Recently, during one of my many visits to the Playboy Mansion, Hef said to me, “Hey, Schafes, I just had an idea. I really enjoy these in-depth conversations we always have here, in the grotto, while we float around in inner tubes and naked ladies sing to us. I really appreciate all the advice you give me, and I also like how there’s a third inner tube in here with a big plate on it, and how that plate is full of Newman-Os. But I feel guilty hoarding all this insight and wisdom to ourselves. How about we put one of these great conversations down on record, for the ages to enjoy?”
And I said, “Hefs, haven’t you already given the world enough?”
And he said, “Yes, but I haven’t yet given them enough… of you.”
And that’s the story about how this interview happened.
See, usually, I don’t give interviews. When IGN asked me to talk about Brütal Legend recently, I gave them my typical response: I screamed and turned and ran away as fast as I could. Just when I thought I was in the clear, one of their reporters stepped out from the crowd. I remember he had a big leather hat and snakeskin boots. He reached into a bag of groceries that a little old lady just happened to be carrying by at that moment and pulled out a big can of soup, and threw it all the way down the block and into the back of my head. It knocked me out cold, and the blood from my head splattered all over the pavement, forming the words of this interview here. How was I supposed to know IGN had Australians on the payroll?
Right after that happened, a stray kitten came by and licked up all the blood, and that made everybody sick, and so they barfed, and then the kitten came over and licked up all the barf, and then the guy in the leather hat said, “Craikey! Kitten, you are risking making us all sick again. I hope you realize that, mate.” At which point the kitten stood up on it’s hind legs and gave a fifteen minute speech titled “Risk and Hope,” and even though I was supposed to be out cold, I was awake enough to hear what the kitten was saying, type it all into my Blackberry, replace every occurrence of the word “barf” with “video games,” and email it to the Escapist, who printed it word for word.
Then I went back in time and sued the kitty for plagiarism. How do my words taste now, kitty?