(CS: I once wrote really bizarre and odd attempts at humour on this here site. This one is from way back in 2010 before I had human children, as gets revealed in the piece. I don't remember what inspired this, but I clearly had fun writing it. I hope to try some of this type of writing over the year again.)
Forrest: Thank you so much Christopher for taking time out of your busy schedule of pretending to write while watching Youtube videos of teenagers throwing stuff off bridges and dancing to dated music from Columbian pop stars.
Christopher: Yeah, not many can live my hectic life.
Forrest: So, my first question is, why the heck have you been smothering me with your pillow for the last year?
Christopher: It adds extra comfort??? Actually, to be honest, ever since getting married I've sort of forgotten that you occupy the bed with me. Hey, you should be happy, because it means you've been securely hidden from Summit; he ends up chewing and slobbering on the stuffed pig instead.
Forrest: Ah yes, my next question. What the heck is with allowing that beast on the bed so that he can attack my friends and fart in my general direction?
Christopher: I have no clue what you're talking about. He is absolutely not allowed on the bed. . . when Emily is in the room.
Forrest: Speaking of Emily, I've noticed her stuffed toys don't get crushed by pillows or consistently neglected by her. Why do you think that is?
Christopher: I thought, this interview was supposed to be about me and my dreams and my ambitions and my fledgling writing career? This has been more like being lectured by an inanimate object.
Forrest: That is because I am an inanimate object.
Christopher: Oh yeah.
Forrest: But point taken. I'll stop my complaints concealed as questions. Instead I'll ask you the question that the world has been dying to know. When are you going to get yourself some kids?
Christopher: The world wants to know this?
Forrest: Well, your aunts.
Christopher: I already have two kids.
Forrest: I meant human kids.
Christopher: Oh. Well, they were all out of them at the grocery store, so I bought milk instead. It goes better with my Lucky Charms anyway.
Forrest: So, is this your typically inept way of saying you don't want to be a father.
Christopher: Oh no. I wouldn't mind being a dad. I could get my son to mow the lawn. And maybe dress him up as a rooster and enter him into one of those cockfights that I learned about on Seinfeld.
Forrest: I don't even know where to start with that entire answer there.
Christopher: Well, then just do what Emily does. Roll your eyes.
Forrest: I can't, they're sewn on my face.
Christopher: Oh yeah.
Forrest: Anyway, are you saying you're opposed to having a daughter?
Christopher: No. But I would really like to be a father.
Forrest: Um. . .hmm. You realize you would be a father if you had a boy or a girl, right?
Christopher: But a girl is a female.
Forrest: Very smart of you for noticing that.
Christopher: Thanks. So, that means I wouldn't be a father. Since she would be female, I would be le father.
Forrest: Okay, first of all that is even stupid for you. Secondly, 'le' is masculine.
Christopher: No way! 'Le' is 'the'. Gosh, your French is awful. Good thing nobody speaks French in Canada, or you'd be in trouble.
Forrest: What about Quebec?
Christopher: I'm talking about real life. Not fiction. Sheesh.
Forrest: Oh boy. Um, how does someone at your obvious intellectual level actually maintain a daily blog?
Christopher: Well, there really isn't much to it. You just make sure they're the right size, and then throw them in the fireplace. I make awesome fires.
Forrest: That would be logs. And you don't have a fireplace.
Christopher: That would explain why Emily kept screaming for me to stop lighting her piano on fire.
Forrest: Alright. Lets focus back on your writing. Your fans want to know what exactly inspired you to write that rather odd story about the guy who kept having exceedingly worse things happen to him.
Christopher: Woah, my fans speak to you too? I told Emily I wasn't crazy stuffing them deep into the closet, in order to prevent them from continually heckling me.
Forrest: Are you talking about mechanical fans? I mean, you're not stuffing human beings in closets, right?
Christopher: Actually, I am not stuffed at all. I am quite hungry. I think, I have a Cheezie stored under this bed.
Forrest: Do you ever try listening to yourself?
Christopher: Actually, the courts legally ordered me to stop doing that.
Forrest: I am not sure if this interview could go any worse.
Christopher: Sure it could. Summit, come!
Forrest: Oh no! The savage beast has mistaken my arm for a piece of beef jerky.
Christopher: And now you know why I smothered you in pillows.
Forrest: Argh! This interview is over.
Christopher: And so is your stuffing. All over the floor, that is. Ha, I crack myself up.