Category: Other Words

It is rare that a high-profile celebrity such as Michael Ollinger agrees to hold an interview with the proctor of a young and low-rent site such as GDO-R. I am so happy that I was afforded this great opportunity to have this question-and-answer session with a poet laureate and a personal hero of mine. I was upset that the interview was cut short, but Michael had to leave early. Thanks again for taking time out of your busy schedule for GDO-R, Michael! My lips are sealed and my tongue is tied, I swear it! 😉

GDO-R: So tell me, what have you been doing to keep yourself busy this past year?

MO: Oh you know. Bitches and hoes. Hoes and bitches. Potatoes and tomatoes, staples and stitches.

GDO-R: I am afraid I don’t understand.

MO:…a little bit of this, a little bit of that. After I was released from prison when those charges were dropped, I started writing again. I’m currently working on a novel. I hope to have it finished this time next year.

GDO-R: That sounds exciting! Are you espousing any agendas or any particular themes in your new book? I’m afraid I don’t know the title of it. Would you mind telling us?

MO: Stalker.

GDO-R: Is that the title or one of the themes?

MO: Both.

GDO-R: I see…well, again, I am excited to read it. Care to elaborate further?

MO: No, that’s about it. It’s about stalking. How to do it, the required equipment, etc. Some of it may be field logs.

GDO-R: It sounds like a how-to manual; I thought you said it was a novel.

MO: It is. I don’t want to talk any more about it. Not to you, at least. Next subject, please.

GDO-R: Your influences? Who has inspired you most recently?

MO: I look to myself for inspiration. I get the ideas for my work by studying my reflection every morning. I’m quite the narcissist.

GDO-R: An honest answer. What are the last three books you’ve read?

MO: Catch-22, the Cat and the Hat Comes Back, and Zoia.

GDO-R: Those are… interesting selections. Dr. Seuss, eh? What’s the last one? Zoia? Who wrote that?

MO: It’s a Dainielle Steele novel.

GDO-R: Fair enough. How about movies? The last three movies you’ve seen?

MO: Rented or saw in the theater?

GDO-R: Rented.

MO: Okay, let’s see… The Limey, Manhattan Murder Mystery, and Backdoor Sluts 9.

GDO-R: Truly an enigma you are, Mike. Well, aside from writing what else have you been up to? Your face hasn’t been in the papers recently.

MO: That’s a good question. Well, I met someone a few months ago. She’s been occupying the majority of my time. Her name is Veronica. She’s the most perfect person ever. She was handed down from God Himself. He molded her for me.

GDO-R: She sounds great. How’d you meet her?

MO: It was the funniest thing- we met in the parking lot of the supermarket. Her kid was steering their shopping cart, and he let it go. It rolled across the parking lot and nailed my car door. It didn’t do any noticeable damage, but still– was I ever angry! I was about to hit the kid when I saw his mother. And that ass attached to her! OH MY GOD THAT ASS! A perfect full moon, haha! Once I saw that ass and it apologized, I couldn’t hit the kid. The relationship just took off from there.

And if you call me Mike again, I’ll fucking rip your heart out of your chest and eat it in front of you.

GDO-R: Whoa, yes sir…no more Mike. So Michael, how long have you and Veronica been seeing each other?

MO: Well, I’ve been seeing her since March. I sure hope she hasn’t seen me. That could mean trouble.

GDO-R: I’m afraid I’m confused. I thought you said you two were– wait, nevermind. . .

I think I understand.

MO: Some people enjoy bird-watching. I tried it once, but I really didn’t enjoy it very much. Although it was fun, and I totally connected with the immense beauty of nature, I didn’t connect with …something else. My watching hobbies are a little…(here he pauses thoughtfully) …closer to home. I like to stick to what I know. Beastiality is not my bag, baby.

GDO-R: I see. Well, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m here to ask questions, not to judge.

MO: I thank you, sir.

GDO-R: Is Veronica even her real name?

MO: Definitely. I know that for sure. I’ve been stealing her mail, too.

GDO-R: That’s a felony, you know. Do you want to go back to jail?

MO: Nah. It’s cool. I’m only stealing her Victoria’s Secret and IKEA catalogs. And maybe the occasional Pottery Barn. She still gets all her bills!

GDO-R: What about personal letters?

MO: She still gets most of them.

GDO-R: Most of them?

