Tom Tickle
TMF Master
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Here's the final part of my interview series.
Dominic hasn't appeared in any comics yet but will appear in the next one in the chronology. whether that one is the next one i draw remains to be seen as i need to get the origin story scanned and re-draw the Aquarium story. (it was a rush-job).
Anyway...
QUESTIONS FROM THE FANS SPECIAL
(Disclaimer. All views expressed are those held by the character and not the author... hold on tight.)
Due to the overwhelming and very surprising demand from a fan base of largely heterosexual males, we have been granted an interview with a cult figure of the Fox Girls’ inner circle. So far he has only made one appearance in a Fox adventure, but his show stealing performance has earned him some notoriety and a lot of fans amongst people who, as he says, ‘have no business knowing him’. He is of course, Dominic Featherfinger, nephew to Dr Francis Featherfinger and confidante to the Fox Sisters; Languorous, lewd, decadent but gifted with a switchblade wit and the ability to turn a bar order into a sonnet.
We meet at the Boathouse, an as-yet fictional Brighton-set trendy bar and cafe, situated by the Marina. Dominic is a fairly average size, around 5’9’’ but it’s his slight frame and long neck that gives him a more effeminate presence. He could be described as petite.
His eyes are a little wild, and although he assures us it is ‘camp coffee and migraine tablets’, something has him. His voice is eloquent and serpentine - almost lyrical – and his vocabulary is formidable for a 24-year-old. He wears a burgundy ensemble with flamboyant tan piping, as well as a crimson cape that appears to be made from embroidered lace. He sits in ‘his’ wing-back arm chair (the waitress took great pain to explain why, but I can’t repeat it) and his gaunt face is slightly unnerving in how it regards me, almost reptilian, but he is quite handsome, and his nose isn’t as big as people say. Upon a very interesting mass of dark brown hair is a silver tiara, which I think is going to fall off. A sip of our respective drinks (juice and lemonade for me, a rum and baileys for him), and we start.
Who are you?
Dominic… Phineas Andrecles Dylan Featherfinger. And perhaps you, my fellow, are the caterpillar?
…The caterpillar?
Who are you? Eatmedrinkme! Alice of course! Tell me, when chance presents itself, do you follow the white bunny? Would you, Tweedle-dum? (I think tweedle-dum is me)
…okay…
So what is your favorite song of all time?
All time? Catch a Queer by the Suicide Singularity? Ambient Simon by the Phobos Prefects? Peter Wyngarde’s Le Ronde D’Amour? Bronski Beat boy beat boy/ hit that perfect beat boy? The Pet Shop Boys’ Yesterday When I was Mad? Ah… that SONG! (points toward an old man by the door, improvises a tune) click my fingers, snap my heels, can’t you hear that sorrow-son’?/ Why ain’t the old man singin’?/ ‘s he cryin’, cos he dyin’? Because, my dear friend… tonight his heart is broken! That is my favourite song.
…Did you just make that up?
It was all the work of an old man’s broken heart. I merely vocalised it… but the song has been sung across generations, sometimes in silence, but always tinged with tragedies and hardship!
Do you like to bake/cook?
I haven’t eaten a cooked meal in several months. One cannot afford to eat if one does not wish to sleep, either. We must leave such grazing to the lowing cattle
Do you believe in ghosts?
I believe… I’m not quite sure. Do ghosts believe in ghosts? Choose to believe that you are dead? Would any thinking mind not be rent and have its body dash a demented self against rocks if such a thing were to happen? To trudge through streets aflame, to moan and weep as you see everyone you’ve ever touched slowly forgetting about you, even though through processions and garlands and tears they vow not?! They are the ones who lead you to the reaper, and his scythe is like the swinging pendulum of a clock…slicing away the hours, and eventually separating spirit and corpse in one final, invisible swing.
…Lovely…
Soooo…Winter or summer?
I have heard that a winter’s kiss is no better than the burn of a nettle, and winter is for foraging for what little sustenance we can find, be it food or love, and that summer brings forth the multitudes of pleasures that spoil us. I for one agree. The children of summer are always the spoilt kind.
Soooo…
As I say quick and clear, summer, you rotund! Perhaps I should throw you a boiled poulet, just to keep your attention?
Err… that won’t be necessary…
If you could pick anyone dead or alive to have lunch with, who would it be?
I would choose my three delights, for perhaps they could feed me from their areoles?
I may well bring Oscar Wilde, Noel Coward, Peter Tatchell and Christopher Biggins and a host of catamite *****-boys for our feverish desires!
…!
Err… right! What are your "comfy clothes"?
My most sensual attire consists of my one-piece suit made from netting. It reveals and supports my genitalia in a fabulous manner, hthththth!
If you were one of the seven dwarfs, who would you be?
But perhaps I cannot be a dwarf. I shall be Snow White, with such alabaster charm as mine, who could deny me centre stage?
Do you believe in heaven and hell?
Heaven is attainable on this humble orb of His. You have to be part of my community to even taste it’s vapour trails, for far from being a place, it is a moment, the moment to EXIST! Hell is AIDS.
