[From: BREAKING THE SILENCE, by Goliath & Trench]

Ms    Bienga: So tell me why you do it. Why do you write these lyrics of yours?

 

Zoltan Goliath: To love and be loved. What greater purpose is there?

Otis Trench: What he really means is, he likes getting laid.

ZG: Consider the implications of what my colleague suggests. I am a courteous and chivalrous gentleman, but my partner is a rascal. He may look tame, but that is the strength of his charade; to set you at ease with docile mannerisms and reassuring rhetoric in order to get you to drop your guard, then he goes for your throat. You may already find a tactical withdrawal to be advisable, my dear. He is a desperate man and can be dangerous when cornered. An attractive young lady such as yourself should have a reliable escort when on a mission like this. I am far less ruthless than he, but just as capable. I would consider it my duty to see you safely to your home tonight after we have finished with this interview nonsense.

Uh, I’ll do my best to be careful. I appreciate your gallant expression of concern for my well-being. Thank you.

 

OT: Why hell’s bells, missy! My partner is nothing but a shyster and a charlatan; a true Lothario. He’s just trying to reconnoiter your defenses and infiltrate your lines with lines of his own. Then he’ll invade your soft under-belly and steal a march on your capital. Before you know it, you’ll find that you’ve been occupied by a hostile foreign power and you’ll be forced to collaborate with the enemy in exchange for nylon stockings and a bottle of cognac. I agree with his assertion that you need the services of a bodyguard, but I’m the man for the job, missy.

Uh, right. OK then; let us begin. First of all, would you please stop calling me missy? Bieta will do, thank you. Now, how would you describe the dynamic that governs the process you follow when working together?

ZG: Who told you to ask that? Do not allow yourself to be misled by our detractors. It may be true that the brass is tarnished, the bottle large, the quarters Spartan, and our back story sordid, but what of it? When it is time to put on a spread, we boil water with genuine heat. We have much to consider in the course of our labors, and sometimes the pasta sticks to the spoon. We cannot be held accountable for the weak stomachs of pampered chefs. I was once held hostage in a world where chivalry did not belong. It was a Babylonian captivity with the stench of over-cooked Brussels sprouts and stale clichés insulting my dignity. While mired there, I vowed to take my revenge. I now have a story to tell. It might be the kind that lures minds to strange madness in the dead of night after the koi pond’s been drained and the dew has settled on a plea bargain. It might be the kind that leaves lingering question marks in awkward places, inducing an urgent itch in sensitive flesh that cannot be scratched when in the presence of polite company. Polite company might have cause to blush. Do you happen to have such an itch? My fingers can take care of that, but only if you request my ministrations. I am a free agent now, and only take on clients of my own choosing.

That’s interesting, but what about the nature of your collaboration. What is the process you follow when working together?

ZG: The foundation upon which we base the structure of our establishment is firm, yet supple enough to bear the stress of unwelcome intrusions both foreign and domestic. Our facade allows us to avoid all distractions that are not of our own invention. There may be cracks in the masonry and gaps in the seams of our cabinetry, but the basement is always dry.

You are speaking figuratively, I presume.

ZG: You should know what is said about presuming, my dear; you make a pres out of u and me.

OT: He sometimes says things like that with a straight face and thinks he’s being funny. You’ll get used to it.

Is it intended to amuse, enlighten, or merely annoy?

ZG: We have long since trod the hard road to Easyville, my dear, and fasted among those who were merely hungry. In the course of the journey, the sincerity of reality has regularly been called into question. But there lies the insidious flaw in relying upon the scientific method to confirm the validity of your perception of things; assuming that reality is, in fact, real.

OT: And you know what they say about assuming, missy.

ZT: Accepting as fact the reality of reality rests upon an un-testable hypothesis. All the curious coincidences, enigmatic anomalies, inexplicable paradoxes, oxymoronic observations and unexpected atmospheric disturbances that perplex the experts and distort the symmetry of their equations cannot be dismissed as being of no consequence. The existence of such inconsistencies demand that I resort to non-scientific investigative methods in order to provide a description of the layout of our palace and map the path of our advance to kingdom come. To that end you may take whatever reminiscences we may provide during the course of this interrogation, deposit them in the barnyard to compost, and presume to find an interestingly relevant fable at the bottom of it all when you toss the mess into a stiff breeze with a pitchfork.

I have no idea what you just said. Could you speak a little more plainly?

 

ZT: Why listen to Mozart when you have John Cage. Príliš veľa poznámok, je to tak?

OT: Listen, what my friend means is, if you’re trying to resolve an equation, why use a calculator to solve for x? Wouldn’t you rather use a cal-cu-now? If asbestos is so bad, shouldn’t it be called as-worst-os. Why be merely satisfied, when you can be happi-fied. Why is a stupid person called a moron? Shouldn’t he be called a less-on? And shouldn’t a well taught lesson, be referred to as a more-on? Wouldn’t you rather have a live-agnosis, instead of a diagnosis? Shouldn’t an electrical generator really be called a generfeeder? What about the word, gladiator?

Gladiator?

OT: I’m sure he was, Missy!

Ugh!!!