Recently, I (maybe, maybe not) had the distinguished pleasure of interviewing Ole Miss Defensive Tackle Jerrell Powe. What follows after the jump is the transcription of our (not) real interview that actually (pushin' it there) took place.
[Ghost arrives on the doorstep of the Powe family's Wayne County, Mississippi home. A oily, smoky stench fills the air as dragonflies dart about in the humid, Southern air]
Ghost of Jay Cutler: Good Afternoon, Jerrell. How are you?
Jerrell Powe: GOOD.
GoJC: Excellent... Do you mind if I have a seat?
GoJC: Alright then... Do you have any chairs or, something?
GoJC: Oh, just that one there, behind you?
GoJC: So... should I just sit there while you just, sorta, stand?
JP: NO THAT MY CHAIR YOU SIT ON DA GRASS!
[GoJC awkwardly lowers himself to the ground, crosses his legs "indian style," and pulls out a steno pad. Beads of sweat are beginning to soak through his shirt as he nervously clicks his pen while perusing his notes]
JP: YOU LOOK FUNNY.
GoJC: .... I know. I'm a bloggeur.
JP: Oh, Parlez-Vous Français? J'ai toujours apprécié les travaux de Voltaire, de Dumas, et de Descartes. Cependant, je me sens qu'ils mieux sont appréciés en leurs textes français originaux par opposition à leurs traductions en anglais mal organisées. Vos pensées?
GoJC: Ummm.... Jerrell?
[GoJC looks down at his notes and, upon looking back up, sees a slightly frightened little girl being held close by JP]
GoJC: Wait, Jerrell, whose fucking kid is that?
JP: SHE MINE.
GoJC: No she isn't, Jerrell. Put her back.
JP: YES. SHE. IS!
GoJC: Ok, fuck, fine, she's your damn kid.
JP: HER NAME STELLA.
GoJC: Great... So, ummm, yeah you recently had wrist surgery. How does it feel?
JP: GOOD. I GOT PILLS.
GoJC: Yeah, lemme see.... Oh, nice! I know you're cruisin' on those bad boys right now. What are those, Oxycontins, Codines? Yeah that's the good stuf... Oh, ummm, yeah uh don't, *ahem* abuse those things, Jerrell. Only take as prescribed and do not give any to your friends. Ok for reals on that last part with regards to a certain emotional defensive end.
JP: Oh Ghost, you shouldn't worry about my abilities to withstand pain and resist the temptation of opiate use, silly! I have never been one for drugs, even medicinally! Really, the surgery was only to repair a minor carpal injury which I had previously sustained and then, silly me, re-injured! I can be a real klutz sometimes! Oh, and besides, xxgr3gzxx doesn't take pills! He drinks boxed wine because, you know, it's ironic.
GoJC: Yes, ironic.... But wow, that Greg Hardy, what a character, huh?
JP: HE AN ARTIST.
GoJC: Yeah, isn't he some sorta graphic designer or something?
JP: LOOK AT WHAT HE DONE.
[JP reaches in his pocket and pulls out a slightly airbrushed photograph on glossy print. He hands it to a confused GoJC]
GoJC: What in the Hell is this? Pat Trahan's album cover?
GoJC: It is?
JP: HE SING R&B.
GoJC: So...you're expecting a full, speedy recovery?
JP: YEAH. I STRONG.
GoJC: Yes you are. Well, do you have any other comments on the team, the defensive line, the upcoming season?
JP: WE GON' FUCK 'EM UP!
GoJC: Alright, sounds great.
JP: WE GON' FUCK 'EM UP!
GoJC: Oh, trust me Jerrell, I believe you.
GoJC: Wait, you're leaving?
GoJC: But, Jerrell, I don't mean to intrude but it's 1:30 in the afternoon and there is still a half-eaten turkey right next to your chair. What do you mean by "breakfast?"
JP: LUCKY CHARMS!
GoJC: You want some Lucky Charms?
JP: Oh of course! Their bits of multigrain cereal are enriched with the essential vitamins and minerals for a young, growing guy like myself and, while their marketing campaign does employ an offensive and disparaging stereotype of the Irish people and culture, IT GOT MaRsHmAaLLoOoOoWzZzZ!!
[Powe bursts out of his steat, shoves a startled GoJC into the woods, throws his fin up, and darts inside for some cereal and milk. Ghost then slips through the woods of Wayne County, bloody and bruised, until stumbling upon a rural Mississippi highway and hitchhiking his way home]