Rolling Stones or Beatles?
AS I’m too young too have rolled with them, or loved with them, and they are no more than papier mache parodies of their once glorious selves, I cannot really decide. Which is the queerer?
Erm?...
Rhetorical question, it is Ringo! His ring goes ‘pop’! AHahahaha (a screeching, hideous laugh, followed but a bubbling slurp from his drink, as he’s still chortling) mmm…
…Oh! What colour are your eyes?
Violet. (They aren't)
…Are you sure?
As sure as any creature who has gazed upon their countenance as if it were some great work by a renaissance master.
Ah!...
Yes… well… err…What sort of character would you play in a comic book (hero, humorous sidekick, villain, that abrasive newspaper guy, etc.)
I would be Superwoman, the most beautiful superhero that has given her time for the ingrates and reprobates. Their murderous envy will conspire to destroy her, despite the beauty and grace that she has shown them.
If you were to pick one room in the Mansion to be trapped in, what would it be?
It would not be the one I was trapped in last I went. The cocktails and acid kept me underneath a bed, screaming. It was the most doubtless horror and will haunt me till my passing.
If you were one word, what word would you be?
Veritas- Latin for truth. I can tell you truths, dear jabbering sapien. Truths to lift you, truths to break, burn and drown you. Will it be suggestion, a glance of eyes, or a touch to the (reaches between my legs)…
Hang about!...
You wish me to lie?
Do whatever you want, as long it doesn’t involve my piece!
Another one who wants lies… you have lies, then. Your glans is the central issue!
No, not today, please! You’re the issue!
If its negation pleases you, if you wish to be neuter-eunuch… continue.
If you could time travel, what would be your first stop?
The sexual revolution of the 1970s, perhaps in time to educate on the forthcoming ‘gay plague’. It will still happen, although there will be time to prepare ourselves. (He looks distant, before holding the back of his hand to his mouth. He bites a knuckle and lets out a horrible muffled whimper. He will not let me see him cry).
… Your next question?
Oh… ah, What is your natural hair color?
Green.
Erm…
Please… do not challenge my answers.
How many people are in your family?
Many and none, for I am able, like a great star- perhaps Arcturus - to pull several bodies into an orbit. Very few of them are close, however. My parents are gone. My father got severely drunk, took aim, and banished mother to the worms. His immediate regret was apparent and he fell upon the blunderbuss, eviscerating himself. His passing did no harm to me. I am rid of his misery and failure. I threw his ashes amongst a score of cocaine for some city brokers who had made a busy night of goading and heckling. I hope his smoking ash poisons them.
Favourite Rapper?
Is akin to asking me my favourite method of hate-crime. The hip hop scene is very much closed to the boys from my side of the playground. We are players in our own ebullient scene.
What’s the First Thing You Notice In A Boy?
The colours, the vapours, the touch. Well what would you have me say? It is the language of our sex that decides for us, and a pretty-boy-polly may well as be neuter if it were not for the other senses. A gentle stroke or lingering taste can grant you more pleasure than jejune posturing. That is the code of the himbo and hoi-polloi.
What language would you like to speak fluently?
I am fluent in several languages; ‘Esamini I miei occhi e veredete I fuoco!’
… Or perhaps French is your preferred mode of expression?
How many kids (or any at all) would you want to have?
Children are anathema to my raison d’etre. I hate how they jab their podgy digits at me and ask ‘who is that lady?’ Let children be the bane of any milch cow to confuse them for happiness. I once threw a child by her hair. I was incredibly high and it was something of a higher consciousness calling out.
Err… what happened?
A lot of allegations made… a number of contacts and lawyers paid handsomely and I was sectioned under the mental health act, rather than sent to a penal institution. They made me ‘right’ again.
… I see…
Which religion do you choose to follow?
I’m a Hindu by birth, but it is the hommes des lettres. The flaneurs. The wanderers, philosophical giants, The ancients, storytellers, those who have woven human thought into what you see around you; Socrates, Homer, Aristotle, Da Vinci, Voltaire, Des Carte, Goethe, Shakespeare, Newton, Darwin, Marx, Wilde, Doestoyevsky, Freud, Einstein and Disney.
…Disney?!
One man who is perhaps more responsible for shaping human consciousness in the past century than any other. Did you not see Tron?
…I did…
I’d like a red suit like the one that David Warner has.
Performing Arts, Fine Arts, or Sports?
‘(Launches into a truly terrible rendition of Richard the Third) Nooowww, is the winter of our Discontent…(and continues into Henry the Fifth) this brave few, this band of brothers… (and finishes with Hamlet) to die, to sleep. To sleep; a chance to dream!’ Such is the misfortune of those who have never shared the bard in a performance!
Riding horses or riding dolphins?
There’s nothing I’d rather experience than riding a black stallion. There must be real vigour to it. To buck with the undulations, a jarring thrust that makes the teeth chatter and bite in hard! Ruthless exertion and exhalation that takes the bond of beast and the riding beauty to such heavens that the stars themselves cannot know. I see the green glint of envy in your eyes, Samwise.(The interviewer feels disconcerted).
