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Send to FriendSubject: I wanna interview you:)
Date: 5/21/01 7:02pm Eastern Standard Time
From: Gabrielle Garrison
To: Johnny BastardI've been reading your little online "diary" on the Internet over the past week or so, Mister Bastard, and I must say that as disturbing as I've found certain passages to be, I also found it to be very fascinating overall and was wondering if you would be interested in doing a little interview with me for the magazine I work for. I'm sure the readers would be very interested in your lifestyle, etc. and I could recommend them your site as well if they wish to find out anything more about you. Anyway, please write back soon so we can set something up:)
Thanks,
Gabrielle Garrison
Subject: Re: I wanna interview you:)
Date: 5/21/01 9:05pm Eastern Standard Time
From: Johnny Bastard
To: Gabrielle Garrison
Sorry, not interested
Subject: Please...
Date: 5/22/01 6:04pm Eastern Standard Time
From: Gabrielle Garrison
To: Johnny BastardPlease, I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me interview you, and the readers of that magazine would greatly appreciate it too, you know:) You wouldn't want to upset all those people reading my magazine, now would you? I didn't want to bring this up, but I already promised them I'd have an interview with you, so now you're bound to it, Mister Bastard. You have no idea of the kind of backlash that would occur if you were to back out now of that promise that I made for you. You might want to think about that before you so callously discard my request for an interview. After all, you wouldn't want to disappoint and let down all those people, now would you.
Thanks for reading my requests; I'm sure you'll make the right decision:)
Love,
Gabrielle
Subject: FUCK OFF YOU STUPID MISERABLE CUNT!!!!!!
Date: 5/22/01 11:09pm Eastern Standard Time
From: Johnny Bastard
To: Gabrielle GarrisonLet's get one thing straight right now, bitch: I don't give a shit about you, and I don't give a shit about the millions of people who I'm gonna piss off by not having that stupid interview with you! Got it?! You shouldn't have made that promise until you were absolutely certain you could keep it. Don't presume that I'm gonna be slave to every promise that some stupid bitch I don't even know and don't give a shit about makes on my behalf. I don't have to do shit! And if you don't like that, you can eat my fucking ass! The shear arrogance and audacity you would have to even make such promises and try to make it appear that I am legally or morally bound to keep them just to get your miserable little ass out of the fray. I'm not!
And get this through your thick, furry, lice-infested skull right now, lady: I am not interested in doing your stupid interview, and if you don't like it, TOUGH SHIT!
And if you ever send me another email again flaunting your arrogance and bullshit, I will not only have your address blocked from my account but also report you to the necessary authorities. God That? Because what you're doing to me right now is online harassment and I DON'T have to take it!
Subject: You're not very nice at all, Mister Bastard
Date: 5/23/01 9:02pm Eastern Standard Time
From: Gabrielle Garrison
To: Johnny BastardThat email you sent me was totally out of line, Mister Bastard and entirely unnecessary. I just want to have an interview with you, and that's all, and I do not need to read all of those vulgar obscenities. It was absolutely uncalled for and I did not appreciate it at all.
However, you're right; I should not have promised them anything until I was absolutely sure I could get it for them. It was wrong of me to act as though you owed me anything. I guess you do have every right to be mad at me. I screwed up, and I'm sorry:(
Look, if you agree to have this interview with me, I'll be willing to compensate you for your time. You can name your price, okay? How does that sound?
I hope to hear from you with your answer soon...if at all...
Gabrielle
Subject: Re: You're not very nice at all, Mister Bastard
Date: 5/23/01 10:03pm Eastern Standard Time
From: Johnny Bastard
To: Gabrielle Garrison
Fine, but the second you get out of line, the interviews over. I'm not taking any bullshit from you and I'm not tolerating very much from you at all. In other words, you piss me off in any way, no matter how minor, no matter how petty of me it may seem, this interview is over, end of story. And it's all going to be done completely on my terms!
And so, we made our arrangements as to where we would meet--my place, of all rendezvous spots -- and the interview itself pretty much went like this:
I heard her hammering against my front door (at least she had the courtesy and manners to knock first, not that she would have made it inside with all the locks slapped on the door) and I opened the door, only to see her face, the face of a woman in her late twenties, peering in at me through the thin lenses of her glasses. "Hi, I'm Gabrielle Garrison, the woman who is scheduled to interview you today," she said in a friendly manner. "Well, are you gonna let me in or what?"
"Yeah, hold your horses."
I shut the door and undid the chain lock, then let her inside my domain, my second big mistake from where I stand now (my first was ever agree to do this interview in the first place rather than making good on my original promise/threats). She was fairly attractive, I suppose, with her business like appearance, three piece gray suit with a red tie, her caramel hair tied back in a professional manner. Her face was flawless, her blue eyes gleaming radiantly at me and I could tell that I was really making her day by agreeing to have this interview. Unfortunately, things didn't go quite as smoothly as originally anticipated, but hey, I'm not complaining.