MO: I thought you said you weren’t here to judge!

GDO-R: I’m not judging you. I’m just asking questions.

MO: Well, I don’t take stuff addressed to the kid. I only take stuff that looks like it could be from her bisexual lover.

GDO-R: How do you know she has a bisexual lover?

MO: That part I made up. It adds to the fantasy.

GDO-R: I see. Well, I hope you reconsider continuing this. I would hate to hear about you returning to prison. Have you ever thought about asking her out?

MO: Two things- she’s married. Plus she’s got a kid. Don’t worry about me getting caught, I stole someone’s identity right after I broke out of jail. No one knows my real name! It’s great! I recently had $27,000 worth of lyposuction and I just bought a minor league baseball team– the West Michigan Whitecaps! Soon to be the West Michigan Moes, after yours truly! Hell, I’ve even been buying bongs on eBay! Oh, excuse me… water pipes. It’s so foolproof. I’ve even got a fake ID with my fake name on it!

GDO-R: You’re telling me what I would imagine is confidential information. Are you this candid in all your interviews?

MO: Interview?

GDO-R: Yeah, interview. Remember? You agreed to do an interview for Gekko Dot Org: Redux.

MO: I did? I don’t remember that. When did I do agree to this? And this is the interview?

GDO-R: When we met at the Gap this afternoon. I was trying on pants, and you followed me to my car.

MO: Fuckin’ A, man. Something told me not to wash the Xanax down with champagne. I could have sworn– I thought– I thought you were my lawyer. Now that I realize that you’re not…I may have to kill ya.

GDO-R: Your secret is safe with me, Michael, I swear it. Just don’t hurt me.

MO: Alright, well…I’m going to take a little collateral, just to make sure this doesn’t get out.

At this point, he leapt across the table and forcibly extricated my tongue from my mouth using a switchblade he had hidden up his sleeve. Once he had my tongue in his pocket, he spat on my cowering body, as I lay loudly sobbing, begging him for mercy on my wayward soul. I was probably quite a sight. I remember the tears mixing with the blood oozing from my mouth and the gurgling sound of my breathing cavities filling with mucus and blood. The pain- my god, it was unbearable. Just as he was about to leave, he kicked me in the stomach and…

MO: What about your website?

GDO-R: Uh…what website?

MO: Exactly.

End of interview.

The following is all true. Well, most of it. The only untrue part of this post was the part where I said “the following is all true.” Really, none of the following is true. I would say that names have been changed to protect the innocent, but I’m not good at changing names. I’ve left them as-is, so that the parties guilty of articulated transgressions may own up to their wrong-doing. I am not sure how much of this account focuses on their wrong-doing, however. I think the lion’s share of the discourse will be on my own wrong-doing. Are you as confused as I am? Good. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.

Just remember that the following is completely [un]true.

I am afflicted with an irregularly acute case of mythomania. For example, three days ago, I told my parents I was moving to Flagstaff, Arizona to sell geodes out of a shoddy trailer with my coked-out girlfriend Jeanine. In reality, I was just going to the store to get some Good ‘N Plenty. (By Good ‘N Plenty, I do mean the candy. I’m not providing you readers out there with some abstruse euphemism for something more lurid. If I meant hot sex with the local harlot, I would have said that I went to the store to score some Saran Wrap and frozen pizzas.) Three weeks ago, I told a girl at work that I wanted her to have my baby. She sat there, dumbfounded at my open honesty. Seconds ticked by. Those seconds mounted into minutes. Those minutes decided they liked being seconds better and reverted back. Finally, she spoke, her cherubic mouth carefully moving, choosing just the right words, “Okay, so when do we start?”

(Heh! If only the above were true! Good N’ Plenty is excellent candy.)

