Oinsketta, a beautiful cat who often came when I called her, conducts the interview.   Seated on the couch by her talk show host’s desk are a couple of my fears.  They are enormous.

Oinsketta:  Please introduce yourself to the blind and deaf audience.  For those blind viewers at home, we have signers interpreting this for the hard of hearing.  

Fear:  I don’t think this interview’s going to work, first of all.  It’s hard to imagine how a blind and deaf audience is going to get any of this.

O:  Try to imagine it (canned laughs, deaf signer with wry expression as she interprets).

F:  Sure, but it’s not going to work.  You want me to introduce myself, I am the worst thing you can imagine.

O:  Oh, dear (long pause as Oinsketta holds expression, then she cocks her head.  canned laughs)

F:  Look, I didn’t come here to take shit from a cat.

O:  Nobody does, dear.  But please continue.

F:  Sprinkle your canned laughter where you please, cat, it doesn’t change the fact that I am here because your pet boy, Sherman, is too chicken-shit to face me himself.

O: Facts are facts.

F:  Here’s another one, me and my colleagues are only stand-ins for the real fear– Death. (other fears smirk and nod in agreement).

O:  Hmmm.  I’ve been dead for eleven years now and it doesn’t bother me.

F:  That’s because you’re already dead, cat.

O:  Oh, dear (she does various poses of dread and despair until… canned laughter)

A viewer interrupts.  “This is bullshit, man.  A dead cat can’t interview anyone and fears don’t sit on a couch.  It doesn’t even work as a metaphor, or a simile, or  semaphore, semiotics, whatever you want to call it.  It’s bullshit, man.  Fear doesn’t sit around waiting to answer questions, it lurks, and stalks and strikes at the worst possible time, cripples you from the blindside.  Fear is a sneaky, treacherous stealth attacker.  You can wait for your fears, anticipate them, rationalize them, but it wouldn’t be fear if it didn’t have a way to get past all your defenses and cripple you at the least opportune moment.  So this interview format, complete bullshit.  It’s like watching a presidential debate.”

sustained audience applause

O:  You are an articulate young disgruntled bastard, I’ll give you that.  (more applause)  Security!

Critical audience member is tasered and removed by six burly guards.

O:  I’m sorry.  Before we continue, are there any other comments from the audience?   We welcome them.

(absolute silence in studio)

F:  Whoa, that shit was treacherous, cat!

O:  (smiling cat smile) well, you know, cute as we are, we’re trained killers. 

F:  You’re a badass.  Want to go hunting with us?

O:  (rising from her chair, brandishing a fist full of razor sharp claws)  Why not?

fade to black

Audience member:  what?  WTF?  What the F?  W the Fuck?  He’s not allowed to do that.   Is there no referee, no umpire, no arbiter of what some anonymous idiot can do here in cyberspace?

Authoritative basso profundo Voice:   You ask a good question, now answer it yourself, bee-yatch.