I was fortunate enough to land an interview with celebrity BoJack Horseman. You know and love him from his very popular TV show Horsin' Around, The BoJack Horseman show, Philbert, and his movie Secretariat. BoJack agreed to meet with me at his restaurant Elefante, located in Hollywoo, California.
I arrive early for the interview and am promptly seated at a back table near the kitchen. The table has a fresh candle, a menu, and a trademark deep red tablecloth. I set my recorder on the table and ask for a glass of water. BoJack should be here in ten minutes.
It's been thirty minutes and BoJack has not arrived. I go to the bathroom and make sure I look my best. My nerves are setting in and I'm wondering when he will arrive. I hope he hasn't forgotten our appointment. The waiter brings me breadsticks and says Mr. Horseman should be here any minute.
Now an hour later, I'm wondering if I should leave. The candle is half the size it was when I was seated. I should have known he wouldn't show up for this little question and answer session. I begin to pack up my things.
Just as I'm about to stand to leave, the kitchen doors burst open and a large figure stumbles out. It's BoJack. He is mumbling to himself and he looks disheveled. His hair is wild and his clothes are a mess. His eyes are bloodshot and he appears dirty. The waiter who sat me earlier runs over and walks BoJack to our table and gets him seated. Another waiter comes running over with an ice water and some plain toast. BoJack waives it away and says he just needs a drink to steady himself and then he'll be fine. The second waiter looks to the first for approval and the first waiter nods. "If this is a bad time..." I start to say but the first waiter interrupts me and tells me everything is fine. The second waiter returns with a glass of brown liquid that BoJack grabs from him swallows in one gulp, and straightens up in his chair. He actually looks better. The waiters cautiously step away.
I stare at BoJack while the candle flickers. I'm not sure if I should speak or if I should wait for him to say something. I slowly get my recorder back out, click "record," and place it on the table. I grab my notebook and pen. I take a deep breath and gather my thoughts to begin the interview.
BoJack: Do I know you?
Me: No Mr. Horseman, I'm interviewing you for my blog. My name is Betty.
BoJack: Your what? We're gonna bang after though right?
Me: Um, no. I'm married. My blog. It's a blog about living with less and I'm interviewing you for a post.
BoJack: Living with less? What the f*ck is that supposed to mean? If you're asking if I've hit rock bottom, I have, that's where I live.
Me: Living with less, meaning living a fulfilling life with less waste and more environmental responsibility.
BoJack: Holy sh!t that's stupid. How did I end up with this crap gig?
Me: I booked it with your manager.
BoJack: Princess Carolyn set this up? Jesus. I need a new manager.
The waiter returns to take our order. I ask for a glass of pink Moscato and a chef salad. BoJack tells the waiter he'll be having a liquid lunch. There is a long awkward pause in the conversation.
BoJack: So...Maybe we can bang?
I stand up and reach for the recorder.
BoJack: Wait, wait, wait. Please sit down, I'll do the interview for your blog. If Princess Carolyn set it up then it must be for a good reason. I'm sorry, I'll behave.
I slowly sit back down.
BoJack: So why did you pick me for this interview?
Me: I'm a fan of your work and...
BoJack: And you couldn't get any other celebrity?
Me: There may be some truth to that.
The waiter arrives with my salad and wine. He also has BoJack's "liquid lunch." The liquid lunch appears to be five rum and cokes.
BoJack: A better interview would be with Mr. Peanutbutter. He gets excited about everything and you can get him to say anything you want really. He once endorsed fracking just because he wanted to be the governor. He even let them frack his own backyard until his house collapsed!
Me: I remember seeing that on the show.
BoJack: Or even Todd. Christ. Todd would be a better interview than me.
Me: That's not true, you're a good guy.
BoJack: Nah, I'm a piece of shit but I'm fine with it. I'm a piece of shit who knows he's a piece of shit, and that's one step up from all the other pieces of shit.
BoJack motions to get the waiters attention. The waiter comes over and BoJack tells him to bring the rounds. The waiter nods and heads to the bar.
