Due to overwhelming requests from readers about my personal life, some vicious rumors and strange allegations in particular, I, your own Der Viator, have decided to set the record straight once and for all. Since I am too shy, private, aloof and otherwise deranged to discuss these issues with some of you face to face, like a reclusive Mr. Kurtz overseeing his fiefdom of corpses and ivory and suspicious of would-be intruders, I thought a Q&A format in this blog entry would be a more comfortable way for me to clear up many misconceptions and, frankly, falsehoods.Let me just say first that I appreciate your interest in my whereabouts and undertakings. I realize that many of you for good or ill see me as a mountain of manhood and have been impressed with my perspicacity and sesquipedality. I certainly don’t want to disabuse you of these nice perceptions of me. Everyone needs a hero, a paragon of virtue, to help one get through life, even if one's image does not match the reality. I am not necessarily saying that these things aren't true, though. Who am I to contradict you? That would be the height of presumption indeed. Now for your questions:
Q: Is it true that you tickle the ivories?
I do indeed, provided by tickle you mean finger and by ivories you mean crotch. That understood, I “tickle the ivories” virtually without cessation, the exception being Thursday evenings. That's karaoke and Pictionary night; I try to stay focused for social outings.
I do indeed, provided by tickle you mean finger and by ivories you mean crotch. That understood, I “tickle the ivories” virtually without cessation, the exception being Thursday evenings. That's karaoke and Pictionary night; I try to stay focused for social outings.
Q: Are you in the military?
Yes. I am an officer and a gentleman. I can't believe they pay me to go overseas and kill people who like to throw acid on women's faces and sodomize "dancing boys"! (Actually, our secret, they don't have to pay me at all for this).
Yes. I am an officer and a gentleman. I can't believe they pay me to go overseas and kill people who like to throw acid on women's faces and sodomize "dancing boys"! (Actually, our secret, they don't have to pay me at all for this).
Q: Is it true that you are gay?
Nope. I will only say that one time, and one time only, more or less, the stars aligned: a great dinner at Red Lobster and a romantic comedy is one thing, but if you can cap it off with stimulating, intellectual discourse at the end of a magical evening, it would be surprising, seriously, if you could not get me in the sack, regardless of your gender. That said, it's just hearsay. (By the way, Tonito and Francisco, if you guys are reading this—and I don't know if you get the internet in the Philippines—thanks for something special.)
Q: Is it true that you coined the endearing phrase “Don’t let your meatloaf”?
Thanks for the great question. I’d love to take credit for this witty expression, but, alas, I’m not the author. Moreover, contrary to popular belief, I did not come up with “Don’t get your panties in a wad.” My contributions to the English lexicon, I’m afraid, are more modest. I invented the euphemistic obscenity foxtrot-stick, as in the saying, “You frickin’ foxtrot-stick!” Another claim to fame, I suppose, is my neologism rectalfy, a clever contraction of rectum and rectify that, admittedly, and sadly, has limited application outside a scatological context.
Thanks for the great question. I’d love to take credit for this witty expression, but, alas, I’m not the author. Moreover, contrary to popular belief, I did not come up with “Don’t get your panties in a wad.” My contributions to the English lexicon, I’m afraid, are more modest. I invented the euphemistic obscenity foxtrot-stick, as in the saying, “You frickin’ foxtrot-stick!” Another claim to fame, I suppose, is my neologism rectalfy, a clever contraction of rectum and rectify that, admittedly, and sadly, has limited application outside a scatological context.
On a more serious level, I developed the philosophical concept known as Bobbitt’s Blowback, a corollary to Ockham’s Razor. The latter cautions us to do away with unnecessary contingencies, whilst the former describes what happens when we hastily cut off all explanation.
Q: Are you a parent?
Yes, I’m the proud father of three lovely daughters. But that’s not counting my numerous illegitimate offspring strewn throughout various parts of Eastern Europe and central Asia. To quote from Proverbs, my quiver is full. (By the way, Ms. Nazarbayev, thanks for keeping the South Kazakhstan Orphanage in immaculate condition. Zhanna and Tara , on my last visit, said they are happier now.)
Q: Do you like the bands Dream Theater and Disturbed?
Sorry, dear readers, but I’m a private person and don’t like to address personal questions like this.
Q: Are you writing a book?
Yes. It’s the fourth volume of my autobiography. The full title is: The Musings of a Muserer: Der Viator, An Extraordinary Life, vol. 4: Vale of Tears: The Adventures of a Melancholy in an Age of Terror, 2001-2008 (Dystroika University Press, 2009). I realize that page 179 has become controversial, but I didn’t want to hold back the truth. I apologize to those of you who were deeply affected by my revelations; I never intended to cause such harm.
Q: Do you wear a mullet?
Most assuredly not! I concede that I used to wear a mullet back in the day, however. But many a lady informed me in no uncertain terms that it made me look so frickin’ sexy; for this reason I didn’t want to be a stumbling block for the weaker brethren, er, I mean, sistren, who would compromise their relationship with their significant other, what with such lust for me in their heart.
I retired the mullet years ago, though sometimes I catch a glimpse of it, floating like a wrathful, restless wraith in the dark forest of my memory. I’ve written about this extensively in my 1998 book, Mullet: My Years as a Reluctant Sex Symbol. Those who are interested can peruse the book for details. (I advise that you skip chapter 4, though, wherein I discuss my crazy rock band days when I used the mullet as a kind of loincloth or codpiece while playing covers of Iron Maiden and Queensrÿche tunes otherwise in my birthday suit.)
Q: Is it true that you once snuck into a zoo at night just to have sexual relations with one of the young chimpanzees?
That’s disgusting. I won’t even dignify this preposterous question with an answer. If you don’t know the difference between a chimp and a bonobo (who actually responded to my advances eagerly and was quite loving) then you are unworthy of my attention.