Ah… so, are you fed up of all these questions?
Well, let us retire for a moment. Quentin? I say Quentin? Will you bring me my champagne? (he pronounces it sham-pan-ya)
(An emaciated and epicene waif brings forth an ice-bucket containing an opaque pink bottle. Two flutes are placed upon two embroidered napkins. The lights dim as the cork is released. On first appearances, the champagne seems to be glowing pink, but it is merely a lackey shining a light behind it, all serenaded by a burst of New Order’s Crystal; Here comes love/ tastes like honey/ you can't buy/ it with money/…the lights go up as Bernard Sumner fades to silence. The champers is pink. Dominic whistles for the bottle to be removed from sight and sips stupidly –where did the guy learn to take his drink? – but all the time he’s looking over at the interviewer, smiling away.
Yeeesss… it is good, isn’t it? (The interviewer puts the flute to one side. it has a nasty anaesthetic taint, and bum-rape written all over it.)
Ahem. Very nice…Fish or Fowl?
Well fish is foul, if you don’t mind me saying. I have more of an affinity with birds (strokes plumes of hair) and I am a featherfinger by name. Also, birds soar above all other creatures, as do I. I am one whose acquaintance with daunting heights sends many a plebeian back to his bread and circuses… you know of Juvenal?
Er… sort of… what came first, the chicken or the egg?
Eggs are ridiculous, aren’t they? Who would think a human could come from an egg, although during a fascinating trip I experienced - after watching a Channel Four test card for an hour while listening to some ambient house and halfway into a Ketamine/absinthe binge - I actually flew along the entire network of the London Underground in a scaled-up, translucent egg at some 500 miles an hour. Friends say that they found me screaming in the bathtub.
What is your favourite colour?
The colour of a rude man’s tumescence, red-into-purple.
How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?
None. The wood chuck is a convicted arsonist and has set all the wood aflame. The fire brigadaccio’s have been called.
Beach or mountain?
I try not to frequent either; the sun plays havoc with my complexion. I have told the girls but they’re so keen to scorch their pudendae it is not worth my concern. Nina should be especially prudent – Reds are better off etiolated. A mountain has very little in store for me except for a frigid and lonely demise.
Left handed or right handed?
I dispatch my fun-custard with my right.
…Quite an image!
Let me demonstrate…
No! I’m fine….Who do you count on when feeling down?
A boy. Sometimes the girls will cosset me with maternal bosom – heaving and ample, but there are boys who will steer my ship away from the rougher seas, the darker clouds, although we’ll be tossed and lashed along the way, like dogs you see. Like dogs!
Do you plan in advance?
Such hubris! Chaos reigns supreme in our lives. Plans will be torn asunder by micro-events; the beat of a moth’s wing, the transformation of hydrogen to helium within a star, the twitching synapses and chemical fluctuations within the unhinged mind of the next psychopath that happens by your way to the bathroom fittings exhibit…
Right! Yes!... What attracts you most?
Self-assuredness and the belief that whomever he encounters, they will not change him, combined with an impressive style and refined tastes. If he has a new voice across several matters of import, not a dilettante knave, more a child of the renaissance - arts, fashions, scenes. That is something worth paying attention to, as well as a full pouch and weapon ready.
Do you hold hands when you walk in public?
Everywhere when I’m trying to make a statement. I detest these vanilla straights that will hold hands amongst the community and yet snigger at the love that two boys, or a man and a boy, decide to share. Two men sharing love is both obscene and disgusting.
...You don’t think two older men should show affection in public?
It is the bear and the twink…the hawk and the chicken! And of course love amongst boys is a perfectly acceptable. Remember, I am an Aesthete!
Love is meant to be lavished on the young, and I have lavished many limber youths with love.
How many hobbies do you have?
I took to being a DJ in New York, assuming it would parallel conducting an orchestra. It went to Hades and I was accosted by several bloated queens who insisted the scissor sisters had something worth ruining. I wound them around on some Machiavellian premise, before cutting their strings like the peroxide marionettes they were! Hahaha! I also enjoy creating installations and staging consciousness-raising happenings for the lumpen proles to watch while they injest vacuumed meat in, how you say… baps.
Close your eyes for a moment, who pops into your head?
That frolicsome filly Lucy! Such delicious schadenfreude! Any other man may well have been ready to expel a glistening bolt of liquid lightning at the sight of her gyrating avoirdupois within cunnilingual distance, and I must say it was such a sweet exercise in ‘preconceptions of sexuality’ to see her slowly realise that I may, indeed, be gay.
Do you say "I love you" in the relationship?
Love rarely gets time to spread its soft and complacent tendrils into my life and I’d prefer it remain a squirming foetus – ever-present yet muffled and smothered. I feel its appendages dig at my insides occasionally, but an insertion of an oiled fist soon delivers us both a skewering that is never forgotten.
Aliens have landed and selected you to visit their home planet. Do you go with them?
