Hello, friends. Enjoying the Internet, are we? Mmmm. That was my satisfied yummy sound, because yes, you're enjoying it and so am I. I in particular have enjoyed the latest viral sensation "The Rhubarb Lady." Have you seen her? Allow me.
She's a charmer, isn't she? This kind of instant and unintentional comedy is what I live for. Her allure was to me like musk to a musk ox, or musk to a '70s lot lizard. Something that gets horny for musk. I had to have her!
The chance to interact with a walking comedy skit like this woman was too great to resist. I set to work, and it took me all of six days of emails and phone calls to narrow down who she was and finally how to contact her. With only four wrong numbers, I had her home number and, perchance, an interview. Enjoy!
Felix Clay: Hi, my name is Felix Clay, I'm a freelance writer and journalist, I guess. I'm looking for a Ms. Janice Gaynor?
Janice Gaynor: I'm Janice, who's this?
FC: Oh, great. My name is Felix Clay, I'm a writer, I was hoping I could talk to you for a few minutes for an article I'm writing.
JG: Fuck off, why don't ya?
At this point I was hung up on. But my hopes were high. That voice was unmistakable, like a smoky glass of bourbon, like choking on sweet velour pants. Very specific, very hard to forget. Janice Gaynor was tracked down, and she was mine. I decided to give her a half-hour while I heated up some Hot Pockets to celebrate my online detective work. They were delicious, and they burned the skin off the roof of my mouth.
Felix Clay: Hi, Ms. Gaynor? This is Felix Clay again. Sorry to bother you, but-
Janice Gaynor: I told you guys to fuck off!
"I got me a good feeling about this! Thumbs up."
Shorter than our first parlay, but I felt more of a softness in her voice. Plus she thinks I'm more than one person now, so perhaps a game of good columnist/bad columnist is in order. I'll play good columnist. Brockway can be the shit she's mouthing off to for all I care.
Felix Clay: Hello, Ms. Gaynor, I understand someone from my office has been harassing you?
Janice Gaynor: You what?
FC: Has someone from my office claiming to be a journalist been harassing you on the phone?
JG: I told you guys to fuck off. You won't leave me alone. I don't care what you want.
FC: Totally understandable, and you can rest assured, that person is being fired.
JG: Good! I'm sick of the shit! All day long, everyone calling and coming by, buncha fucks.
FC: Oh no, I'm sorry to hear that. Is it all because of this Internet thing?
JG: Fucking assholes is what it is!
FC: That's the Internet alright. Assholes, every one of them.
Pictured: A metaphor for all of us.
There was some muttering at this point, and the phone was hung up again. However, I wasn't expected to fuck off, as near as I could tell, and that, my friends, is good old-fashioned progress. I imagined this was how those Nixon tapes were sussed out, lots of recording the vice president on the toilet for a while until finally something good paid off. I decided to give Ms. Gaynor a night and start fresh the next day.
Felix Clay: Ms. Gaynor? Hi, good to speak to you again. You'll be happy to know that Brockway asshole's been fired for harassing you, and we are determined to get your side of the story out there so people will leave you alone.
Janice Gaynor: The fuck are you?
FC: This is Felix Clay, we spoke yesterday about making sure people leave you alone.
JG: You a cop?
FC: I have seen them, yes.
JG: It's nonstop! It's harassment is what it is, I want the whole lot of them thrown in jail so they can get buttfucked! It's what they deserve.
"Buttfucking?!? Awwww, man!"
FC: Preaching to the choir, ma'am. Listen, let me ask you about the rhubarb-
JG: Fuck off! It's not a big deal, it's fuckin' rhubarb! It's fuckin fruit for a fuckin' pie! That lezzie bitch had to go tell the whole town like it's some thing. You come arrest me if it's so illegal, you fucker, I'll have you thrown off the force so fast, your fuckin' head will spin!
This went both better and worse than expected, like AC/DC playing smooth jazz, or sex with a woman who has a crooked vagina. We've broached the subject, but now I'm both an asshole journalist and an asshole cop. Not sure where to go from here. I break to have a delicious Fresca and consider my options.
Felix Clay: GIMME THE FUCKIN' RHUBARB! (at this point I began making nonsensical utterances that sounded a bit like GWAAAHH BOOBLAAAHH!)
Not even a word before hanging up that time. Unlike a samurai warrior, if I approach her with a fierce demeanor, it does not elicit respect and understanding. She has not recognized me as a kindred spirit. Still, you never know until you try. Toilet break, and then regroup.
Felix Clay: Ms. Janice Gaynor? I'm from Rhubarb Fancy magazine, and we'd like to feature you as next month's centerfold model.
Janice Gaynor: Oh, for fuck's sake, buddy.
Readers, I apologize for that one. I had it on a list of possible things to say, and I assured myself I wouldn't. But then I did. Immature is what it was, and I am nothing if not mature. Have you seen the article I wrote entirely about farts? I'm Cracked's Wolf Blitzer. I just sit here with my silver beard, looking sternly at all the other columnists. Once I stared so hard at Soren Bowie, he wept. Honest to goodness bitch tears. But I digress.