Once again, from the book of If.
Q: If you were suddenly naked in front of everyone at work, what would you say to them?
A: "Suddenly naked"? I hate to answer the question with another question, but I take it that by "suddenly naked" it means that I wasn't expecting to be naked in front of my coworkers as though it was some sort of freak accident that robbed me of my clothes or some ninja sliced my clothes off with a kitana or something. There's such a wide array of instances that would render me "suddenly naked" and I doubt that many, if any of them at all, would be so seemingly normal so as to let me say to my coworkers something banal and obvious like, "Yes, this is my penis. Now get back to work before I slap you with it." Hmmmm...this is a good question because now in my mind I'm going through more and more occurrences that would make me naked suddenly. I think that my best remark about being rendered naked by a twist of fate in front of all my coworkers would have to be something impeccably timed and funny so as to draw attention away from my penis that would undoubtedly be reacting in its own way to the shock sudden and unexpected exposure and the casino's air conditioning. Then I would probably pick up the nearest phone, calmly dial a lawyer and get the wheels turning on a law suit against the casino for having the fucking air conditioning turned up so high that it robbed me of my dignity. Air conditioning does that to penises.
Q: If you were to be any famous person's personal masseuse, whose would you like to be?
A: There are a lot of possibilities for this question. On one hand I could go with the obvious and start naming all of these starlets with sexy backs. On the other hand I could name a whole list of morbidly obese celebrities (okay, the three or four of them who actually exist anymore) just so that, as a masseuse, I could make a better living because with a bigger back comes more overtime, and with more overtime comes better pay cheques and a better quality of life. Decisions. Decisions. Well, most starlets wouldn't give me the time of day anyway. I'm not saying that because I'm trying to be Mr. Oh-Isn't-He-So-Adorably-Humble, but because, come on, I'm a freakin' masseuse and since when do you see starlets dating masseuses? That's like dating a maid or a butler. Sure, there might be a starlet or two who could be desperate enough to have sex with a masseuse just to make their male celebrity love interest jealous or for headline fodder, but how often, realistically, is that going to happen? Nope, I'm going to have to choose to be the masseuse of the fattest celebrity around. But who would that be? Louie Anderson? Those world's fattest twins who ride motorcycles guys? Somebody like that. It doesn't matter who. I'm a masseuse by trade, not for the socializing. Hello pay cheque!
Q: If you could have hit any homerun in baseball history, which one would you choose?
A: Barry Bonds' #715. If I could be Barry Bonds, having spent most of my professional career juicing up (allegedly, he says *snicker*), I would have done #715 with a bit more bitterness. I mean, since you're all ready despised by everybody and made a villain by the media, why not go into the insane level of villainy and rip up a picture of Babe Ruth right at home plate as you cross it? That would be so cool. Because if everybody is intent on putting an asterisk beside your name you should do something else to make them remember you for more than just your footnote.
Q: If you had to go tonight to be tattooed, where on your body would you have it done and what image would you select?
A: I'd want to get Allen Ginsberg's "Howl" tattooed on my back. Since it's a really long poem it would have to be done in really small lettering. Does that count as an "image"?