Shit man, the press wants me in the ass. I get calls, e-mails, really intrusive telepathic messages, all from reporters who want a little piece of The Skullface. Shit man, what can I tell ‘em that they don’t already know? If you’re smart enough to tie your own shoe and make your own babies, then what else is there that you can’t learn from the “should I grow hair on my head or above my lip” antics of Dr. Phil McGraw?

I just don’t get it, the whole interview thing. My boy Superargo’s done thousands of ‘em. I’ve read about four and they all seem the same to me. All anyone wants to ask is how do you make your music and who are you pluggin’ backstage. Fuck all that sheesh; I can live without it.

But shit man, they’re bustin down my door. As if it were a responsibility to do some fuckin’ gabbin with whatever white trash - turned supermodel - turned reporter they throw at me. Homie may play Jenga, and Homie might play Backgammon, but Homie sure as fuck don’t play that.

But shit man, they’re bustin down my door. And you gotta understand: I got a life-style – my doors aren’t cheap. And right now they’ve got a bad case of reporter kick and it’s making my backside sing!

So shit man! Looks like I’m gonna have to give in, just this once. But this is America and round here was work under a little thing called compromise, and The Skullface is determined to compromise until the cows come home, GETCHIT!!! No walking ad for California is gonna touch this ass. No tough-acting, hard-hitting ex-weather man is gonna read my mind. If we’re gonna do this we’re gonna do it right! And that can only mean one thing: The Skullface is gonna get busy with and probed by the one-and-only therapist for the stars…Barbara Walters! And that broad better watch her ass cause when you chill with The Skullface, it’s two men enter, one man leave! Can she make a Skullface cry? Find out next on…20/20: A Space Oddity!!!

(it should be known that Barbara Walters has a hairy ass and is too afraid to show it to The Skullface. Because of this, and the fact that she’s out of make up and lazy, her interview with me consists of questions she already asked other celebrities. Shit man! The Skullface says this Recycling crap is getting out of wack! Mother Nature is a big girl. Let her wipe her own ass. Peas out – get mo’ at the sto’.)

Anyway. So here it is…

BW: There is a quality about you – more than a quality – that’s very refreshing, which is “I am what I am, I don’t deny anything, if you don’t like it, too bad.” (May 1998)

SF: It’s true. I’ve been wanting to make a T-shirt that says that exactly just so everyone knows it, but first I’m going to make a shirt that’s yellow and says: “Inspect-Her-Gadgets”.

BW: (Laughs) No kidding. (May 1998)

SF: No, really. I’ll send you one if you want.

BW: That’s OK. (Nov. 1993)

SF: Fine. I can tell you don’t want one.

BW: Is this the best time of your life? (Nov. 1995)

SF: Maybe. It’s a very good time. It looks like Superargo and I have a lot of things going for us. I suppose that’s all you can ask for. As for the future…I don’t know. Things could get better, but they don’t have to. We’ll have a good time regardless.

BW: Start with how you met. (Nov. 1993)

SF: Superargo put a want add out for a group of Motown-esque backup dancers for his live show. So I came back to life to tell him that the Motown idea sucked and he should just hire me. I danced for him right there and then. After cleaning his freshly blown mind off the walls he hired me.

BW: So what do you think now? (Jan. 1992)

SF: Like I already said, this is a very good time. People are seeing us and starting to understand that one day we will rule the world, so get in line you assholes. Superargo will be President of Fuck You and I will run Vice. Every Monday, people will leave work and hour early so they can go home and dance their asses off with their kids.

BW: You must do a lot of dancing. (Sept. 1997)

SF: I do. Yeah. Definitely a lot of dancing.

BW: How do you prepare? What do you tell yourself? (Nov. 1995)

SF: It’s funny cause most people ask that question. All this shit I do, you know, blowing minds, kicking asses, fighting crime on the side, stuff like that should be physically taxing, you know, to say the least.

BW: Sure…(Nov. 1995)

SF: But I’m not human. People don’t get that. They think this is a mask. It’s not. It never will be. Maybe it’s best that they don’t understand. I mean, when you get down to it, I really am a zombie. People are taught their whole lives that zombies are scary, so they probably should run from one no matter how fucking radical his dance shakes are. The whole thing would lose its humor and there’s nothing funny about that.

BW: No, there’s nothing funny about that. (Jan. 1992)

SF: So then what would be the point? I mean, you saw the show…

BW: It was kind of a wicked humor. (Sept. 1997)

SF: That’s good, because wicked humor is fucking wicked. We want that.

BW: Why? (Sept. 1997)

SF: Because not wicked and not funny is not entertaining to us. We can do better than not good if we only try. Wicked is what the kick-ass man is made of. And shit.

BW: Now comes the part of this interview that you are going to like the least. (Nov. 1995)

SF: Oh, shit! Here it comes. You’re gonna try to make this Skullface cry.

BW: Well what about that woman who kept breaking into your house? (Jan. 1992)

SF: Oh her? That’s just my maid. I used to make her break into work each day cause I think it’s funny. She doesn’t speak any English, you see.

BW: Now she’s frozen in time…(Sept. 1997)

SF: Well, I’m sorry about that but rule number one is: The Skullface has magic powers so don’t steal from him.

BW: You will miss her. (Sept. 1997)

SF: Superargo will probably miss her more than me. They kind of had a thing going on…the kind of thing where they got together and stole my shit.

BW: Do you like his hair? (Nov. 1993)

SF: His hair is okay. It used to be longer, I guess.

BW: So what do you think now? (Jan. 1992)

SF: Now I think it’s just okay. I don’t really care. This can’t really be all you wanna ask is it?

BW: What does he have that you haven’t seen before? (Nov. 1993)

SF: Who? Superargo? If you care so much just ask his ass yourself.

