PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS INTERVIEW WAS INTERRUPTED SEVERAL TIMES DUE TO GERRY ARSHCLICKER FEELING HE COULDN'T GO ON & THE AULD BUFFALO FEELING HE COULDN'T GET IT UP. ALL REFERENCES TO ARTICULATED NIPPLES & DAYLIGHT ROGERING HAVE BEEN REMOVED PENDING A LEGAL JUDGEMENT BUT HOPEFULLY WILL BE RESTORED FOR THE MIDDLE PAGE SPREAD IN THE JANUARY ISSUE OF PROFANITY FAIR
BORAT LOVES SEX. WE SUPPORT BORAT!
GERRY ARSCHLICKER: Welcome back, Mr. Buffalo. First question: who are you?
BUFFALO: I’m the original Belgian-American Indian Shaman with a permanent woody. I’m two-thirds alligator, three-quarters bear, and one half Lion of Flanders and Mannike Piss rolled up into a party size spliff that would make Bob Marley spin in his grave. I’m the craziest, orneriest, horniest, and thirstiest sumbitch ever to come down the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and I’ll kick the biscuits and sausage gravy out of any motherin’ mugwump who says I ain’t.
GERRY ARSCHLICKER: Good grief. All right then, what do you write?
BUFFALO: Whatever god-awful incomprehensible rants and pure-ass pukka that flashes like summer lightning through my fetid brain, peppered with unadulterated high-grade horseshit calculated to turn virtuous women into hot-blooded engines of carnal desire, and make grown men weep in their corn flakes and cry out for their mommas.
GERRY ARSCHLICKER: Why do you write what you write?
BUFFALO: To get laid. Or is it to feed myself? Can’t quite remember which.
GERRY ARSCHLICKER: Why should we read what you write?
BUFFALO: To feel good about yerself, to know that no matter how bad things get, they’ll never be THAT fooked up. Now if I could just find a way to extract my cranial appendage from my rectal orifice, I might be able to connect with my readers in a more offensive and mutually intrusive way. All writing is rewriting and melons in the mire.
GERRY ARSCHLICKER: Is the world a better place because of what you write?
BUFFALO: O hell yes. God knows what unspeakable war crimes I’d have committed by now if I hadn’t taken up writing - honest work like grave-robbing being out of the question. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop. Anyhoo, I’ll bet the fookster ain’t no worse off. At least I’m not a TV evangelist, a politician, or Paris Hilton’s bitch.
GERRY ARSCHLICKER: Last question. Shirley or Lucy? And why?
BUFFALO: The only Shirley I can recall is my late aunt Shirley, a right proper bitch of the first water that no sane man would touch with a ten foot Pole. She was butt-ugly, as broad in the beam as a water buffalo (no pun intended), and meaner than a snake. As for Lucy, she was pretty hot in her day during the 40s before she went ditzoid and got her own TV show. . . unless you’re referring to Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, who was a total trip. I tangoed with her a time or two and got my money’s worth. So, no contest, Lucy wins hands down, tits up, whatever.
GERRY ARSCHLICKER: Mr Buffalo, thank you.
GO ON, GO ON, GO ON. BUY BUY BUY. SAVE THE PUPPY'S OWNER. SEE LINK IN RIGHT HAND COLUMN FOR MORE DETAILS