I hadn't even had time to politely offer my guest a seat before she made herself at home on my couch. "Coffee?" she said out of nowhere, and I at first thought she was going to offer me some coffee.
"What about coffee?"
"You're not going to ask me if I would like to have some coffee or offer me something to drink?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said sarcastically. "How terribly rude of me. Would you like some coffee, ma'am?"
"Yes, I would."
"Tough shit, Gabrielle! I don't have any fucking coffee! You want coffee, go to Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts."
"Oh...um...I see."
And I thought in the back of my mind: Could someone get this officious, patronizing bitch out of my apartment right now?
"Why don't we begin by having me tell you a little bit about myself," she suggested, and before I could reply, she had opened her big mouth once again. "My name, as you know, is Gabrielle Garrison. I'm 29 years of age, married, and with one kid who's just turned three last March."
"Yeah, that's nice, Gabrielle, but I don't give a shit about any of that," I interrupted impatiently. Can we get on with it so we can get it over with and I can get back to wallowing in my own misery."
"Yes, you're right," she agreed. "It is about you, isn't it? I'm sorry."
"Whatever."
I swear, I'm gonna end up killing this fucking bitch before the night is done, I thought bitterly.
She pulled out her recording device and we got started.
"Look," I began, "let's cut the crap right now, okay? I know that the rest of the human race hates my guts and to them I'm a horrible, deplorable man. I don't give a shit, because I hate them all even more. Quit with the patronizing bullshit, okay? I don't like you and you don't like me either. The only reason you're here is to make money off of your stupid magazine. Otherwise you'd be at home fucking your husband and spending time with your kid. I don't care. Just don't overstep your boundaries, okay? This interview is to be done completely by my terms, as I said in my email, so don't you forget it."
"Yes, it was duly noted."
And so we began...
"Now, Mister Bastard, you claim that you have this strong contempt and hatred for the rest of society, for every human being that you've ever met, and even the ones you haven't met. Is that correct?"
"Absolutely correct. I hate you. I hate all of your readers. I hate every man, woman, and child in the human race."
"That's an awful lot of hate to be carrying around in your heart."
"It's not so bad, really. I've been living with all of this hate for so long, I can't imagine what life would be like without it. In fact I rather enjoy having all of this hate inside my heart. It's better than feeling absolutely nothing at all, wouldn't you agree?"
She nodded. "Sure...I guess."
"Sometimes I think that the only thing that ever kept me alive is the hate."
"Yeah...yeah, I guess that makes sense," she said, but I could sense that already I was beginning to get to her. Good, I thought. Maybe if I disturb her enough, she'll leap off of this couch with a deep shudder and leave already. And all I have to do is tell her the truth. It's that easy. Just tell her the God's honest truth.
"So," she continued, "all of those laws you said you'd impose if you ever became dictator, you were serious about wanting them to go into effect."
"I was dead serious."
"But those are such horrible laws!" she exclaimed, and I could see the revulsion in her eyes. "Do you realize the state of total chaos that'll bring?"
"Yes, I do. It's what I'm hoping for actually. You should realize that about me, had you read my little online 'diary'."
"Right--right--you hate society--death to all human race is a wet dream to you--blah, blah, blah." And I could see her shuddering right now at that thought. I'm really getting under her skin now, I thought excitedly.
"But there was one person you loved and cared for," she brought up, and I now knew that while I could get under her skin, she could also get under mine, and that wasn't any good at all. "What about Eve?"
"Whoa, whoa, hold it now," I interrupted, "we're not going there, understand?"
"But this interview--what is it about Eve that you don't want to talk about?"
"This interview is being done by my terms, Gabrielle. I say we're not gonna talk about Eve, then we're not gonna talk about Eve, is that clear?"
"Crystal."
"I've already said all I wish to say regarding that topic already. If that's not enough information, tough shit. I'm done with it."
"Fine, we can get back to that later."
"No, we're not going to get into that at all," I said firmly, and that was the end of it--for the time being.
"But other than Eve, there was never anybody else you ever cared about, not even your family?"
"That is correct."
"What were the circumstances behind you 'not being on speaking terms with your family?'"
"That's a long story and hopefully one I will delve into in a future installment of my files."
"Very well then. And that doesn't bother you at all, that you're not speaking to anyone within your family?"
"Not one bit."
I could see the shocked look on her face as I answered her asinine query so coldly and matter-of-factly. I was really starting to get under her skin. Yet she stuck it out. I'll admit she had been tough enough to stick it out nonetheless, and I respect and admire her for that, if nothing else. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but...would you consider yourself to be any kind of a sociopath? I mean, most people who aren't on speaking terms with their families...well, it can sometimes tend to bother them...yet it doesn't seem to bother you at all...I'm just saying..." She stirred in her seat; probably afraid I might snap out at her for asking such a question, that her little query might offend me in some way. It didn't though, and I told her so, laughing. I must say that laughing is a rarity for me, unless it's cruel laughter at someone else's expense, like when I see someone getting into a major car accident and being rushed into an ambulance on a stretcher, either unconscious or in a boat load of pain, covered in their own blood. I just can't help laughing at them.