What else can I confess? Let’s see…

I am a nerd. I have come to realize it after years of denial of my nerdish leanings and tendencies. I’m now resigned to take up residence in Nerdville Heights, suburb of Dweeb City, capitol of Nerbania. How am I nerd? Well, for starters, I like to read. I don’t read because Kerry says to or because the teacher assigned it. I read because I like reading. Moreover, I am an avid player of video games. In fact, several hours each week are dedicated to “jumping over pennies,” as my father once put it so eloquently. What else qualifies me as a nerd? Well, I think simply avowing one’s nerdship make one a nerd. This is not to say that I don’t enjoy being of a higher intellect than my more ovine or boorish counterparts, but as the aphorism goes, “ignorance is bliss.” I would much rather furrow my brow and attach inappropriate symbols to life in some vain attempt to understand something as grand as existence. Rather, I’m cursed with knowledge. I hate using Incubus [They are SO 1999. Morning View? More like Morning P-U. (Christ, that was lame. If there was a crime against lameness, I am certainly now the most wanted criminal because of that one statement. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes…)] as a reference, but it’s “strange that a gift could be an enemy.” To be of the earth, that is my greatest desire! To know nothing! To be witless! These things would guarantee me the one thing I have yet to procure: absolute freedom from worry or fear. Oh well. I know what I know, and apparently you never forget. Not naturally at least. If cartoons have taught me anything, all I need is a good wallop on the head to inflict selective amnesia– the kind of amnesia where I forget facts about my life, not that kind where I forget how to use the bathroom and bathe myself.

Alright, well, half of this confession was true. The other half was slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect. Speaking of dramatization, be sure to check out the [sarcasm]JESSICA LYNCH STORY: TRUE AMERICAN HERO.[/sarcasm] I mean, WTF!!! Jessica goes to Iraq to fight some cockamamie war. The chick gets captured. She passes out. She comes to. Her captors may have raped her, she can’t remember! She’s such an American Hero! Anything else you care to feed your phocidic public, President Bush, et al.? Give us a fish and watch us slap our fins together! Well, some of us. One seal is already sick of the tripe.

Anyway, enough ranting. I think it’s time for sleep.

–Post over, Mikey out.

Well, another weekend has come and gone. When I was younger, I loved the weekends. I used to look forward to the weekend because Saturdays and Sundays were the two days in the week where I was guaranteed a reprieve from the arduous toil that was state-mandated education. This situation is now a thing of the past, unfortunately. When I realized that money was necessary to do life’s most basic of activities (such as eating, movie and video game renting, and driving), I had to sacrifice my Saturdays and Sundays to the yoke of employment, a set of fetters against which I still struggle today. In one of my life’s defining juxtapositions, my Saturdays and Sundays are no longer days of idyllic sloth. Now, they are the two days of the week where I work the most. When I was younger, I loved the weekends. Now, I hate them. In fact, I can’t really think of a day of the week I look forward to. I have to work every day. I have school five days a week. With the exception of Saturdays, I have no evenings available to unwind and enjoy my fleeting youth. People envy me because of the flexibility my job affords me. If they knew how detrimental the job has been to my disposition, they may rethink harboring avaricious feelings toward me. [Why anyone would envy me to begin with is beyond me.] I am worn out. I need a break.

–Post over, Mikey out.

I have decided to create a new site aside from the original Gekko Dot Org site. Before any erroneous conclusions are drawn, I will state that Bret and I are still great friends, and GDO will remain intact. However, I’ve decided that in order for me to focus on what’s most important to me- the writing- I needed to break away from the main GDO site. Fear not, kiddies– I am sure that I will still write the occasional feature for the Mother Site. I am simply advising readers everywhere that GDO-R is my new pet project, and Gekko Dot Org will continue to be in Bret’s charge. The main reason I am doing this is because there is currently no easy way to make posts to the regular GDO website. It always ends up being a 45-minute affair to make even the tiniest post. In any event, the goal of GDO-R is to eliminate this difficulty as an excuse for me (Michael/Mikey- whichever you prefer) to slack on my writing. Because of the tool I’m using has a user-and-slacker-friendly (one of those two classifications I fit into- I’ll leave it to you to determine which) interface, I will be able to make posts more frequently and with much greater ease.

What exactly can you expect from GDO-R? Well, much like when comparing Apocalypse Now: Redux to the original film, you can expect much the same thing as before, with a few minor tweaks and a remastered soundtrack. In other words, you will see more rants on my life, more reviews of crap, and (gasp) possibly some fiction. That being said, look out, world! The wheels are in motion! Michael’s out to take you by storm!

–Post over, Mikey out.

Summertime rolls…

Well, July has come and gone with very little activity on Gekko. Frankly, I cannot say that I am surprised. Between Bret’s work schedule and my schedule of inactivity, nothing was bound to get done, which is alright with me. I think if I had to name one thing I enjoy doing most in this world, it would have to be nothing. Although it seems paradoxical to do nothing, it is not as easily done than said.