I have recently run out of shit to write about. Yes, even unlimited psychological damage yields only limited psychosis and creativity. My only recourse was to wander around aimlessly in search of a new subject to attack, and humiliate, and libel, and defame, etc., etc.
I walked around for half an hour interviewing idiots and potheads with whom I am forced to spend half the day with. My job wouldn't be half bad if it wasn't for all the fucking customers and employees, but sadly that is one of the drawbacks of working at an amusement park.
spydur: Gimme a topic.... Gimme a topic. I've got the tape recorder in your face, gimme a topic.
Karen: [Hits the interviewer]
S: Damn you, gimme a topic!
K: [Hits the interviewer again. She's a really evasive bitch.]
S: I didn't say; Hit me, I said gimme a topic.
K: [Kicks the interviewer]
S: I didn't say kick me either, c'mon, give me one topic... Damn it!, Talk!... Say something, Damn!, Shit!
[Damn and shit are both highly technical reporting terms.]
K: [Subject mouths something incoherent so that the tape won't pick it up, but seeing as how I had the recorder half and inch from her face, I was not in a position to read her lips.]
S: You gotta speak up.
K: [Subject starts head-butting the tape recorder like a fucking idiot]
S: The microphone isn't that sensitive, It's cheap. Ten bucks from Wal-mart.
[Tape jars from that thick fucking skull of hers smashing my fingers into the rewind button]
S: Fine, You then. Shit! [Adressing her husband who pulls the same silence shit.]
S: You'all suck... [end]
As you can tell, it seemed that I had my work cut out for me. If all the fucking fucks responded like this, I might ton even get anyone's voice on tape.
Were these people so paranoid that they wouldn't allow themselves to be recorded? One of the side-effects of extreme pot use is paranoia, maybe all they do all day is get high. They do seem to be pretty fucking lethargic and hungry most of the time.
Well, after this first interview, I went through kiddie hell to try and find a new victim, um... er... I mean, subject. I came upon the slightly hostile ruler of kiddie hell in his lair [the bumper cars], He was waiting for me, sitting in a bumper car with the power on just waiting for me to step on the polished metal sacrificial alter that is... the bumper car platform.
Just think, this fucker is in charge of small children for eight months of the year and seven days a week. If that isn't enough to turn someone into a dangerous freak, I don't know what is.
Taking control of the situation, I scrambled up to the control switch and shut the power off. This psychotic bastard had already tried to run me over once... and now I had him cornered. There is nothing more dangerous than a cornered animal.
Interview 2:
S: Fucker, you aren't gonna run me over again. I'm gathering incriminating evidence to write about.
D: Uhh... nothing... [sounds like a bad impersonation of Butt-Head, doesn't he?]
S: I need a topic to write about.
D:Uhh... nothing... [He also has an impressive vocabulary, doesn't he?]
S: Gimme somethin' to write about!
D: Uh, how Joe sabotaged the bumper cars? [Wow, sabotaged, that's a big word.]
S: I didn't sabotage the damned bumper cars. Come on, give me something to write about. I've got a knife, don't make me have to use it. [Yes, I pulled a knife on him. A good reporter is always prepared for a hostile situation.]
S: Give me somethin' to write about.
D: I don't know.
S: Come on, man.
D: Uh.. I don't know.
S: Well, there's gotta be somethin' that [is an] everyday, occuring thing that just seems brutally funny to you.
D: Sex and scandals.
S: What?
D: Sex and scandals.
S: Oh, fuck that shit. I've already written enough about that shit. Come on, somethin' else.
D: Uh.. Uh.. [there he goes with his butt-head impression again.] I don't know... Oompa-Loompa [Karen]
S: Oh, fuck her too, man. You're just as bad to interview as she was. [end]
At this point I went to someone that I knew would have some more useful input. Whether or not the interview would be coherent or not was another story. It has occured to me that heavy drug use and stupidity results in hair loss, bad breath, and an inability to shut the fuck up. but upon further investigation I am led to believe that the hair loss is genetic, the bad breath is probably lack of brushing and a daily constitution of too much coffee and cheap cigarettes, and as for the inabisity to shut the fuck up, perhaps if he did, his jaw would sieze up and his brain would stop working. But , I can't be too hard on the fucker, he is scotti's dad.
S: I'm gathering incriminating evidence to write about upon my website.
Gary: FUCK YOU!
S: No man, no, thank you, um...
G: Incriminating evidence about what?
S: I don't know, man. Actually, I just need something to write about.
G: You need something to write about?, You've got something to write about. Just write about Osama and his little gang.
S: Oh, fuck him too, man. I need something funny to write about.
G: Somethin' funny? Write about Dustin, or better yet, write about Travis.
S: Fat Travis? No.
G: Or, better yet, write about Danielle.
S: I already did enough of that.
G: Well, put the pictures [of danielle] on the internet.
S: I already did that too... I did. I need a topic to write about.
G: uhhh... let's see, write about H.R.
S: Fuck you, man. [end]
Well, so much for gary. It never ceases to amaze me how a person that never shuts the fuck up, never has anything to say.
Well, next, I went to an extremely paranoid subject who refused to let me use his name, even though no one ever uses his real name, so for simplicities sake we'll call him Fussy.
S: I'm looking for incriminating evidence to write about upon my website.
F: Fuck you, you ain't getting shit from me.
S: Actually, no, actually all I need is a topic to write about.
F: Man, alright man, FBI cruises around the internet, looking around for shit, don't put my name on this.
S: Your name's not anywhere on my website, but scotti's is... several times.
F: Alright, leave that bitch's name all over there, but not my fuckin' name.
F: [to Scott] do you see this? He's recording this shit. [end]
This subject was a little defensive but he loosened up a little after this, but, unfortunetly, I had to chop it quite a bit to protect the guilty.
Upon close investigation of the taped interviews, I have formed the opinion that most amusement park workers have nothing useful to contribute to society. -spydur
This material was originally meant to be accompanied by downloads of the recorded interviews themselves, but, unfortunetly the recordings were erased from my hard-drive when my computer died.