Thursday, August 29, 2013


Once there was a cow named Jeff. 

Old Farmer Brown spent all of his worldly fortune on a giant cannon, and as soon as it was delivered, he shoved Jeff the cow into the front end of the cannon and then pointed it upward at a forty-five degree angle.  It was already packed with an enormous amount of gunpowder and the fuse was all ready to go.  So Farmer Brown struck a match on the bottom of his old work shoe and lit the fuse.  Then he scampered behind a tree, turned on the video camera he had mounted on a tripod, and stuck his fingers in his ears.

BOOM!  Was that cannon loud!  With a flash of blinding light and a cloud of smoke, Jeff the cow rocketed out of the cannon and soared high in the air above the farm, end over end, as his terrified moos reverberated thoughout the countryside.   Old Farmer Brown raised his gnarled fists into the air and croaked, "Whoopee!  Now I can sell this tape on them thar Intranets and make me a million dollars!  YEE-HAA!" 

ENDING #1:  But little did Farmer Brown suspect that "Jeff the cow" was actually an agent for the SPCA, working undercover at the farm after an anonymous tip-off had alerted the organization to Old Farmer Brown's nefarious plans.  The undercover agent, whose real name was Floyd Baxter, jettisoned his cow costume and pulled the ripcord of his parachute. 

On his way down he radioed his associates, who promptly swept down on the farm and arrested Farmer Brown, confiscating the tape.  But Old Farmer Brown had one last trick up his sleeve.  Right before they handcuffed him, he unzipped his old man suit and stepped out of it, and, to everyone's surprise, he was really Paris Hilton.

ENDING #2:  As Old Farmer Brown celebrated his good fortune, Jeff the cow continued his gradual descending arc toward the nearby town.  He flew through a flock of birds and startled them terribly.  Then he spied a building below which was growing closer and closer.  It was the Sunnyrest Old Folks' Home. 

The old folks were all gathered in the day room watching the only channel they could pick up on TV, which currently featured a black-and-white Mexican soap opera from the early 70s entitled "Simplemente Maria."  One of the old folks turned to another one of the old folks and lamented, "Boy, I sure wish something exciting would happen around here once in a while." 

One second later Jeff the cow crashed through the wall, took out the TV, and plowed through the old folks like a bowling ball crashing through tenpins.  Wheelchairs, folding chairs, and old people were scattered all over the room.  The ones who were still conscious looked up at the cow, who was staggering to its feet. 

"It''s a COW!" one of them cried in disbelief. 

"Well, not exactly..." came a human voice.  The front zipper was unzipped, the cow suit fell away, and a human being stepped out of it.  "Surprise!" he beamed, spreading his hands with a grand flourish.  It was David Hasselhoff.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013


(NOTE: This is an old  one, so when it says "last week" it really means a pretty long time ago, and it also refers to some titles that I haven't reposted here yet so you won't know what the heck I'm talking about when I mention them.)

Last week I wrote about "PORFLE VS. MORE IRRITATING SAYINGS" because I couldn't think of anything else to write about, so I just wrote some more about irritating sayings, which I had already done a couple of months ago.  A while back I wrote about "PORFLE VS. SPAM", so this week I thought about doing "PORFLE VS. MORE SPAM."  But damn it, I didn't have anything else to say about spam.

Let's see...I've already written about John Wilkes Booth, so I don't think "PORFLE VS. MORE JOHN WILKES BOOTH" would give me all that much to talk about.  I don't really know a heck of a lot about John Wilkes Booth anyway.  To tell you the truth, I made most of that other stuff up in the first place.  I know it's hard to believe, but I don't always put 100% factual information in these things.  I've found that researching facts is a lot harder than just making stuff up and pretending it's true.

I've already said pretty much all I wanted to say about babies, cows, Ensign Chekov, sexual organs, and the Bee Gees.  I can't do "PORFLE VS. MORE BEE GEES" because there aren't any more Bee Gees.  There's really no point in crabbing about Aunt Bee again, because I already blew her head off with a shotgun in the last one.  And I can't do "PORFLE VS. OCCAM'S OTHER RAZOR" since, as far as I know, Occam only had one razor.  I think he was one of those one-hit wonders who make it big and then disappear, like Chilliwack or the guys who sang "Brandy."