They could very well be curious about homosexuality as a non-reproductive, recreational sexual pastime. I may introduce them to this and do some probing of my own, perhaps turning the tables on their liverish, grey behinds
Describe your perfect Sunday morning?
On stained sheets with several writhing catamites and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon, playing find the boiled egg!
If you could be successful at any job in the world, what would that job be?
Job?! Do I presume the appearance of a skivvy? I was born outside of your mundane nine-to-five rat-race. When you have my inheritances, a job is akin to dying over and over each and every day. Let the unenlightened salarymen keep feeding paltry pittances into bank accounts, feeding gristly stubs to their twittering wives, and subsisting on service station breakfasts and rancid ales... (He takes a noisy slurp from a THIRD drink at the table – a brandy-rum cocktail) It is their lot in life.
If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
I live across the world in accordance with the season, the vibe, the happenings, the scene and the crowd. Really it is best to position yourself in anticipation of a moment, to arrive at a happening at the zenith, when the feelings are good and abundant. Then you can ride the wave of bonhomie from London to Milan to Kiev to Bangkok to Sydney to San Fran’ to New York and return London, drunken and wailing. I have people in each and more of these happenings, and they’ll hook you up if you talk the international language.
…Esperanto?
It is more complicated than a robust like yourself can contemplate. It’s more a mode of dress, style, tastes, accoutrements, manners, gesture and cadence. It is not enough to be aware of what constitutes the zeitgeist, but be part of the zeitgeist itself.
…Like an ‘it’ girl, or even the illuminati, or whatever they’re called?
But infinitesimally more subtle, perhaps it helps to be the son of a barrister in Westminster or have a grandfather in the Bilderberg group, but others less privileged, more often than not, make it the happening that it can be. Do not think for one minute that young royals and sluttish heiresses are amongst my circles. They court the media all too readily and are generally shambolic in their deportment, bless their moneyed souls.
If you could be someone else for a day, who would it be?
Perhaps, and with numerous reason, Oscar.
If you have friends coming for supper what would you cook?
I’ve never really cooked anything in my life. There’s always been this… food there; I just don’t know where it appears from. I was locked out for an evening and gut and gizzard were foaming with chip vinegar (I take it he means bad wine) and I had to eat. I found a half tin of cat food by some bins and consigned myself to bolting it down. It was so unremittingly foul I gagged, I wretched -dear god - I nearly wept. I walked out into the road to flag down a carriage. Some poor souse wound down her window only for me to utter ‘caaat. Foooo’…before having my gut rear up and deliver it and the vinegar across her windscreen. The stench started something of a domino effect… and I spent a night shivering and wretching in the toilets off Bayswater Road near Hyde Park alongside legions of vagabonds, who I drunkenly inducted into our ‘Army of Hell’ that night.
What is your favourite word?
Cognoscenti. It means ‘those in the know’ and it’s rather ironic because if you have no idea what it means, then you can’t be one! I use it on journalists quite often.
What makes you cry?
Friends who keep getting ill and me having to hear why.
What makes you laugh?
I can always enjoy jesting with the ticklish triumvirate. They are very playful creatures. I find their preponderance for tickling my genitals gives us good humour. Such wicked little sluts!
If you were an animal in the wild, what would you be?
A beautiful bird. Something elegant. Perhaps a peacock? A hybrid of peacock and swan. Not a budgie. They are beneath pathetic and will die if you so much as raise your voice. I would like to walk past an aviary full of the tweeting twits and spray them with mites.
…Spray them with mites?
Yes, I have a device that can spray micro-fauna on people’s clothes. I’d happily use it on a cluster of budgerigars, and then watch them tear their feathers out! hahahahahaah!...tweet tweet… tweeeeeeaat!
Oh. My. God.
Haha… right… If you won the lottery, how would you spend your millions?
I’d continue with what I’m already doing. When people say that it wouldn’t change their lives, well obviously they’re as mad as balloons; why else take part? In my case however, it probably wouldn’t, and I’d burn through it in a few months.
Do you believe that the cup is half empty or half full?
If it’s lemonade, half full; if it’s vodka and orange, half-empty.
Who was your hero as a child?
Wilde and Shakespeare.
If you could date an actor, who would it be?
The boy from the Lord of the Rings. Bloom?... He must be gay.
What do you do for fun?
Drink, drugs, sex, parties, boys, torturing the fox girls, psychologically and physically (they’re obsessed. Obsessed!). They pee themselves! Their humiliation is delicious.
Are you an outdoor or an indoor person?
Well I can get away with more indoors… I’ve never been fond of the elements. They wage a quiet war ‘pon my extremities.
If you had only six months to live, what would you do first?
A number of close friends have had to deal with that…personally, I dread to even think… when you embrace life as I have, death is the ultimate terror.
What 3 words would your best friend use to describe you?
(at this point Dominic looks into his flute, his top lip trembles. He waves me away. Dominic lets out quiet sobs. His face has reddened as he sniffles.)
…Would you like to do this another time?
No… I think I shall take a brisk drink. Get me something with bite.
(a lackey brings over a fat measure of schnapps. Dominic knocks it back, red eyes blinking from the vapours)
Where do you see yourself in five years?
