose Cueveros: “magnifico penidado esta War grande Bug”
--Tudy Karls: “Bug v-i-g.re 4 less”
--Infonewsie: “US intelligense orderd Bug. Click for mor.”
--Harde Coar: “gushing War Bugs”
--Belle Nakoabe: “E-large WarpenBugis in I wk”
--Cheepe Vi@g: “now War Bug maks her smil”
Yes, it’s nice to have fans, especially such dedicated ones knocking at my inbox every day.
Visit me at www/biffmitchell.com for something free.
What can I say about Biff Mitchell? Nothing... I barely know the guy. Most of the people I've interviewed, I've interviewed for a reason. I knew them personally, or heard of their book or something. I met Biff Mitchell's book "The War Bug" somewhat before I met him. It made enough of an impression on me to think Mr. Mitchell would be the perfect candidate for an AIfH. I was wrong, but it's funny anyway! Read on if you don't mind profanity in all it's glory and some really, REALLY strange ramblings.
Biff: I know a lot about the subject of not getting a hangover, and I put this knowledge to the test frequently and enthusiastically. Each test is followed by 1) AWARENESS (this occurs when I wake up and become aware that I don’t have a clue where I am), 2) ACCEPTANCE (this occurs when I accept there are ten thousand little people with hammers and dynamite rampaging in my skull), and 3) ENLIGHTENMENT (this occurs when I realize I was mistaken about knowing how not to get a hangover). Strangely, I don’t recall any of my theories for not getting a hangover. Come to think of it, I don’t recall any of the tests. But I do remember the hangovers. Can we talk about what I mistakenly know about women now?
Steve: What’s the perfect gift for the cyborg who has everything?
Biff: I’ve only met one cyborg who had everything, and he may have been all talk. I met him in a club in downtown Toronto. I was sitting at the bar getting pleasantly shit-faced when he sat down beside me, three piece suit and all, and started rambling on about his big house and with its giant in-ground pool, his new Hummer, the new fur coat he’d just bought for his wife and the luxury condo he’d just bought for his mistress. He explained in excruciating detail his business expertise and how he’d turned a small business loan into a multimillion dollar business, but I never did figure out exactly what it was except that it had something to do with software. Every time I said anything about myself he countered with something better or bigger or more expensive, like: “Yeah, I just got back from the Florida Keys.” “Florida Keys, eh? That’s nuthin’! Me an’ the missus just did the Far East thing – Japan, Hong Kong, Bangkok…the whole shit load. When, we got back, I took the mistress to Hawaii.” He paid for my drinks and then he talked at me as though paying for the drinks was like renting my ears or some kind of attention ownership. He screwed up a perfectly good drunk, an evening that I could have spent saturating myself with Scotch and thinking all kinds of pathetic thoughts like, being a movie star or anybody else but me, or maybe just feeling sorry for myself, or maybe just falling flat on my face on the floor. That’s always good for a kick in the ribs. But this cyborg went on and on and on about his 25 hundred dollar a bottles of wine and his 35 hundred dollar a night room and his two-story lake-front lodge in the Appalachians and his 50 thousand dollar home theater with the cinemaplex-size screen and the only thing I could think of as the perfect gift for this cyborg with everything was a fucking OFF switch for his mouth.
Steve: Thinking computers may not be far off... will they ever design a computer able to think like a woman? Why or why not?
Biff: Finally, we get to talk about what I mistakenly know about women. OK, let’s look at the relationship between you and your computer.
The assembly instructions are written in a foreign country and they look like something you can understand, but no matter how many times you read them, they don’t make sense. But you go ahead and set it up anyway, just guessing where everything goes. Amazingly, things work. At first. Then things start to go wrong and you can never figure out what’s wrong until after you’ve just about gone plum crazy, and it always turns out to be something simple – something, apparently, that you should never have missed. And suddenly, for no obvious reason, your computer starts to need things. New things. Expensive things. Extensions and performance enhancers and entertainment things. And the more of these things you buy, the more newer things it needs until, finally, after you’ve sunk every cent into it, the hard drive burns out, taking your whole life with it.