I guess I could talk about "PORFLE VS. ONE-HIT WONDERS", but I don't really have anything against them.  In fact, I sort of like a lot of them.  After all, each and every one of them has exactly one more big Top 40 hit than I have so far.  I'm not too crazy about "Billy, Don't Be a Hero" by Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods, though.  And "Don't Pull Your Love Out On Me, Baby" by Hamilton, Joe Frank, and Reynolds just makes me want to rip all my clothes off and run naked through a Family Dollar store screaming "GAH!!!  PRUNES!!!" 

But if I ever ran into Hamilton, Joe Frank, and Reynolds and made fun of them for coming out with such a crappy song, they'd probably just say "Well, let's hear your big million-selling hit song, smarty-pants" and I'd shuffle my feet and mumble "Uhhh...errr...I don't have one, heh, actually" and they'd all point and laugh at me.  While they were laughing, their faces would start swirling around in my vision like when Carrie got the pig's blood dumped on her at the prom, and I'd hear Miss Collins' voice saying "Trust me, can trust me" and the school principal saying "We're all very sorry about this...PORKLE" and Hamilton, Joe Frank, and Reynolds chanting "PLUG IT UP!  PLUG IT UP!"  And since I don't have any telekinetic powers, I wouldn't even be able to unleash some really cool, horrible revenge on them.  Just about the only thing I would be able to do is shake my fists at them and scream, "SHUT UP!!!"

I still can't think of anything to write about, and now I've got "and the sailors say Brandy, you're a fine girl" stuck in my head.  I kinda like it, though.  It's not running-naked-through-Family-Dollar irritating, not like that awful Hamilton, Joe Frank, and Reynolds song.  The last time I had that thing stuck in my head I got drunk for three days and woke up under the hair dryer at my local laundrymat, wearing a Supergirl costume.  Actually, I didn't...I just made that up.  See?  I make a lot of this stuff up.

One bad thing about it is that the location of my computer where I write this stuff affords me a clear view into the kitchen, where there's a big bag of dog food leaning against the wall with the words "DOG FOOD" printed in big letters across the front.  So every time I look around trying to think of something to write, I see the label on the bag and think, "DOG FOOD."  Those two words loom prominently in the front of my mind, blocking off everything else that I'm trying to think about.  DOG FOOD. 

After awhile the words begin to lose all meaning, especially when I start to repeat them over and over in my mind.  DOG FOOD.  DOG FOOD.  It starts to sound like some strange heathen chant, or maybe a mysterious form of Oriental martial arts.  DOG FOOD.  Then I begin to imagine Steven Seagal facing off against a gang of thugs, and he glares menacingly at them and mumbles, "Don't mess with me, punks.  I know...DOG FOOD."  And then he gives it to 'em, chunky-style.

So, I guess I've got enough written by now to qualify as a complete whatever-it-is that I write, so I'll just slap the title "PORFLE VS. WRITER'S BLOCK" on it and call it done.  (Some folks call it "incompetence", I call it "writer's block", mmm-hmm.)  I did the same thing the last time I couldn't think of anything to write about, only then I wrote about how I didn't care about anything enough to write about it and called it "PORFLE VS. ENNUI."  You'll know I've really hit a brick wall when I come out with "PORFLE VS. MORE WRITER'S BLOCK."  Or worse, "PORFLE VS. DOG FOOD."

Seriously, not having cable TV anymore has really cut down on the things I have to be openly hostile about.  Lately I seem to be filled with a raging, all-consuming tolerance that has plunged my entire life into a churning maelstrom of complacency.  And it's tearing me apart.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013


So many of the other animals and even insects have been represented by superheroes -- Batman, Catwoman, Spiderman, Wolverine, The Tick, etc. -- but to my knowledge, there has never been a Dog Man.  Why not? 

Do super-heroes have some unspoken understanding amongst themselves to never, as Oprah would say, "go there"?  Was there a Dog Man at some time in the distant past who was such a great superhero that when he finally quit, they retired his name?  Or is it just that, for some reason, the name "Dog Man" sounds sort of dumb?

