I recently conducted an interview with random people that I met on the street. Here in Vegas, though, people on the street can be pretty unusual/entertaining. Here is a partial transcription:
Billy Prophet: If God called you collect, would you accept the charges?
Lady who thought she was coming to Vegas to have an experience that would "stay in Vegas" but is actually ugly: Yes, of course. The opportunity to speak with the Almighty is worth any price. Any price at all. I would sell my daughters to talk with my Jesus. I would sell my son's soul.
Billy Prophet: (interrupting) Alright, that's fucking enough. By the way God hates you.
Desperate lonely guy who thinks he is hot shit but no one agrees: I...uh...screen my phone calls... Next ... uh ... question?
Billy Prophet: It's not screening if no one ever calls. Get off of my show.
I walked a ways down the street before I came across some more potential contestants on my talk show. They were big and mean. They hit me. Over and over and over. I did not like it. So I gelded all three of them. And stole their motorcycles. I don't take that shit from anybody. The Prophet has spoken.
It can take hours to die by hanging if you don't snap your neck. The waiting gets to you. While gasping for breath and watching your feet turn black you think to your self, "Self, why did I have to be so damn melodramatic? Why couldn't I have just put a bullet through my brain and been done with it?" Then you remember that guns have a waiting period before you can buy them and you had a good bit of rope in the garage. Plus, this way you get to die with an erection. You would laugh at the absurdity of dying with a raging mega-huge boner if you weren't slowly suffocating with a raging mega-huge boner. You laugh a little on the inside. Then the curtain falls.
"Welcome to the Lost Property Office..."
- James Walsh, Lost Property Office