BW: But you can’t always control the press. You can’t approve of everything. You can’t invite them in again and again and then at a certain point close them out. (Sept. 1997)

SF: What are you talking about?

BW: I am a human being. I want you to know about it. Don’t judge me on whether you like me or dislike me. That should not be a part of this condemnation or trial. (Nov. 2003)

SF: Lady, you just went crazy on me. And I love it! You should come be on our show sometime.

BW: Then I have a whole new career, and it all happened as a result of this interview. (May 1998)

SF: Yeah, that’d be funny.

BW: Funny? (Jan. 1992)

SF: Yeah, we should do that sometime. I’ll talk to Superargo…

BW: I play me? (May 1998)

SF: Well…Okay…

BW: For $40,000? (Nov. 2003)

SF: (Laughs) Damn, I don’t even know what money like that looks like.

BW: I play me? (May 1998)

SF: For free maybe.

BW: I play me? (May 1998)

SF: Not for $40,000 clams, grandma. Not even for five. What’s going on here?

BW: I play me? (May 1998)

SF: No!

BW: Yes? (May 1998)

SF: No! I was just kidding around. Jeez!

BW: I feel that way all the time. (Nov. 2003)

SF: Well don’t let it get you down. Tough old broad like you, hell, I bet scores of punk rock groups are busting down you door right now.

BW: Who else if not you? (Jan. 1992)

SF: Fine! Nobody all right! I was just trying to be nice. You need to put your powdered head back on and get back in the game, Dench.

BW: Screwed this up too. (Jan. 1992)

SF: I’m not kidding. If you don’t stop crying I’ll give you something to cry about. I’m notorious baby! Don’t make me freeze you in time!

BW: Are you really going to do that? (May 1998)

SF: Well, I’ll tell you this, I’m not gonna not do it.

BW: Well…would you like to go on? I’m open to any suggestions…(Nov. 1995)

SF: Just compose yourself and make with the journalism!

BW: Yeah. (Nov. 1995)

SF: Yeah!

BW: Piece of cake. (Nov. 1995)

SF: Damn Right!

BW: Let’s start all over again. OK. Here we go. (Nov. 2003)

SF: Wait…I didn’t mean to be so cruel just then. We really would like to have you on our show sometime, you know, once or twice or something if you want to do it for free. It’s just that, as soon as you got the idea in your head, you started talking this big cash and saying “I play me” a shit load of times. I mean, it makes a guy wonder, is this lady nuts or just too cool for me to comprehend?

BW: Considered and rejected, obviously. (Jan. 1992)

SF: (Throws up hands) Never mind. I guess you’ll just have to get over it.

BW: Are you over it? (Nov. 1995)

SF: Oh, yeah.

BW: Are you? (Nov. 1995)

SF: Kind of.

BW: We’ve seen it all? (Jan 1992)

SF: Oh, there’s more to come. Just not with you.

BW: Say it again…(Nov. 1995)

SF: We’re through.

BW: Music changed. (Nov. 1995)

SF: Now a new dance begins.

BW: It was a big hit. (Nov. 1995)

SF: No follow up. One hit wonder. Right now I’m wondering a lot of things.

BW: That’s why I don’t have a program like yours. (Nov. 2003)

SF: Well…that’s why a lot of things, sugar.

Rebuttal, Epilogue, Conclusions…My Defense for tearing apart a cute old lady…

You know, deep down I’m a really nice guy. I never wanted to cause pain to anyone, least of all to the most powerful female journalist/interviewer of all time. But what can I do except follow the path she lays out for me? Ya gotta understand: I’m not the kind of cop who makes up his own rules and blazes through obstacles on an endless pursuit of bullets, blood, and justice. I’m the cop who sucks his thumb at night lying next to a wife who won’t eff him and who, by the end of the movie, has died three hundred times over. I’m a bad good guy, not a good bad guy! And that fucking Barbara Walters has painted me all wrong!

This first interview will defiantly be my last. What difference does it make if I do interviews or not. The whole goddamn journalism industry is run by rail-thin, non-pooping, homeless kids in a Guatemalan sweatshop anyway. Oh, you didn’t know that? Listen here: Anyone who thinks they can support journalism without supporting Kathy Lee Gifford, Martha Stewart, and the concept of Dictatorship is simply being Naïve. It’s time to wake up, get your newspaper outta the dog’s mouth and smell the dead babies, cause the words inside are printed in their newly coagulated blood! And baby blood is only cute when it’s doing its job inside a healthy, living baby. Once that shit gets spilled in the name of journalism it loses all character and that’s a bad thing for the babies of the world.

I mean c’mon! That Barbara Walters could have been my poor old grandma for christ’s sake. And she made me break her heart. How do you think that makes me feel? I got enough things to cry myself to sleep over; I don’t need that lady’s dead valentine sentiments on my hands too. How am I supposed to dance with all this soup on my mind? I can’t, that’s how. So fuck Barbara Walters, fuck interviews, and fuck journalism! How am I supposed to feed the wife and kids in my tummy if I can’t turn a nickel on my tap shoes? I can’t, that’s how! I repeat: I can’t, that’s how!

From now on, the only thing I’m gonna let enter my system is fiction. No more documentaries, no more biographies, and no more ‘based on a true story’-ies. From this day forward, if someone tries to talk to me, I’m not gonna listen unless I’m absolutely sure they’re lying. I’m not playing patsy to the media’s sick little game anymore. And you shouldn’t either!!!

Ps. Barbara, if you’re reading this, I had a delightful night and the breakfast you made was out of this world! Next time I’m in Cali, I’m hittin’ you on the hip for sure!
Stay young and beautiful, baby! (those pills I gave you should help)
With Love,
Your Skullykins

XOXO