If there truly were a Dog Man, he would have several positive traits that would make him an exemplary superhero.  He would be able to "sniff out" criminals and track them down right to their secret lairs.  He would be able to mark the entire city as his territory, as if to say: "Evildoers--stay out!"  He would be loyal and faithful.  And he would be your best friend. 

Is Batman your best friend?  No, he's Superman's best friend.  Is Superman your best friend?  No, he's Jimmy Olsen's best friend.  Basically, we're all just nameless "citizens" to them.  But Dog Man?  He would love us all unconditionally and jump up and down in paroxysms of unrestrained joy every time he saw us.  In fact, unlike most superheroes, Dog Man would actually lick us!

Dog Man would have lots of really cool weapons and other crimefighting devices, such as the Dog-a-rang and the Dogmobile.  Batman has his crummy old Batcave; Dog Man's base of operations would be the fabulous Dog House.  And he would replenish his amazing dog powers every day by eating a big bowl of radioactive Gravy Train. 

A Milk-Bone flavor snack, also bathed in nourishing radiation, would serve as a quick pick-me-up for the Canine Crusader before going into battle against some super-criminal's henchmen.  And everyday citizens would know that they were being protected by the incredible Dog Man whenever they looked up at the night sky and saw the awe-inspiring Dog Signal beckoning their hero to City Hall. 

Since those who deal in crime are basically a cowardly lot, Dog Man's bark itself would be enough to strike fear into their black hearts.  His growl alone would cause them to wet their pants.  The mere sight of the mysterious dog shadow sweeping across a wall would send them fleeing in terror, as would the unmistakable aroma of Dog Man's distinctive, musky dog smell as he marked his territory in the name of justice.

Honest, law-abiding citizens, on the other hand, would react to such indications by proudly proclaiming:  "I love the smell of Dog Man in the morning!"

Monday, August 19, 2013


"Hey, cows!" shouted Farmer Shapiro.

The cows in the pasture raised their heads sluggishly and looked in his general direction.

"Cows! Oh, cows!"

The cows squinted at the hazily familiar figure in the distance, vaguely attempting to fathom its curious utterances.

"Cows!" Farmer Shapiro repeated. "Din-din time!"

Most of the cows had absolutely no idea what was going on, and the rest of them had already forgotten that something was indeed going on. One cow toyed briefly with the idea of saying "moo" but quickly discarded the notion when his attention was diverted by a flock of vampire bats fluttering by overhead.

"Din-din time! Yip-yip!" shouted Farmer Shapiro.

There was still no response from the cows. Twilight descended rapidly over the countryside, casting a pall upon the proceedings.

"Din-din time! Yip-YIPPEE!"

"Yip-YIPPEE!" wafted listlessly on the breeze toward the cows. As they stood motionlessly in their stupor, hooves sinking gradually into the soft, marshy earth, "Yip-YIPPEE!" swirled into their aural passages and began to echo back and forth across their dense, bovine minds. Although there was something very familiar about the sound, the cows just couldn't seem to pin it down. Eventually, "Yip-YIPPEE!" faded off into the dark, silent recesses of their sodden brains and the cows were right back where they started. That is, all except for one, whose name was Lenny.

Farmer Shapiro shuffled restlessly as he waited for a response. Being a farmer, he had to deal with cows every day, and he often found himself wishing they were considerably smarter.

Meanwhile, Lenny the cow was mentally struggling to put two and two together. "Yip-YIPPEE!", he seemed to recall, almost always preceeded something good. Something like...DIN-DIN TIME!

"MOO!" bellowed Lenny as he hopped up and down in the mud, ecstatic over his mental triumph. "MOO!"

The other cows were taken aback by this startling display. They peered foggily at Lenny and tried to figure out what terrible thing could be happening to him to cause him to behave in such an atypical manner. Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit them. Could this mean...?

Ethel the cow stepped forward tentatively. "Moo?" she asked.

"MOO!" Lenny affirmed frantically.

The other cows were catching on as a wave of excitement swept over the herd. "MOO!" they howled in unison, jumping up and down.

Farmer Shapiro sprang to attention and slapped his thigh joyfully. "DIN-DIN TIME!" he cried. "YIP-YIPPEE!"

