Is it true that you did both Wilson sisters at the same time but only after you finished a three-day four-way with Bananarama?
Carnie Wilson put a right angle on my dong, dude. No lie — I was north and south while me-will-willy was looking around the corner! I’d do it all over again given the opportunity. In fact, Carnie, call me, love. Let’s get twisted on fried foods, perks, and Arsenio Hall reruns. You know, see what happens. The ladies in Bananarama are into some strange stuff too. I’ve never been able to look at latex or eat oatmeal in the same way since. True story. (We meant Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart, but we’ll take any gossip we can get. —Ed.)
Is it true what you sang about Italian girls, or was that just a marketing scheme?
Well, I did write the line “I eat so much pasta pasta, I am so full and yet so lonely.” The autonomy of art, man. Leave it there, homes.
Thoughts on the Gary Dell’Abate comparisons?
Gary’s people have reached out to my people on several occasions. Finally, I took one meeting — they were crazy for us to partner up. However, after getting a look at his horse teeth and smelling his barn-fresh breath, I turned down a high six-figure deal and haven’t spoken to him since. I will say this: I know John Oates. Gary is no J.O.
Wax or shave?
Finally, an intelligent question. I assume you mean “How should a lady care for her garden?” Of course. Well, I think nothing shags like a shaving. To make good use of either method, your lady friend must take the solid all-fours position to really get at those nooks and crannies depilated with all the subtle detail we’ve come to enjoy in the postgrunge era of lady parts. Get yourself a good razor, a fresh copy of Hall & Oates’s H2O,Â and get to work.
If you could work with any other ‘staches, which ones would you choose?
I think you mean “If I could have any ‘staches work for me, which ones would I choose,” right? Anyway, I would definitely make Selleck-Stache my house boy. I’d put him in a banana hammock and flip-flops to clean the pool. He could make me mint mojitos. I’d wait for the intro of Magnum, P.I. [to come on TV] and quickly change the station to Hawaii Five-O, just to watch him sulk like a little girl. Outside of that, I’d like to hang with Morgan Spurlock’s lip duster — I think his name is Bones or Barry. I have it on a napkin in my briefcase. I hear he can hold his whiskey.
What’s J-Stache’s favorite cookie?
Ah! Cookie Jenkins, Philly’s oldest street walker-slash-poet. Thank you, Cookie, for introducing me to the beauty of the word — and the depravity of the clap.