Me: The rounds?
BoJack: You'll see, might as well make this interesting right? Aren't you supposed to be asking me questions?
Me: Yeah, let me get my list.
As I open my notebook to look at my list, the waiter returns with a round silver platter filled with shot glasses. Each shot is a different color, each one bright and beautiful. The waiter places it in the middle of the table.
Me: That was fast.
BoJack: I pay them to be snappy with my liquor. I mean, I own the place. I literally pay them.
I stare at the colorful drinks.
BoJack: You first, pick one.
Me: Oh, I already had a glass of wine and I haven't eaten much. I'm good, thanks.
BoJack: Nope. Grab one and take a damn shot or I'm not answering any of your silly questions.
I pick one out of the sea of beautifully colored drinks. I pick one that is light turquoise on the bottom and turns deeper blue at the top. I look at it for a moment before I slowly bring it to my lips.
BoJack: Knock it back!
I take the shot and it's delicious. It's sweet and goes down easy. BoJack does three shots in rapid succession.
BoJack: Your turn.
I select another one that is orange on the bottom and magenta on the top. I take the shot. Fruity.
BoJack: That's better. Tonight's going to be a p-p-p-party!
Me: Tonight? It's eleven o'clock...in the morning.
BoJack: Really? Well, who's counting? Close enough!
He hands me another shot. It's light pink and delicious.
Me: We need to get the interview questions started.
BoJack: Sure thing babe, ask me anything you want.
He takes three more shots, randomly selected off the platter. He hands me a creamy brown shot. It tastes like chocolate. Out of nowhere a thick woman in a ski mask bursts out of the kitchen. She is holding what appears to be some sort of assault rifle and she is screaming. She is heading right towards me! BoJack throws himself on the floor and hides under the table. I don't flinch. Maybe it's the liquor giving me liquid courage but I see right through this.
BoJack: Take her, take her! Don't hurt me, I'm a celebrity loved by millions!
Crazy Woman: Alright girl, you're coming with me one way or another!
I cross my arms and stare at her. She points her gun at me and screams in my face.
BoJack: Do what she says Betty, so she doesn't hurt us both!
I slap the gun out of her hands and it lands on the floor. It is clearly a cheap plastic replica. The crazy woman is speechless and she stares at me with her mouth open in a state of disbelief.
BoJack: What's going on? Did the crazy woman kill you or did you kill the crazy woman?
Me: There is no crazy woman. It's character actress Margo Martindale.
BoJack peeks his head out from under the tablecloth.
Me: Did you hire character actress Margo Martindale to come in here like a crazy woman to get out of the interview?
BoJack: What? No!
Margo: Yes, BoJack, you did. Don't you remember?
Margo sits down at the table next to me. BoJack slowly comes out from under the table and returns to his seat. He looks genuinely confused.
Margo: Remember last week BoJack? You hired me for this part today. You said you had some stupid interview that you didn't want to do and you wanted me to scare off this lame writer for some stupid blog.
Margo looks at me.
Margo: No offense.
Me: Some taken.
BoJack: I can't remember what I did this morning, so no, I don't remember that.
Margo: Was it my performance that gave me away? I wasn't in the right frame of mind. I'm sorry my interpretation of a crazed gun wielding manic didn't come through today.
Margo grabs a couple of shots. BoJack grabs a couple of shots. I grab a couple of shots.
Before I realize it, we are laughing and the shots are gone. The table is a mess of spilled liquor and glasses. The candle has burned out hours ago. The next thing I know, BoJack and I are laying on the floor, pretending to stare up at the stars. We are laughing and carrying on. I have a vague recollection of riding around the restaurant on his back and telling him to "giddy-up." I realize that we are alone in the restaurant and I didn't even ask a single interview question.
Bojack: Hey, Betty. Wanna bang?
F*cking BoJack Horseman. I should have interviewed Mr. Peanutbutter.
BoJack Horseman
*Satirical Saturday brought to you by Betty