In… control.
What are you most proud of in your life?
(More sobs. Dominic rubs his eyes, then gestures that we move along)
Some minutes pass, before he smiles gamely. I kind of feel sorry for him, although this may be him ‘acting up’ like I’ve been told.
Do you own any pets, and if so what do you have?
Can one count people as pets? If so, then I’d say the domestic staff of my late father’s pile. The little people who move the soil from one plot of acreage to another. A friend of mine, Gaspar and – he’s fashion - I quite often go out to the tundra of a garden - as I care nothing for the grounds – and perform nude Beckett in the filth as they toil around us. There are also the tweeting parakeets, budgies and other companions for geriatrics to give the local wildlife something of a feed.
Who do you admire most?
Oh the vixens… Fox girls. They are so very successful at catching a hungering, snorting he-man. I would like a he-man more often. Their savage blood should not be diluted by sissying them for marriage, but ennobling the thrust and punch of virility. There are too many gay men who should just go back to women and flap against them ineffectually, as that is all some females seem to want in their diets.
Do you have any tattoos, and if so what and where?
Tattoo’s are for the heathens and beasts. Oh it might be ‘rock’n’roll’, but the only time I want a needle near my raw skin is when its contents can keep a grin on my face for four hours.
When do you plan on getting married?
When my soul has had enough of living. Marriage is giving yourself over to a waking death, subsuming your vitality within a stale, bogus institution. It has never held any meaning in my life and I pity the wretches who subscribe to it.
Get the number or give the number?
Facebook, Shamu, facebook! At least I know what I’ve rutted with on a party night.
Romance or Kinky Sex?
I remember a James Bond-themed party at my uncle’s estate with the Fox Sisters. We gave a young ruffian the chance to play Casino Royale and Nina promised to have him, but only after he let her torture him as Bond. Of course I arrive as le Chiffre and begin rubbing coconut oil onto his aching balls with my feminine hands, and just as he’s about to come I lean over and greet him in my best baritone ! Hahahahah – (there is that hideous, machine-gun laugh again) he can’t reign in his pleasure and he gives me the most delightful shriek as his load splats against my chest!
…And he thought it was Nina?
Yes, haha. He was called James Bound from then on.
That’s very cruel, but funny…How do you feel?
Like a duke… a handsome duke who has the time and money to indulge his passions, his fantasies. Once in my thrall, reality is all the more suspect.
What size shoe do you wear?
A rather dainty 8. What size are you?
Err, 12.
My word, do you give your shoes to the circus when you’ve finished with them?
They aren’t that big.
But there’s promise… for later!
Ah, No… Water or 100% Juice?
Please, neither. If I’m to quench a thirst, there must be efficiency, that is to say, that drinking must serve a hedonistic purpose. It must be drugged!
…What? You only drink alcohol?
Oh you fool! What madness brings your numbed, sluggish intellect to such a non-thought?... I take tea! TEA!!
Good… okay, well… Would you rather be hot or cold?
I take my tea cold. With ice.
You misheard me…
Don’t dally-gaggle! You have my answer, and this is beginning to test my patience. There is little sun this time of year. I shall be leaving soon.
Well, we can hurry along if you like… er…Would you rather lose an arm or a leg?
What kind of hatchet-wielding inquisitor sent that? Am I to join his quadriplegic victims? Get on with it…
Ahem… Favourite Place to Eat?
I refer you to my earlier answer, but I’m quite happy to accompany the sisters to the latest bistro… swiftly, swiftly.
Opera, Musical, Concert, Play, Performance, or Other?
A new show is always a draw for the boho crowd, of which I may sometimes sample. Everything is within my cultural range, from Wagner to street-poets to arthouse cinema. Dear Lucy tried to drag me into a cinema that served Mexican crisps and hot dogs a while ago to see a film about airbrushed Americans finding treasure in the Caribbean Sea… I obliged due to the number of men her scent would draw in later. It was all so contrived but she giggled heartlily , bless her foolish toes.
What is your favourite clothing brand?
Well, I have a coterie of fashion students who can cut Westwood, Gautier and costumes from Pinewood together, provided I supply the means. I pick up pieces from university fashion shows… it is more invigorating and vital than wearing the utter garbage the prudish big houses put out these days. The Versace collection in Paris last month looked like an accident at a children’s party.
If you had to pick one car, which would it be?
I refuse to drive or own a car. There is always a taxi and ‘dealing’ with cars or their attached mechanics is a responsibility that drains my will to live. Who needs a car in a city anyway? I have no need to visit the arrondisments.
Your favorite Disney Films?
Back to Disney…. Of course, Fantasia and Alice in Wonderland. There is always a prickle when I hear Dukas; I think of Mickey and his satanic broomsticks.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because the Animal Liberation Front was canvassing support…other than that I can’t tell you.
Where is Waldo?
On stage with Ronald McDonald, Lord Lucan and the Pope performing West Side Story.
Favorite element?
Of the four? Fire… it inflames passions and desires that none of us can resist, even you my resilient swine.