"YIP-YIPPEE!" was now a clarion call which thundered across the pasture and pierced the dusky veil of the cows' collective intelligence. With an ever-increasing fervor they glanced amongst themselves to see who was going to make that first decisive move. It was Lenny. With one last leap high into the air he dug his hooves into the earth and propelled himself forward.

Farmer Shapiro was beside himself. "Come on, cows!" he screamed. "COME ON, COWS!"

Now the entire herd was on the move, with Lenny leading the way. The rumble of hooves filled the air as they stormed onward, mooing with an almost frightening intensity. Every last one of them was now fully aware of what was going on, and it seemed as though nothing could stop them from reaching their goal. DIN-DIN TIME, they thought resolutely as the shadowy figure of Farmer Shapiro grew closer with each forward bound. YIP-YIPPEE!

Farmer Shapiro was jumping up and down himself by this time. He threw his hat high into the air and shrieked, "COME ON, COWS!"

Suddenly Ethel the cow slipped on a banana peel that Farmer Shapiro had carelessly dropped the day before. Tumbling head over heels, her considerable forward momentum launched her with blinding speed toward the watering hole. She came down with a mighty splash, her bulky bovine mass settling deeply into the mud. Legs flailing desperately, Ethel struggled in vain against the powerful suctional force. She was stuck.

"Oh, no!" cried Farmer Shapiro in shock. "ETHEL!"

The other cows witnessed Ethel's fate but could not be stopped. Steadfastly, they barreled onward with even greater determination. Farmer Shapiro was proud of them. "Come on, cows!" he cried. "You can do it!"

At that moment three of the cows, Bossie, Flossie, and Howard, let out a piercing wail as the ground disappeared from beneath them and they flew headlong into a long-forgotten trap Farmer Shapiro had dug way back in World War II just in case his farm might be invaded by enemy spies on the prowl.

"Dadburn it! I should've filled those things in forty years ago!" he chided himself. "COME ON, COWS!"

There was a muffled rumbling in the distance. Bimbo the cow, travelling apart from the rest of the herd, was much too intent on her immediate concerns to notice it even as it grew closer with each passing millisecond. Then it was too late.

"WATCH OUT, BIMBO!" Farmer Shapiro warned breathlessly.

With terrifying abruptness, the recently-derailed 7:45 freight train from Wyoming rocketed across Bimbo's path and scooped her up in its cowcatcher. Secured firmly to the front of the train by centrifugal force, the extremely perplexed Bimbo found herself careening toward the distant horizon at tremendous velocity. The 7:45 from Wyoming thundered off into the twilight in a cloud of dust and smoke as Farmer Shapiro watched helplessly.

"COME ON, COWS!" he wailed, not noticing the formation of flying saucers which hovered silently over the pasture.

Mbxwjklf locked in the final computer coordinates and turned to his commanding officer. "We are now ready to commence abduction of the Earth creatures for observation," he announced.

"You may proceed," said flight captain Kbljdrrp.

The transport beam flickered to life and quickly zeroed in on a cow named Fred. He suddenly became weightless and began to drift rapidly upward toward one of the alien craft, disappearing through an aperture in its underside. Presently, several more cows began to follow suit.

"HEY! Come back with my cows!" Farmer Shapiro shouted angrily. The alien formation emitted a green glow and heedlessly zipped away at the speed of light.

Farmer Shapiro watched the flying saucers depart and then looked out across the pasture. There was only one cow left.

"COME ON, LENNY!" he screamed as if there were no tomorrow. "DIN-DIN TIME! YIP-YIPPEE!"

Lenny pressed onward with more resolve than ever before. DIN-DIN TIME echoed like an air-raid siren throughout his brain. YIP-YIPPEE seared the very fabric of his being. The ground flew by swiftly under his hooves, his destination mere seconds away.

It was then that Farmer Shapiro's fairy godmother appeared. She materialized by the feed trough, waving her magic wand. In a sweet little tinkling voice she said, "Hello, Farmer Shapiro! I'm your fairy godmother, and I'm here to grant you your one fondest wish in life!"

Lenny collided with her and they both flew over the feed trough and crashed into the side of the barn. When the dust settled, Lenny was sprawled out in a pile of manure with two little fairy feet sticking out from under him. He was groggy but that didn't keep him from spying the feed trough, filled to capacity with oats. "MOO!" he bellowed with unrestrained glee as he staggered to his feet.

