Half A Giraffe

I’ve always loved Christopher Walken, always, so when our boss Mr. Murdoch rang us and told us that we were going to interview Mr. Walken if we wanted “all three of yer f***in’ mothers to survive the night”, I jumped at the chance to be the one to meet the great man.

Arriving at the venue was worth a moment’s thought, as Mr. Walken asked us to meet him in his fallout shelter, many hundreds of metres beneath the Colorado Rockies. Once I’d gone through the 36-hour compression process to comfortably co-exist in Mr. Walken’s habitat, I stuck on the tape-recorder and got to work, I didn’t want to miss a second!

Me: Mr. Walken, it’s so nice to finally meet you!

CW: Get your f***in’ hand outta my face, you little c**t.

Me: Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Walken, I didn’t mean to be forward, I-

CW: You drop the cutesy Mr. Walken act, you piece of s**t, or I’ll f***in’ hit the switch and blow us both to kingdom come.

(some moments of silence)

Me: Chris…

CW: …topher.

Me: It’s nice to meet you.

CW: No it isn’t. Don’t lie to Christopher Walken, he can see into your soul, you c**t of a husk of a p***k.

Me: I’ve always wanted to meet you, Christopher.

CW: Now what?

Me: Well, my boss has asked me to interview you and gave me some questions he told me to take out when I got to meet you.

(sound of envelope taking a while to open in increasingly hostile and awkward silence)

Me: Em, ok, so Christopher, my first question is this; We have access to your telephone, your email and your home address. We know everything about you, every woman and man you fucked, every child you killed, every dogfight you bet at. We have it in writing.

(sound of Christopher Walken breathing)

CW: Is there a f***ing question in there?

Me: No…oh wait, yes! Will you be in some new piece of c**p film with Paulie Shore for his comeback? You just need to play a pyscho, you bats**t-crazy son of a b***h. Do it or we’ll flood that stupid bunker with Lady Gaga music.

CW: I’ll do it. Next question.

Me: Do you have a favourite sport?

CW: Yes.

Me: Can you tell me please?

CW: No.

Me: Do you watch your films after you’ve made them or do you like to avoid them as some actors do?

CW: I’ve never seen a film before. Someone explained it to me once, I don’t like the sound of it. I just do that so I can get the money for my monkey-farming business.

Me: Oh you have a monkey farm! How fascinating! How long-

CW: No, I don’t. But in a few years I will have the right amount of capital to breed rabid fighting monkeys, whereupon I will live among them.

(sound of me flicking through notebook of interview notes)

Me: How do you feel about people doing impressions of your trademark syncopated and dry delivery?

(sound of Christopher crossing the intervening space in an instant and grabbing me by the collar, slamming me painfully against the wall)

CW: Now you listen here, you slim-footed, dogs**t-eatin’ cockroach. If I ever hear one more person try to impersonate my irregular speech patterns resulting from a childhood stroke, I will go and pay every ten-dollar, c**k-lovin’, s**t-eatin’, c**-gobbin’ f*****t I can find to f**k me in the a** so I can s**t c** down their necks when I rip off their f***in’ heads.

I passed out around this point as Christopher had constricted my airflow by painfully grabbing my throat. I woke up on his living-room altar, alone in the room. I gingerly tip-toed out of the pentagram and found him dancing by himself under an artificial moon that looked and smelled like it had been made from actual swiss cheese. Quite a while ago. I cleared my throat. “Christopher? I think it’s time I-”. He stopped moving when he heard me and disappeared before my eyes, fading out like a mirage. Figuring it was best to leave that one be, I turned on my heel and walked into him.

“Off so soon?”

“Yes, I think it’s for the best, Christopher, thank you for your time, I’d love to…”, he disappeared while I was talking and was simply gone again, then I could feel him breathing on the back of my neck. “Would it be easiest if I kept facing the way I am and just wait for you to appear in front of me?”

“Yyeeeess”, the word was drawn out, diminishing into the distance behind me and then coalescing into a sound in front of me as he melted into existence about an inch from my face. I decided not to let that happen again. Soiling oneself doesn’t feel good.

I cleared my throat.

“Shall I just show myself out?”

“Let me help you, you small-d**ked, Irish f***tard.”. He grabbed my arms with an icy, immovable grip. The sensation started in my stomach but I believed it when my eyes started to swim and warble as the stinky, cheesy cavern and his terrifying, insane eyes were replaced by the ceiling of my office. I sat up, on my couch, safe and sound. I heaved a sigh of relief.

Getting to my feet, I entered the main office and saw Rory and Gemma spinning each other in their chairs. I was going to rebuke them but they had their “RESEARCH IN PROGRESS” signs up, so I couldnae. They stopped dead when they saw me. “You’re meant to be visiting Christopher Walken! Murdo’ll murder you! HE’LL MURDER US ALL!”, Gemma screamed, so loud I thought she was going to explode. “Don’t worry,” I replied coolly, “I met him, I’m just back, it was…weird.”. I saw a look cross Rory’s face, and before I could say anything, he said, in a terrible Christopher Walken voice, “This watch!-”. He was cut off by Christopher dropping on him like a spider from the suspended ceiling. I can’t write about the rest of that encounter as it’s the subject of an ongoing lawsuit.

The lesson here: Don’t meet your heroes, they’ll only turn out to be batshit crazy, scare you half to death with their dark magical powers and then die at the hands of a friend who is defending himself from a violent sexual attack.

Posted in Staff Writer |