Girl Reporter:  What do you want to talk about in your interview today?

W: (silent)

GR: If you don’t have anything that you want to talk about I have prepared some questions.  First of all, Woodleaf, exactly is it that you do?

Woodleaf: I am a writer, but also a conductor and a composer, and a businessman.

GR: Do you play an instrument?

W: I do not.

GR: Are you a performance artist?

W: Certainly not, if you were to imply that I would perform for the amusement of others.

GR: Tell me about the begonia that was blooming in the bottom of Lake Blanca.

W: That was part of my story. A begonia is incapable of blooming in the bottom of a lake.  The begonia could have been a symbol of hope.  I will leave it to the readers to draw their own conclusions.

GR: Fascinating

W: It was blooming, until it died of neglect and inclement weather.  Here is a picture of it that I saved.  You can use this in the article.

red begonia

Editor’s Note:

Woodleaf wanted to start his Begonias from seed, but the seeds were very tiny and he could not get them to germinate. Months were spend dealing with under heating floor pads, misting watering systems, and humidity domes. It’s illegal to mail any plant material such as a begonia bulb in soil. Bulbs must be packed in pine wood shavings for shipment. Mailing the almost microscopic begonia seeds was easy to send in a postal letter, but he kept forgetting to buy stamps. And if he bought stamps he often misplaced them.

GR: Let us continue. How can people who are interested in your writing (which has been compared to the works of Thomas Pynchon on Wikipedia) read it? Are you selling a paperback book on Amazon or are you on Kindle?

W: Cracky published most of my essays and stories in a magazine called Cracked Up that is defunct and out of print, so now no one can read them.

Girl Reporter: (with disbelief) You let a Parrot have the rights to your articles, and now they can’t be read by anyone?

Woodleaf: Macy wants published versions my writings on a site that belongs to me, so people can find and read my writing. However, I never do anything Macy suggests, because that way she would win. I am always right, and she is always wrong.

Girl Reporter: So, why do you keep Macy around?

Woodleaf: She brings me pleasure when she is denied.

Girl Reporter: Oh, well, what does it matter? Does anything matter when the earth is going to be sucked into the sun? That Magazine has hideous cover art.  No one would want it in their homes. Maybe if the covers were ripped off and destroyed, it could be filed away coverless? But who has any space in their homes for non digital books or magazines? I am not wealthy enough to afford storage space for printed materials.

Woodleaf: I had John Money for Nothing design all the covers of Cracky’s Magazine.

Girl Reporter: His style is improving.

Woodleaf: Yes, quite.

Girl Reporter: Here is a joke: “How to you tell John Money for Nothing that you don’t like his art?” Answer: “Very Carefully.”

Cracky: My book was published in Israel.

Woodleaf: Shut up, Cracky. You know, you did not write a book. What was it about Zen and The Art of the Sunflower Seed?

Girl Reporter: (giggles) very funny

Girl Reporter: Back to your funeral service for Ernst Jünger. How can I put this delicately without hurting your feelings? Old growth Redwoods can’t possibly grow in the Black Forest. Redwoods can only grow on the coast of California because they need a fog climate to survive. They survive only in large groupings, as their leaves catch the moisture in the air and create a sort of gentle rain. They allows these high water trees to survive the dry summers. The service was to take place inside a glass dome that is hermetically sealed. All the oxygen would be used up by the fire and the dome would explode.

Woodleaf: The Redwoods will all burn up anyway soon, in all the fires caused by drought and global warming. I am just burning a few of them. What is the harm in that?

Girl Reporter: That sounds like quite a plan! Just a minute while I look this idea up in my phone.

Girl Reporter: I looked it up online, and apparently it is possible to exist inside a glass dome provided that glass dome is made of many segments and not one solid full bubble. I saw pictures of it at a hotel in Scandinavia.

Woodleaf: Great! I could place domes on the Castle Grounds of Castle Fluffy Clouds. People could spend the night inside these domes looking at the stars in the sky. (with great sincerity) I want people to be happy when they come, and stay in my Castle Forever.

Girl Reporter: (Happily) I believe you, and I know your intentions are good. Those people are better off staying on in the Castle with you. It is a dangerous world out there, and you provide free lodging for those who can’t afford it.

Woodleaf: It’s not quite like that. My Castle is exclusive. I only collect those who are well off financially. They need to be able to contribute money for their room, board the upkeep of the Castle and the Gardens and Grounds.

Girl Reporter: Oh I see.

Woodleaf: My wife Ann’s trust fund is not so large as to be able to support us and them indefinitely.

Ann: (offended) My trust fund is big enough. It will never run out.

Woodleaf: Yes, dear, and how much is in your trust fund right now?

Ann: I don’t know. I only know that it’s big enough. I have never wanted for anything in my life. If I want a new pursue, makeup or the latest fashion outfits, I buy them. I use expensive contact lens. I don’t want to look like Squirrely Owl in huge plastic glasses. She looks just like Fake heiress Anna Sorokin. I am a real heiress. My grandfather was rich and famous. I have always been rich and I always will be rich.

Woodleaf: I am happy for you, dear, but as of late there are more burdens being placed upon your trust fund. I know you thought it would last forever, but what if the markets go down?

Ann: Lets us not discuss money now in front of GR. Most couple break up over money. I don’t want to happen to us.

Girl Reporter: As long as some copies are saved of your writings on Archive Is, you can delete any you don’t want seen from the Internet. You should take them back from the parrot and publish them. There is no site or blog that contains all or even most of your writings. The award winning article you wrote on Ketamine was deleted. It now only exists in another out of print book. You can take control of your life and writings, but you need a more hands on approach. I wanted to tell you this, but now I really must be going. Bye! See you soon, I hope!

Girl Reporter starts to leave then turns and returns.

Girl Reporter: Wait, I just thought of something else! If you literally wanted Ernst Jünger to be eaten by insects his after death, in case you didn’t know, very few bees eat meat. Perhaps wasps, would eat him? Have you ever been to a cookout and yellow jackets cut off pieces of your hot dog, and fly away with it? I have. It was so exciting! To consume his entire body you’d have to go for something more along the lines of maggots. The only birds that eat flesh are vultures. None of these are what you would consider “noble animals”.

Woodleaf: I was using poetic license. You did a lot of research on the Climate Change, but you failed to research Ernst Jünger. He wrote a book called The Glass Bees. That is the reason I wanted his body to be eaten by bees. It does not matter whether bees eat flesh or not. You’re missing the whole point. The flying squirrels are symbolic to the people who join my group. They are allowed to fly into the sky and become free.

GR: Why do you think you should be considered The Great Master Cultural Figure?

Woodleaf: The Great Master Cultural Figure can not be communicated with in anyway because I can not be influenced by the opinions of other people. They are merely jealous haters. I have had many people try to give me life changing advice, but I refused to listen to any of it.

Girl Reporter: Thank you for enlightening me. Have a beautiful rest of your day.

Exit Girl Reporter

As soon as Woodleaf makes sure the Girl Reporter is really gone, he angrily turns to Cracky.

Woodleaf: Cracky, I am downgrading your fake wife to fat, old combat boots, and upgrading my wife to Sandy Woodleaf, a noble name.

Ann: What do you mean? I am your wife. Are you ashamed of me, and you had to make up a fake wife?

Woodleaf: Let’s not talk about it now. She’s a fake wife, so your jealousy is not acceptable.

Ann: We will discuss this another time. This is not over!

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