Horrified, Farmer Shapiro rushed to the scene. "Fairy godmother!" he cried, shaking her vigorously. "Are you all right? Speak to me!"

When her vision finally cleared she glared at him indignantly. "Am I all right?" she retorted. "You just dropped a cow on me, you jerk! Forget this noise!" She disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Farmer Shapiro blinked his eyes and stood up. With a sigh, he ambled slowly over to a fencepost and leaned back, gazing out over the darkened countryside. Then he looked over at Lenny, who was munching contentedly on his oats.

"I wish I had a million dollars," he said.

Nothing happened.

"Dadburn you, Lenny!" said Farmer Shapiro.


Thursday, August 15, 2013


(This was written before Heath Ledger and Ernest Borgnine died, so it is dedicated to them.)

I recently conducted a fictitious, yet highly-revealing "round robin" interview with the notorious "Hollywood Five", a disparate group of movie stars with little in common save for one thing: their legendary obsession with pizza.  Tension hung heavy in the air like a gaseous cloud as these celebrities released their pent-up load of intimate revelations, both professional and deeply personal, upon my relentless urging.  What eventually emerged from these laborious sessions is revealed here.

ERNEST BORGNINE:  This sure is good pizza.

PORFLE:  Shut up.  Tom Cruise--why are you such a big, fat idiot?

TOM CRUISE:  Hmmm.  I don't know.

MEL GIBSON:  I know!

PORFLE:  What?  You know why Tom Cruise is such a big, fat idiot, or why you yourself are such a big, fat idiot?

MEL GIBSON:  Uhh..."D."

PORFLE:  Excuse me?

MEL GIBSON:  "D.  All of the above." (emits bug-eyed laugh)

JESSICA ALBA:  This pizza is the best pizza I've ever--

PORFLE:  Shut up.  Heath Ledger, what the hell makes you think that you will make a decent Joker in the new "Batman" movie?

HEATH LEDGER:  Well, I'm quite the "joker" in real life.  Just yesterday, I heard someone on the street say, "Call me a cab."  So I yelled, "Okay--you're a cab!"  Ha, ha!

PORFLE:  Go to Sweden and get a sex-change operation.

HEATH LEDGER:  Okay.  (leaves)

PORFLE:  Mel, what's your next film project?

MEL GIBSON:  Something different--a children's story.  It's called "Inside We Know, Outside We Grow."  I decided I wanted to do a family picture that Mom and Dad can take their kids to for a change.

PORFLE:  How many people get their guts ripped out in it?

MEL GIBSON:  Thirty-five.  No, wait, there's the "picnic" scene...uh, a hundred.

PORFLE:  Any beheadings?  Dismemberments?  Castrations?

MEL GIBSON:  Hey, I gotta save something for the sequel! (emits bug-eyed laugh)


PORFLE:  What is it with you two?

ERNEST BORGNINE:  We're gettin' married!

JESSICA ALBA: At Pizza Hut!  And instead of rice, everyone will throw anchovies at us!

ERNEST BORGNINE:  And our bed will be filled with all the different kinds of pizza toppings so we can roll around on them while we have sex!


PORFLE:  Tom, why are you wearing a clown suit and clown makeup?

TOM CRUISE:  Because I'm currently filming a new movie called "Fartso The Clown."
PORFLE:, you're playing the title role?

TOM CRUISE:  No.  "Fartso" will be played by Jude Law.  Morgan Freeman will portray his father, "Stinko."

PORFLE:  What part do you play? 

TOM CRUISE:  I'm directing it.

JESSICA ALBA:  Can I be in it? (cuts monstrous fart)



ERNEST BORGNINE:  I wanna [cuts even more monstrous fart] be in it, too!

TOM CRUISE:  Okay. (cuts resolute-sounding fart)

MEL GIBSON:  I want to combine your movie with my movie, Tom.  We could call it "Inside Fartso The Clown Knows, Outside Fartso The Clown Grows." (rips deafening fart that blows the seat of his pants wide open)

TOM CRUISE:  Okay. (cuts high-pitched, musical fart)

PORFLE:  I think this pizza has given everyone gas...