What was your last thought?
You scrabbling along the floor of this establishment, naked and slippery from drink, while I pull at your doughy bulk and dust you with talc.
Please don’t…
Merely a thought (he sips from one of his drinks, before knocking one over. He looks at the empty glass and swipes it off the table and into the wall. A waitress scurries over and picks the shards into a plastic box. Dominic regards her cruelly).
The less you pay them… the harder and longer they seem to work. A curious culture of labour relations…
Ahem…Juice and crackers or milk and cookies?
Damn these buffoons and damn you for parroting them! Please try to be more selective about which questions you pelt me with.
…Sorry…
Favourite fruit?
A cluster of ripe plums and a turgid length of fleshy rhubarb, with lashings of yoghurt.
Which is worse? A bad laugh or a bad cough?
A cough is a sign that someone carries a loathsome lurgy, and should be avoided or beaten. A bad laugh is a sign of intent, of criminality and the wrong side of the tracks is quite an aphrodisiac. I would have you down as a criminal.
Sorry to disappoint…
But we haven’t had time to discover if you disappoint, have we?(The interviewer lowers his head and shakes it.)
…bloody hell…
Are you a cat or a dog person?
Is this for?…
… It’s not for sex…
Are you insinuating that I would perform sex acts on animals?
Well…
Because if you are, then you’re right. Cats maybe limited in their willing and capacity, but the promise of a dog’s lapping tongue is actually feverishly exciting.
(Interviewer holds his hand to his face, weeping with laughter)
You can’t say that!
Au contraire, my undisciplined oaf. Your concern is misguided. It is a mere fantasy. To think that this act would go ahead… no, I think I would. I would relish the struggle.
(Interviewer takes time to recover from laughing) Oh Jesus… Would you rather be blind or deaf…?
I have no idea. Wait for a moment (Dominic holds his hands to his ears and proceeds to scream, alerting to everyone to his presence. Your interviewer is doubled over in hysterics)… Hutchinson! Guard my drinks. (He gets up and puts a hand over his eyes, walking gingerly amongst some diners, before stumbling and placing his elbow in a plate of linguine. He walks toward to the terrace at the far end of the restaurant and a crash of plates can be heard, along with a lot of swearing and high, erratic laughter).
Time presses on and Dominic pays each offended person the price of their meal plus a bottle of chilled Cava. He brings two bottles to our table and -visibly drunk - pops the cork and shakes the foaming bubbly from his crotch before stooping to pour two glasses, muttering as he does.
So…define yourself in 3 words...
Erudite, transcendent….and extremely high
Uh… (Interviewer regrets that glass of cava) …Do you eat cold cereal at night?
Please… (Takes a swift gulp from the glass) enough of these uninteresting questions. Did somebody ask that to see if they’re normal, because it’s not the most intelligent question? I don’t eat cold cereal, I eat cold barbiturates.
What is your favorite TV show?
Something that happily lends itself to a happening… take Charlie’s Angels, or Tales of the Unexpected for instance. Last of the Summer Wine holds no such quality.
Kill the spider or let it out?
Shower the hellion with every form of aerosol to hand until it perishes. The snapping jaws, the twitching pedipalps… I’m sure Barbra would be fascinated but for me their utter destruction is required. Burn their scuttling hides!!
Do you shower every single day?
I wonder about the titillating answers my jelly-chested little wonders have given. I assume it is a lot as none of them seem to remain in their finery for too long. I need to be clean, if only to celebrate – through ablutions – the purging of boy musk from my limber body (he stands on the spot and performs a hysterically funny, gyrating dance while shrieking).
Walking past a beggar, spare change or ignore?
Deliver him from the ignominies, burdens and tragedies of his wasted life and commit a sexual act upon him. You are blessed with my love, leper!
What is your favourite Pj Fabric
Pyjamas are a construct for the sexless aged. My only need for nocturnal garments is to entice and arouse.
Where do you want to travel next?
It all depends on the happenings and the scene; it is all as fickle as a moth’s tongue. It also depends on the quality of the pharmaceuticals to hand. I’ve travelled across the universe, through the mind of God and received a rimming from William Shatner agmongst a field of feverish, snorting, braying Houyhnhnms... Houyhnhnms!! Neeeeighhhatatatataah!!...
I believe they were goading us!... Do you know atoms have faces?
…Is that a discovery you made while you were chemically-inclined?
But they really do!
What would you do if Michael Jackson asked you out?
Imagine the utter depravity that would ensue if he met me? Neverland would play host to such fantastic libidinous acts…the children! Think of the children mixed with the animals! (laughs a cackling howl that can only be described as stark raving mad)… society would not look lightly upon such an event, orchestrated by my hand!
…Are you sure you want me to include that answer?
Of course! Together, we are taking the taboos of society to task. It is all very illegal now, but therein lies the irresistible thrill!
… that’s a very controversial view.
I’m a controversial entity. Let the sisters see this. We’ll see if this as controversial as you suppose by their response.
Well, yes… What is your favorite food?
