My Super Exclusive Interview with Mr. Bean!

I met Mr. Bean at an expensive restaurant in London, England. It was one of those places with candles, white table cloths, and waiters that wear aprons. I was expecting that Mr. Bean would be a good interview, since he’s one of Britain’s most beloved comedians and altogether seems like a thoughtful guy. He could carry entire films with his physical gags, so I thought he would have some profound opinions about comedy, life, etc. Unfortunately, I was wrong. The interview was extremely disappointing (and quite shocking), as you’ll learn shortly.

[Since the interview, Mr. Bean has been missing. If you know the location of Mr. Bean, please contact us. Thanks.] 

Hello Mr. Bean, how are you?


I really loved your work growing up. I watched that one film like 12 times. Was it fun doing that?

[more silence]

Okay, cool. So, what have you been up to lately?

[tugs on earlobe, itches nose]

Are you seriously not going to talk? I thought you just play a character.

[shakes head]

This is awful. I literally won’t be able to publish this and you’ve wasted my time. What the fuck is wrong with you?

[shrugs shoulders, reaches into pocket]

No, seriously. I paid $2,000 for a flight to get here, not to mention other travel expenses. My editors are expecting me to return with something resembling a story.

[pulls out bag filled with white powder, holds powder to nose, sniffs aggressively, tilts head back, crinkles nose]

WHAT THE FUCK DUDE? Is that cocaine? Are you kidding me???

[stands up, kicks back chair, flips table, howls like a feral animal]

Oh. My. God.

[Runs across the room, pulls down window curtain, fashions it into rope swing, hangs it from roof, runs to far side of the room, jumps on bartop, beats his chest, jumps from bar with the rope in his hand and swings across the restaurant, crashes into couple eating expensive caviar, breaks table, kisses man’s wife, makes devil horns with his pointer fingers, waggles tongue, kisses man, cackles like a depraved lunatic, removes clothing, exits restaurant.]

[To self] I think I’ve got my story…




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