JESSICA ALBA:  You know what I think?

PORFLE:  What?

JESSICA ALBA: (blasts a sustained fart that sounds like the trumpet section of the Boston Pops Orchestra)  That!  Ha, ha!

TOM CRUISE:  Anybody got any Beano? (farts percussively)

ERNEST BORGNINE:  No, but I sure do love pizza! (rips a fart that sounds like a herd of elephants being run over by a fleet of steamrollers)

HEATH LEDGER:  I'm back.

PORFLE:  I thought you went to Sweden to get a sex-change operation.

HEATH LEDGER:  I was going to, but then I began to fart uncontrollably. (farts uncontrollably)

PORFLE:  Well, I'm sorta glad you didn't.   I was just kidding before.

HEATH LEDGER:  Whew...that was close. (cuts eye-watering fart that instantly wilts a nearby potted plant)

TOM CRUISE:  Would you like to be in our new movie, Heath? (cuts inquisitive-sounding fart)

HEATH LEDGER:  Do I have to audition for it first? (launches an ear-splitting fart that shatters three half-inch-thick plate glass windows)

MEL GIBSON:  You just did!  (emits bug-eyed laugh and huge, wet-sounding fart)

ERNEST BORGNINE AND JESSICA ALBA: (farting in unison)  Ha, ha!


(Building explodes)

Tuesday, August 13, 2013


(This was written before some of these celebrities died, so it is dedicated to them.)

Hey, here's me making fun of various celebrities by making up quotes by them that they never actually said but that, in a perfect world, they really would say.  It may not be all that funny, but I think you'll agree that it's a cute thing for me to do. 

GEORGE CLOONEY:  "I am Forrest Tucker's illegitimate son."

MADONNA:  "I'm so sexy, I have performed my act for caged squirrels and they have gotten sexually excited."

NICOLE KIDMAN:  "My main regret in life is that I don't have abnormally huge feet.  Oh, wait...I do have abnormally huge feet."

SYLVESTER STALLONE:  "I have never seen Neil Sedaka do a poledance in a string bikini, but I'd like to."

KATIE COURIC:  "It is now illegal for me to fart in the state of California."

TED KOPPEL:  "I was once abducted by aliens, taken to a planet in the Andromeda galaxy, and shown photographs of Burt Reynolds in a hammock."

STEVEN SEAGAL:  "I wear a hundred different pairs of underwear every day, and then I auction them all off for charity.  So far, I have raised two-hundred and eighty-five billion dollars."

OPRAH WINFREY:  "Truly, this is a 'Mike Tyson Christmas.'"

BEN AFFLECK:  "At this point, I honestly do not know whether or not I could fit a ten-speed bicycle down my pants.  Really, I just don't know."

PARIS HILTON:  "It's real easy to fool little kids into thinking you're a horse.  Just whinny a lot, and then take a big, steaming crap out in the street."

PAUL MCCARTNEY:  "Believe it or not, music is actually my second love.  My first love is collecting Steven Seagal's used underwear."

FRED DALTON THOMPSON:  "I can still bend over and touch my toes--with my scrotum."

ALANNIS MORRISETTE:  "You know what's really ironic?  The fact that somebody once drove a '57 Buick Skylark up my ass."

MARTIN SCORSESE:  "David Hasselhoff has leapt out from behind a bush and bitten me on the leg at least eleven times since 1992."

CHRISTOPHER WALKEN:  "I have in my possession indisputable scientific evidence that Roger Ebert is a werewolf."

NEIL ARMSTRONG:  "The moon landing was a hoax--Buzz Aldrin and I were really on the planet Mars."

DAKOTA FANNING:  "It's simple--just ram an ordinary number two pencil through the soft part of the throat and up into the brain, and boom, they're dead."


Here is my fictitious mini-interview with actor Heath Ledger.

PORFLE:  How were you cast as the Joker?

HEATH:  Well, I--

PORFLE:  Shut up.

(awkward pause)

PORFLE:  Did you enjoy working with director Christopher Nolan?

HEATH:  Yes, it was a real learning experience for me.

PORFLE:  How so?