As before, food is a non sequitir within my sphere of being.
What is your favorite place?
Where the happenings are. The moment. The vibe.
If you could have one super human power what would you choose?
To hypnotise the twinks into a state of languor and have them, mercilessly.
Vitamin Water or Gatorade?
An affront to the palate. I only know of Gatorade through American mass culture; a vast cultural wasteland that threatens to subsume all others (ed – Dominic’s views do not represent our publication).
Favourite body part?
The buttock cleavage, particularly that of a strutting boy. A ruddiness about the cheeks is also pleasant.
Flip flops or sandals?
Oh how could I fall so easily into either category? The world is so much more fun than that.
What do you do on Fridays?
I simulate rape with some theatricals and catamite man-sluts.
Do you like bananas?
What about a bit of rrruuude-barb? Next question
How tall are you?
A little taller than average. How tall are you?
Five-eleven.
Oh I’m taller than you. (He’s really a little shorter than me; about 5’9’’)
Well Dominic… that was quite an adventure!
( Dominic refuses the interviewer’s hand, and a relieved journo nods and makes a hasty move… suddenly there is a call… from a lighter, female voice)
Oh, bun-gle!
Bungle?... wait a minute?...
Get him girls!
As your interviewer turns to see what the hell is happening, all he can see is three pairs of tremendous boobs hurtling towards him and before he knows it, he’s down on the floor with the Fox sisters laying across his legs, torso and arms, chuckling abusively.
Dominic is leering down, and then Nina’s red face and flashing green eyes as she laughs cheekily at this predicament. It’s really tempting for a humble hack to tickle way his out from under their giggly, undulating curves, but it seems they have the same in store for your poor wretch of an interviewer, as a hand teasingly glides under his t-shirt…
Oh brother!...
Dominic hasn't appeared in any comics yet but will appear in the next one in the chronology. whether that one is the next one i draw remains to be seen as i need to get the origin story scanned and re-draw the Aquarium story. (it was a rush-job).
Anyway...
QUESTIONS FROM THE FANS SPECIAL
(Disclaimer. All views expressed are those held by the character and not the author... hold on tight.)
Due to the overwhelming and very surprising demand from a fan base of largely heterosexual males, we have been granted an interview with a cult figure of the Fox Girls’ inner circle. So far he has only made one appearance in a Fox adventure, but his show stealing performance has earned him some notoriety and a lot of fans amongst people who, as he says, ‘have no business knowing him’. He is of course, Dominic Featherfinger, nephew to Dr Francis Featherfinger and confidante to the Fox Sisters; Languorous, lewd, decadent but gifted with a switchblade wit and the ability to turn a bar order into a sonnet.
We meet at the Boathouse, an as-yet fictional Brighton-set trendy bar and cafe, situated by the Marina. Dominic is a fairly average size, around 5’9’’ but it’s his slight frame and long neck that gives him a more effeminate presence. He could be described as petite.
His eyes are a little wild, and although he assures us it is ‘camp coffee and migraine tablets’, something has him. His voice is eloquent and serpentine - almost lyrical – and his vocabulary is formidable for a 24-year-old. He wears a burgundy ensemble with flamboyant tan piping, as well as a crimson cape that appears to be made from embroidered lace. He sits in ‘his’ wing-back arm chair (the waitress took great pain to explain why, but I can’t repeat it) and his gaunt face is slightly unnerving in how it regards me, almost reptilian, but he is quite handsome, and his nose isn’t as big as people say. Upon a very interesting mass of dark brown hair is a silver tiara, which I think is going to fall off. A sip of our respective drinks (juice and lemonade for me, a rum and baileys for him), and we start.
Who are you?
Dominic… Phineas Andrecles Dylan Featherfinger. And perhaps you, my fellow, are the caterpillar?
…The caterpillar?
Who are you? Eatmedrinkme! Alice of course! Tell me, when chance presents itself, do you follow the white bunny? Would you, Tweedle-dum? (I think tweedle-dum is me)
…okay…
So what is your favorite song of all time?
All time? Catch a Queer by the Suicide Singularity? Ambient Simon by the Phobos Prefects? Peter Wyngarde’s Le Ronde D’Amour? Bronski Beat boy beat boy/ hit that perfect beat boy? The Pet Shop Boys’ Yesterday When I was Mad? Ah… that SONG! (points toward an old man by the door, improvises a tune) click my fingers, snap my heels, can’t you hear that sorrow-son’?/ Why ain’t the old man singin’?/ ‘s he cryin’, cos he dyin’? Because, my dear friend… tonight his heart is broken! That is my favourite song.
…Did you just make that up?
It was all the work of an old man’s broken heart. I merely vocalised it… but the song has been sung across generations, sometimes in silence, but always tinged with tragedies and hardship!
Do you like to bake/cook?
I haven’t eaten a cooked meal in several months. One cannot afford to eat if one does not wish to sleep, either. We must leave such grazing to the lowing cattle
Do you believe in ghosts?
