Posted by @ 2:16 pm on March 18th, 2009

ani smith emailed me when i offered to do interviews. i conducted an interview with her and her team of writers, vaughan simons and ty bluesmith, that comprise PIFFLE and WRITER”S BLOC.

(INTERVIEW AFTER BREAK ( power rangers are mentioned))

HTML:  you are a member of piffle. can you please explain what that is. you have to use the phrase “mighty morphing power rangers.”

T: Mighty Morphin. Mor-phin. M-o-r-p-h-i-n. Not Morphing. Ok? I mean. Come on.

V: PIFFLE – which must always be written PIFFLE, it’s the law – is a poetry site. In a manner of speaking. Or poeticising. It’s similar to the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers because we create our poems whilst wearing brightly coloured PVC outfits and plastic visors. I lost the battle of the short straws and was elected the yellow one. The others call me Banana, then snigger and ask to peel me. I hate them all.

A: Oh my god look it’s Sam Pink! Hiiii Sam Pink. I love your book. Um. I’m the pink Power Ranger. Can you guess why?

HTMLG: what is writer’s bloc? and is it big enough to fit in my pocket? if not, please give the basic elements necessary for constructing a shrink ray.

V: Writers’ Bloc – which must always be written Writers’ Bloc in a fashionably sans serif font, it’s the law – is all about writing. I am going to hell for crimes against pretentiousness. It’s too big to fit in most people’s pockets, but I’ve heard about the size of your pockets, Mr Pink, and now I’m not so sure. My shrink ray is a personal matter between me and my psychotherapist.

A: Writer’s what? Honestly Sam, you’re so funny please rape me.

HTMLG:   what are your general thoughts on the internet as a medium for writing.

V: The secret is Alt + Tab. If the internet didn’t exist, I would still have to secretly write at work, but my manager would be able to clearly hear the goose feather quill scraping across the goatskin vellum. Thanks to the internet, I can pretend that I’m costing a year’s supply of ballpoint pens in a spreadsheet, when in fact I’m self-abusing words.

T: The Internet is titties as a medium for writing. I’ve made zero dollars and zero cents after about a billion words but hey I’m hanging in there. I’ve also gotten about a million jpegs. Apparently that is how some fans of writing show their appreciation. Plus, more recently, a girl way out of my league fell in love with me over the stuff I write on my blog. We conceived a baby at the hotel across the street from Graceland. The Days Inn with the guitar-shaped pool. The baby is not named Elvis although that woulda been sweet. We also saw a domestic dispute in the parking lot of the hotel but never considered for a second naming the child Call Popo Call Popo.

A: If the internet had a cock I would suck it and the internet would go ooooh baby yeah that’s the ticket. Wanna know why Sam? Get your psycho literary butt to London and we can discuss magical realist experimental post-apocalyptic pseudo-new romantic surrealist existentialist bougie theories of post-modern punk rock writing while we’re cramped into the backseat of my friend’s rickety Peugeot.

HTMLG:  have you ever been genuinely fooled by a comb over?

V: Yes. Every morning, when I drag the three remaining hairs from one side of my chicken chest to the other. I look so hot.

A: I once had a pink mohawk and everyone made stupid old jokes about the carpet matching the drapes. Which it didn’t. Wanna see how Sam?

T: No. And I have a solution for all the comb-overers out there. It goes like this: I haven’t trimmed my pubes in over a year. I have quite a patch down there. My little willie he is a-hidin ok. And that shit would fool anyone anytime. People should pay me for my pubes and use them for rugs. Period. Next question. And hurry. Steve Wilkos is about to start. I like to watch it from the beginning.

HTML:  do you ever feel like you look stupid when you are smiling?

V: I last smiled in 1987. I looked ridiculous, like I was gurning through a particularly painful rock guitar solo. So I left Def Leppard and took up writing intense teenage poetry instead. The poems were so bad that I haven’t smiled since. It was the best decision I ever made.

A: Sam Pink you should know that I have a Playstation and an X-Box and a million books and three apple Jolly Ranchers and a sweet guitar and a sweeter vagina.

HTML: what are some phenomena of the internet you dislike and why? what type of weapon would you use to combat these things?

V: I dislike the phenomena whereby people claim they have genuinely fulfilling lives away from the internet. I would destroy such people’s laptops with my Mighty Morphin Power Banana. I would make them suffer like pureed banana on a baby’s chin. Oh, and I hate the way that the internet has caused cats to think they’re popular and act all high and mighty and mew in capitals. I would fill Sam Pink’s phenomenally huge pockets with vodka and drown the cats in them. We could invite people to watch and listen to the feline torture streamed live on Youtube.

A: Wait! Before you toss in the cats, I’d like a swig of Sam’s bulging pockets.

T: I dislike when people steal my genius ideas and make themselves famous as a result. I’m not gonna mention the motherfucker I’m talking about. Just know that eye lasers are being developed in secret and the motherfucker will be taken out. Period. End of story. Fin.

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