HEATH:  Well, for one thing, Chris taught me how to tap-dance.  And he also showed me how to construct a device that can detect whether or not the person it's hooked up to knows Richard Simmons personally.

PORFLE:  Have you used the device on anyone yet?

HEATH:  I secretly used it on you just now.  The readings were inconclusive--there's a thirty-seven percent chance that you know Richard Simmons.

PORFLE:  What makes you think that you can do a better job as the Joker than Jack Nicholson?  Or even Caesar Romero?

HEATH:  Because they're stupid.  Jack Nicholson is so stupid, he washes his face with bubble gum.  And Caesar Romero is so stupid he wears an inferior brand of underwear.

PORFLE:  And you always wear the correct underwear?

HEATH:  I wear Joker underwear.  I like to immerse myself in a character in every way--that's why I'm so good.  I eat Joker sandwiches for lunch.  I drink Joker cola.  When I have sex, I only use Joker condoms. 

PORFLE:  Joker condoms?  Are they dependable?



Here is my fictitious mini-interview with actor Ben Kingsley.

PORFLE:  You've had a very distinguished career.

KINGSLEY:  Thank you.  I try to choose roles that--

PORFLE:  I didn't say it was good.  I just said it was distinguished.


PORFLE:  Didn't you play Ghandi?

KINGSLEY:  Oh yes, I did.  Probably my finest hour, that.  What a fortunate happenstance that Sir Richard Attenborough selected me to portray such a beloved--

PORFLE:  Weren't you embarrassed playing a wimpy little bald doofus in a bedsheet?

KINGSLEY:  (visibly perturbed) I most certainly was not.  Ghandi was an enormously inspiring and influential historical figure, whose philosophy of peaceful resistance was a major turning point in--

PORFLE:  Did you just fart?

KINGSLEY:  What?  Of course not.

PORFLE:  This "Sir Richard Attenborough" guy is pretty short.  Did you ever call him "Little Dick"?  You know, just for laughs?

KINGSLEY:  Certainly not.  His stature as a filmmaker and as a human being was one which demanded respect, which I, accordingly, was diligent to bestow upon him in our daily affairs--

PORFLE:  You had an AFFAIR with him?

KINGSLEY:  NO!  Our relationship was of the strictest professional--

PORFLE:  Blah, blah, whatever.  You were in a movie with Sigourney Weaver called DEATH AND THE MAIDEN. 

KINGSLEY:  That's correct.

PORFLE:  Did you ever get into a fistfight with her?

KINGSLEY:  What?  No.  That's absurd.

PORFLE:  She could probably take you.  In fact, I think Sigourney Weaver could probably kick your ass.

KINGSLEY:  That doesn't have anything to do with anything.  This is the most pointless interview I've ever--

PORFLE:  No kidding, you just farted, didn't you?


PORFLE:  Let's move on to SCHINDLER'S LIST.  That was a very, very important role for you.

KINGSLEY:  It certainly was.  And one which I took extremely seriously. 

PORFLE:  What was it like, doing a sequel to a Jerry Lewis movie?

KINGSLEY:  I beg your pardon?

PORFLE:  Well, wasn't it a sequel to THE DAY THE CLOWN CRIED? 

KINGSLEY:  Oh.  Oh, no.  Oh, my god, no. 

PORFLE:  Did you ever get into a fistfight with Ralph Fiennes?

KINGSLEY:  No, I did not.

PORFLE:  How about Spielberg?  You could probably take him if you managed to get in a good swift kick in the balls right off the bat.

KINGSLEY:  Are you insane? 

PORFLE:  I'm asking the questions here, Big Nose.  Now, you just appeared in a movie called THE LAST LEGION, in which you play Merlin the sorcerer.  What's it like finally hitting rock bottom?

KINGSLEY:  I have NOT hit rock bottom!  It's a very good role in a fine production!

PORFLE:  No, it isn't.  Who haven't you worked with that you would like to work with?

KINGSLEY:  Well, I'd really like to do a movie with--

PORFLE:  Wrong.  The correct answer is "Hulk Hogan." 

KINGSLEY:  I was going to say Vanessa Redgrave.

PORFLE:  No, you weren't.  You were going to say Carrot Top.