Computers may never think like women, but they sure as hell act like most of the women in my life.
Steve: If you had to choose an ally to go to war with, but it could only be a common household product, which would it be and why?
Biff: Being from Canada, which is dangerously close to the United States, and thus highly influenced by American culture and attitudes, the common household product I would take as my ally to war is the AK-47 assault rifle. This practical kitchen utility is particularly helpful for most common kitchen tasks such as burgeoning... er... tenderizing beef, shredding vegetables for salads and opening large economy-size cans that won’t fit in the automatic can opener (directions for AK-47 can opener use: place can on wood stump 40 feet away, set AK-47 can opener to full auto, point AK-47 can opener at can, depress trigger of AK-47 can opener, enjoy!). The handy bayonet can be used for slicing fruits and breads and it makes a great little replacement for dental floss. I would choose this common household product to be my ally because it has a hollow stock containing a cleaning kit, and I believe that cleanliness is next to godliness.
Steve: If you could be stranded on a deserted island with any woman, who would it be and why?
Biff: I would choose to be stranded with part of a woman... Britney Spears’ belly button, which I affectionately refer to as my little Oops Button. Yes, Oops Button and I would gather around the frond fire each night and discuss the aesthetics of bodily indentations and the angst character of being the remnant of a once thriving life-support system, now relegated to that absence of material substance we call “hole”. But in this case, a best of species hole. An intelligent, discerning, devil-may-care-I’m-one-of-the-richest-fucking-holes-in-the-world hole. I’ve been in love with Oops Button ever since she winked at me from the cover of a YT magazine in the supermarket years ago, back when I was a craver of flesh and form. She called to me and said: “Throw down the bonds of mortal flesh and devote thy lust to the hole.” I’ve been an Oops Button hole man ever since.
Steve: What’s the one sign missing from the Zodiac?
Biff: Politica
Element: Hot Air
Mode: Malleable
Ruler: YourAnus
Sign: Circle surrounded by anal hair
Motto: Speak much, say little.
Politicas have an unwavering need to be popular as displayed by their periodic “polling” instincts characterized by pre-poll arrogance, mid-poll denial syndrome and post-poll memory loss. Politicas are adept at spending as much money as possible on as little as possible, a task generally accomplished by investing heavily in non-productive human resources somehow related to the body-politica. Politicas are adept at taking up space with little or no measurable displacement of substance.
Steve: What is your best, worst quality?
Biff: My best quality is my total ignorance of my worst quality, whatever that is.
Steve: Who the hell do you think you are?
Biff: I am Rote, the carnal demigod of mischievous nouns and stray verbs. I entice young women with my large semicolon and smooth oxymorals and lure them to my Thesaurhut where I conjugate their split infinities. In the olden times, I prepositioned Synon, the goddess of sort-of-same, punctuated her colon with a twist of tongue. For this, I was banned from Assgard and cursed with a permanently swollen diction.
Steve: You're an author, dammit! Promote yourself.
Biff: I’ve received many letters from fans who’ve read The War Bug and they all claim to have accrued good health, inside knowledge, larger penises, and a spectrum of other benefits. I haven’t had time to read any of these yet, but their exuberant contents are apparent just from reading the subject lines:
--Rochelle Pruitt: “boost the size of his Bug”Yes, it’s nice to have fans, especially such dedicated ones knocking at my inbox every day.
--¼åÁiÔÄČďÿ “4Þ@µµÛĈŒǑƏui ÿñ67ßĀāʼnő 90ÆÕǒķ¿ÊŦũ” (Translation: G.W. Bush: Red War Bug an’ now have brain. Sort of.)
--Jose Cueveros: “magnifico penidado esta War grande Bug”
--Tudy Karls: “Bug v-i-g.re 4 less”
--Infonewsie: “US intelligense orderd Bug. Click for mor.”
--Harde Coar: “gushing War Bugs”
--Belle Nakoabe: “E-large WarpenBugis in I wk”
--Cheepe Vi@g: “now War Bug maks her smil”
Visit me at www/biffmitchell.com for something free.
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