"Actually, Gabrielle, I sometimes wonder about that myself. I've never officially been diagnosed as a sociopath, but then again, I've never seen a psychiatrist either, except for when my parents forced me to one as a kid because they were so freaked out over seeing me eating shit and enjoying it. Obviously, with kids, you can't know for sure whether they're a sociopath or not, because their brains are still developing. These days, I'm not going to bother seeing a shrink because I think they're all quacks. I think all doctors are quacks, actually--just want your money and that's it. That's why I never bother to go in for my annual check-up. If I'm sick, I usually know I'm sick. You don't need a doctor telling you that, you see. It's pretty easy to be able to tell the difference between being healthy and being sick. Likewise with a psychiatrist--I already know I'm pretty damned screwed up in the head--I don't need a shrink to tell me that. I'm a deviant; I'm different from everybody else. Besides, I don't need a shrink to charge me a shit load of money that I can't afford to pay (keep in mind I work as a janitor at an elementary school) just to get me a prescription for Prozac or Paxil or some other shit that, while I'm sure those medications are very helpful for other people that use them, probably wouldn't do a damn bit of good for me."
"Okay, so you don't like psychiatrist or doctors in general. Fine. But if you had to give yourself a self-diagnosis, would you consider yourself any kind of a sociopath?"
"Hmmm...I'm not sure, really. A misanthrope, definitely. A full-blown sociopath, that's difficult to say. I hate society, as I've already established many, many times. Yet, I did truly care for Eve. My love for her was definitely genuine, no doubt about that. And sociopaths tend not to have any regard for anybody--sometimes not even themselves.
"However, I definitely have that whole remorselessness thing going. I am truly without any conscience whatsoever. I can tell you this, keeping a completely straight face and being completely honest with you, that I have never once in my entire life felt an ounce of guilt or remorse for anything I have ever done. I don't have to rationalize it or anything; the fact that I had done something wrong has never once registered. I have no ethics and no concept of morals whatsoever.
"Then again, you probably already know of my great shame at having such a small penis. And there is that whole thing with mirrors, as well.
"So, Gabrielle, to answer your question, I'm honestly not sure at all. And anyway, it doesn't really matter at all. So what if I'm a sociopath? It doesn't change a damn thing for me. My life will still be just as miserable, and I'll still be a complete and total loser."
"Maybe you're a borderline sociopath?" she suggested.
"Maybe."
For a while, we were both silent, and then she said out of nowhere: "You know, if it makes ya feel any better, size doesn't really matter."
"Whatever."
I decided to get up and excuse myself. My throat was parched and I needed a drink. Gabrielle remained seated, while I went into the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. I returned to the table, and took a seat, the glass of water remained in hand, and that's when all hell finally broke loose.
"So, why don't we get back into the subject of Eve?" she suggested, and I sat there with a look of total disbelief on my face. Didn't I already say we weren't going to talk about that?
"What?!"
"Eve."
"Goddamn it, Gabrielle, I said we weren't gonna talk about Eve!"
"I think it's very important that we talk about Eve," she said, and I could sense the smugness in her tone, that lying, manipulative, disrespectful little bitch. I had told her we weren't going to bring that subject up again, and here she was, bringing it up, totally disregarding my wishes. "She's had a huge impact on your life and who you were. We should at least address the subject. Don't worry, this interview is almost over."
I squeezed tightly against the glass of water in my hand, so tightly that it first cracked briefly and then shattered completely, exploding in my grip. I could feel the jagged edges of the breaking glass cutting into my palm and into my fingers, ripping pain and drawing blood from the wounds, but I didn't care. I leapt off the chair with such force that the momentum threw the chair backward, and stood straight up, looking at her with heated anger. "NO, YOU'RE WRONG, GABRIELLE!" I shouted, now completely enraged. "THIS INTERVIEW IS OVER!" I blindly threw everything off of the table, every scrap of paper, every pen and pencil, everything. "GET OUT!" I yelled in her face, venomous spittle flying from my lips and hitting her face. She just stood there, eyes raised fearfully, and mouth hanging open, struggling to talk but unable to utter anything coherent. I saw her recording device slip from her fingers--she was probably unaware that she had even dropped it. "I SAID GET OUTTA MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW!" I screamed insanely at her. "GET OUTTA MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW! GET OUT!" She screamed shrilly, tears streaming down her face, and then turned and bolted out the door. "GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW YOU LYING FUCKING BITCH!"
And I felt good about what I'd done.
May 26, 2001