The Charkins Interview: Scratching the Surface of Miss Courty

Hello adoring fans. Today we have a special treat for all you great kids. Regular reader and BFF extraordinaire Charkins is joining us for today’s entry by playing the role of interviewer to yours truly. Since I had no clue what to write about and since Charkins is always looking for ways to get mentioned on this website, this is a win-win situation for us both. So without further ado, I present The Charkins Interview: Scratching the Surface of Miss Courty.

Charkins: Why is pink your favourite colour? It is so popular but you are such an original person it seems like a contradiction.

Miss Courty: Interesting that you should ask me this, Schnarks. The truth is, I really don’t have any clue. I’ve always liked pink. It may be because my mother was so determined to have girl and was so thrilled when she had one, she overexposed me to the colour. It may be because I exemplify the ideal of womanhood and the femininity that accompanies it. All I know is that in “Steel Magnolias” when Shelby uttered those famous words “Pink is my signature colour” in that southern drawl of hers, I knew then that it was mine too. It’s just a great colour. But I’d like to defend the fact that it was my favourite colour LOOOOONG before it became popular. My proof? My bedrooms have always been pink. While other 16 year olds were painting their walls black and tacking up pictures of Van Halen, or whatever those crazy kids were listening to back in the day, I kept the pink colour AND a picture of Jesus with a lamb on my wall. So there. I win.

Charkins: Do you ever lay awake at night worrying that your hair is too perfect?

Miss Courty: What do you mean? Why do you ask? Are you trying to say that I have bags under my eyes from lack of sleep? I mean, yes, of course I stress about my hair being so fucking perfect that it isn’t really fair to the rest of you. I become quite guilt-ridden if I dwell on it too long actually, especially if you consider that it’s not just my hair, but also my killer perfect ass that makes me so sexy. And Charkins weren’t you the one who said that “the bigger the hair, the closer to God”? Right. So that makes me like Jessica Simpson pre-divorcee/skank days: I’m hot AND I’m holy. Bite me.

Charkins: Do you ever lay awake at night thinking Adders is too perfect?

Miss Courty: Is this a joke question? I’m not sure I understand. Besides, I need some clarification, like do I lie awake at night thinking Adders is too perfect for me, or for society in general, or for like Leizel? I mean, I’m not saying Adders isn’t perfection, but in relation to what? That’s where the real question is, Charkins. Pursue it.

Charkins: How many times have you killed "T.J." and had to replace him with an exact replica?

Miss Courty: All I can say is THANK GOD I bought that Pomeranian bitch and had her have puppies, because those little back-ups have suuuure come in handy. ‘Nuff said.

Charkins: Would you rather clean up poop from T.J. or empty out barf buckets?

Miss Courty: Yeah, mmmm hmmmm, I see that you don’t fully grasp who the fuck I am here. Does Miss Courty ring a bell? World famous sex goddess/blogger? Charkins, I have people to do that for me. People like you and Tamara Lee.

Charkins: What was Riley P. Puddin Tat's greatest accomplishment?

Miss Courty: Are you trying to make me cry? Oh God how I miss his soft orange fur and the way he used to steal all of my hair elastics. And who could forget his ability to make Charkins lose her mind during every sleep over at my house (“What? Just because I’m pawing at the door doesn’t mean I want out. You mean, you thought I wanted out? No, no, silly! I just wanted to know that you would open the door if I pawed at it long enough. No, what I really want is to just go back to bed. Preferably under the covers. Preferably leaning against your legs. See? This is so much more comfy. Mmmmm, nice. Actually, you know what? On second thought, maybe I do want out. Yeah, yeah, methinks I do. So I’m just going to paw some more at this here door and hopefully you’ll let me out again. Here you come. Fantastic. But wait, gee I don’t know, it’s awfully dark out in this hallway, and no one’s up like I had hoped. Plus, I already puked up my dinner this evening so I doubt there’s any food downstairs. Hmmmm, no, no, you’re right. Let’s just go back to bed…”). But probably his greatest accomplishment was pooping on my duffle bag and living to meow about it. The setting: summertime, Jebus and I en route to the ‘Bin. The Meower is ANGRY and UPSET and NOT IMPRESSED WITH BEING LOCKED IN THAT FUCKING POODLE’S DOG CAGE, DAMMIT AND OOOOH BOY AM I GLAD SHE’S DEAD. He becomes even more incensed when I take the McD’s drive thru 90 degree turn at 100 km/h and the cage goes flying across the back of the 4Runner. Riser howls, I feel bad and let him out. And then he plots his revenge. Now Riley was a cat who did NOT like ANYONE up in his business. Just like he enjoyed dirty martinis, dill pickle chips and long walks on the beach, he also enjoyed his privacy when it came to his bodily functions (except for his puking that is, but that wasn’t so much a bodily function as a God-given talent, much like my burping). Anyways, he never had accidents, EVER. And he was a stickler for burying whatever excrement he produced. That is, he was until his rage got the best of him. Somewhere around Fairmont Jebus and I became overwhelmed by the most atrocious, gag-reflex inducing smell. At first we couldn’t figure out what it was coming from, and Riley seemed just as perplexed as we did (“Gee, I don’t know guys, but it sure is vile.”) But then Jebus turned around and lo and behold, there on top of MY duffle bag lay the biggest pile of crap that cat had ever produced. And I swear I heard him say under his breath, “Yeah and you can take that dog kennel and shove it up your ass.” Needless to say, Riley was put down four years later.

