CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF


This conversation with myself was transcribed by me. For the purpose of clarity, I will be known as 'keMo' (the interveiwer), and Ken (the interveiwee).





keMo:____ I'm here with Ken, author of "Ten Reasons To Leave Rodents Out Of Your Sex Life". Ken, as I was reading this-
Ken:______ I didn't write that Book...
keMo:____ Excuse me?
Ken:______ I said I didn't write that book. Who are you?
keMo:____ Well...I'm keMo.
Ken:______ And that means... what to me?
keMo:____ (laughs) Well. I see this going to be interesting. Can we get back the the interveiw? As I was saying, your book was fascinating. On page 23, for instance, you refer to-
Ken:______ Now wait a second! I don't know who you are, why you're in my house or what the hell you're talking about...and who are all these people?!
keMo:____ Um...what people?
Ken:______ (pause) Oh...nevermind. Holy shit...that's my shirt!!
keMo: Excuse me?
Ken: My shirt! You're wearing my fucking shirt!
keMo: I've had this shirt for months, Ken. I think you might be confused...
Ken: Oh really? Then why does it say 'Ken's Fucking Shirt' on the front?
keMo: Hmmm...I never noticed that. I'm sure it's supposed to say 'keMo's Fucking shirt'...must have been a mistake at the screenprinter's.
Ken: Give me my shirt.
keMo: What?
Ken: Give me my fucking shirt, you retard!!
keMo: (indignant) Sir, this is highly confrontational...if you'll just -
Ken: (screams)

LATER...


keMo: Okay...I'm back with the guy that just ripped my shirt. Tell me Ken, what's your problem?
Ken: ME?! MY PROBLEM?! My God...where am I?? WHO ARE YOU?!
keMo: (ignoring Ken's question) Isn't it true that you once masturbated in public?
Ken: What? What? Where do you get this...I never...
keMo: Isn't it also true that you were once a member of Boy Scout Troop 292 in Grandville, Michigan?
Ken: Well, yes, but I was 12 years old, and I don't see -
keMo: What's up with the butter, Ken?
Ken: Butter?
keMo: Butter, yes.
Ken: (silence)
keMo: Mind if I grab a beer while you think about it?
Ken: (unintelligable)
keMo: Okie then, be right back.
Ken: (mumbling, sound of chair scaping floor) STAY AWAY FROM MY BEER!!


Argument ensues...keMo screams several times.


Ken: (walking towards microphone) I mean, I just like butter better. The lotions all have fragrances I might possibly be allergic to. And butter tastes better. (sits down again)
keMo: Listen can I have a beer or not?
Ken: Who's stopping you?!
keMo: YOU HAD A CHEESE GRATER PRESSED AGAINST MY FACE!!
Ken: Oh you baby.
keMo: Fine. I'm getting a beer.
Ken: Get me one, too.


To be continued...