Charkins: Which of the mooses that have come into your life and on your lawn have you loved the most?

Miss Courty: Wow, my name’s Miss Courty. I passed grade 2, how about you, Charkins? Mooses? No, I’m sorry, I never encountered any mooses on my lawn. Not even some moose. Just some elk, a herd of cattle, a couple of bunny rabbits and some vicious, vicious deer. The deer that live at my house in Crannie are the most rabid angry bastards. And yet I love them. Especially this one that tried to decapitate me two summer ago. I was minding my own business, sun-tanning on my lawn, when he was all, “Yo, bitch! Get off of that there lawn. You know, before I butt you with my horn” (and then all his buddies dissolved into a cacophony of laughter). Meanwhile, I was all, “Excccuuuuusee me? I don’t think so, buddy. And for your information, your horns ain’t so big.” And then he stomped his feet and I stomped mine, and then he took a few steps towards me, and I had Jebus yell at him from the house while banging a pot, and then he look unfazed and kept hissing and stomping his feet, and I ran inside crying. The end. It was a grand love affair, and I will always look on that summer fondly for that reason alone.

Charkins: When have you been the most afraid of your period?

Miss Courty: And this is when the interview suddenly takes a nosedive into the topic labeled “Too Much Information.” However, since Miss Courty is always willing to provide anyone and everyone with “Too Much Information”, especially on the likes of her period, I am more than willing to divulge. I can easily say that last year I was most petrified of my period, simply because it liked to taunt me with the game of “Will I show up or won’t I? Will I make you an unwed white trash teenage mother or won’t I? Will I give you kill-me-now cramps or won’t I?” But that was seriously nothing compared to the time that I got my period for the second time EVER (an occasion that commenced with my Gammy telling my Papa that “She’s a woman now”) and my mother introduced me to the joys of tampons (Her: here take this, shove it up your vagina and we’ll never speak of this again. I can’t believe you’ve ruined your life like this. Me: ???? Huh ???? What ???? How ???? Her: A penis is the size of a trophy, GET USED TO IT! GRRRRR! Me: Eeeep!). Needless to say, I didn’t quite get the gist of it, even after memorizing the instruction manual. I inserted both the applicator and the cotton. Repeatedly. And having cardboard scrape against your vaginal wall may be the most unpleasant sensation ever. Well, second only to having an 8 lb. baby scrape against your vaginal wall (not that I would know. Yet). And that, folks, was when I was most scared of my period. Ever. Except for right now, that is. But I’m not so much scared of it as I am willing it to die.

Charkins: If you were a mathematician what would you say your ratio of water consumption versus alcohol consumption is on any given day?

Miss Courty: Well that all depends on the given situation.
Regular day: 1,000,000 gallons of water to 0 litres of alcohol.
Day spent with Adders: 1,000,000 gallons of water to 12,000,000,000 litres of alcohol
Day spent camping with Charkins: 2 litres of water to 1,000,000 gallons of alcohol

Charkins: Did you ever see the movie "Any Given Sunday"? If so, how would it rate to any of the lame ass movies Adders makes you watch? If not how would you rate it to any of the lame ass movies Adders makes you watch (or the ones he watches alone. "Prime" anyone?).

Miss Courty: I have no clue if I have seen “Any Given Sunday”? But it sounds like it might be one of those football movies. And I hate those football movies, with the underdog and the handicap kid and the mean bullies and the triumph at the end. And yet that movie is practically Oscar gold compared to some of the shit Adders has made me endure, movies like “Greed” or “Envy” or whatever the hell it was called. And “Saw” which I despised more than anything. Or “Flight of the Phoenix” which was so bad Adders slept through the entire thing. Or was it me who fell asleep. Suffice to say, I’ve watched a lot of shit with that man. But he’s fun to make out with so in many ways sometimes lame-ass movies can be a blessing in disguise!

Charkins: If your life was a Will Ferrell movie which movie would it be and what characters would represent You, Adam, Redhead and me?

Miss Courty: Okay, this interview has just boarded the train to CrazyTown. What the fuck? And on that note, what the fuck WOULD Jesus do? Ummm, well, Will Ferrell hasn't really been in that many movies. But I would say that if my life was a Will Ferrell movie it'd be "Wedding Crashers," and I would of course be the hot girl in it (she's smart, intelligent and big-breasted! Score!). Adders would be Owen Wilson (but a hotter nose-job version of Owen Wilson. Because Owen, while he has charisma, isn't that hot). The Redhead would be a combo of the wacky mom ("Call me Kitty Cat") and the maniac boyfriend (getting up in everyone's grill and preventing weddings and shit) and Charkins, you, of course, would be the unstoppable Vince Vaughn. A shorter Vince Vaughn. All because you can be so downright hilarious (and you would totally crash a wedding with me) (in fact I think you did once) (First Assembly circa 1996, bride doing interpretive dance for groom onstage, us pigging out on the desserts in the gym) (ring a bell?).

And that is the interview, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks for reading. And thanks also to Charkins who, as an investigative journalist, made Geraldo proud I'm sure.