I believe… I’m not quite sure. Do ghosts believe in ghosts? Choose to believe that you are dead? Would any thinking mind not be rent and have its body dash a demented self against rocks if such a thing were to happen? To trudge through streets aflame, to moan and weep as you see everyone you’ve ever touched slowly forgetting about you, even though through processions and garlands and tears they vow not?! They are the ones who lead you to the reaper, and his scythe is like the swinging pendulum of a clock…slicing away the hours, and eventually separating spirit and corpse in one final, invisible swing.
…Lovely…
Soooo…Winter or summer?
I have heard that a winter’s kiss is no better than the burn of a nettle, and winter is for foraging for what little sustenance we can find, be it food or love, and that summer brings forth the multitudes of pleasures that spoil us. I for one agree. The children of summer are always the spoilt kind.
Soooo…
As I say quick and clear, summer, you rotund! Perhaps I should throw you a boiled poulet, just to keep your attention?
Err… that won’t be necessary…
If you could pick anyone dead or alive to have lunch with, who would it be?
I would choose my three delights, for perhaps they could feed me from their areoles?
I may well bring Oscar Wilde, Noel Coward, Peter Tatchell and Christopher Biggins and a host of catamite *****-boys for our feverish desires!
…!
Err… right! What are your "comfy clothes"?
My most sensual attire consists of my one-piece suit made from netting. It reveals and supports my genitalia in a fabulous manner, hthththth!
If you were one of the seven dwarfs, who would you be?
But perhaps I cannot be a dwarf. I shall be Snow White, with such alabaster charm as mine, who could deny me centre stage?
Do you believe in heaven and hell?
Heaven is attainable on this humble orb of His. You have to be part of my community to even taste it’s vapour trails, for far from being a place, it is a moment, the moment to EXIST! Hell is AIDS.
Rolling Stones or Beatles?
AS I’m too young too have rolled with them, or loved with them, and they are no more than papier mache parodies of their once glorious selves, I cannot really decide. Which is the queerer?
Erm?...
Rhetorical question, it is Ringo! His ring goes ‘pop’! AHahahaha (a screeching, hideous laugh, followed but a bubbling slurp from his drink, as he’s still chortling) mmm…
…Oh! What colour are your eyes?
Violet. (They aren't)
…Are you sure?
As sure as any creature who has gazed upon their countenance as if it were some great work by a renaissance master.
Ah!...
Yes… well… err…What sort of character would you play in a comic book (hero, humorous sidekick, villain, that abrasive newspaper guy, etc.)
I would be Superwoman, the most beautiful superhero that has given her time for the ingrates and reprobates. Their murderous envy will conspire to destroy her, despite the beauty and grace that she has shown them.
If you were to pick one room in the Mansion to be trapped in, what would it be?
It would not be the one I was trapped in last I went. The cocktails and acid kept me underneath a bed, screaming. It was the most doubtless horror and will haunt me till my passing.
If you were one word, what word would you be?
Veritas- Latin for truth. I can tell you truths, dear jabbering sapien. Truths to lift you, truths to break, burn and drown you. Will it be suggestion, a glance of eyes, or a touch to the (reaches between my legs)…
Hang about!...
You wish me to lie?
Do whatever you want, as long it doesn’t involve my piece!
Another one who wants lies… you have lies, then. Your glans is the central issue!
No, not today, please! You’re the issue!
If its negation pleases you, if you wish to be neuter-eunuch… continue.
If you could time travel, what would be your first stop?
The sexual revolution of the 1970s, perhaps in time to educate on the forthcoming ‘gay plague’. It will still happen, although there will be time to prepare ourselves. (He looks distant, before holding the back of his hand to his mouth. He bites a knuckle and lets out a horrible muffled whimper. He will not let me see him cry).
… Your next question?
Oh… ah, What is your natural hair color?
Green.
Erm…
Please… do not challenge my answers.
How many people are in your family?
Many and none, for I am able, like a great star- perhaps Arcturus - to pull several bodies into an orbit. Very few of them are close, however. My parents are gone. My father got severely drunk, took aim, and banished mother to the worms. His immediate regret was apparent and he fell upon the blunderbuss, eviscerating himself. His passing did no harm to me. I am rid of his misery and failure. I threw his ashes amongst a score of cocaine for some city brokers who had made a busy night of goading and heckling. I hope his smoking ash poisons them.
Favourite Rapper?
Is akin to asking me my favourite method of hate-crime. The hip hop scene is very much closed to the boys from my side of the playground. We are players in our own ebullient scene.
What’s the First Thing You Notice In A Boy?
The colours, the vapours, the touch. Well what would you have me say? It is the language of our sex that decides for us, and a pretty-boy-polly may well as be neuter if it were not for the other senses. A gentle stroke or lingering taste can grant you more pleasure than jejune posturing. That is the code of the himbo and hoi-polloi.
What language would you like to speak fluently?
I am fluent in several languages; ‘Esamini I miei occhi e veredete I fuoco!’
… Or perhaps French is your preferred mode of expression?
How many kids (or any at all) would you want to have?
Children are anathema to my raison d’etre. I hate how they jab their podgy digits at me and ask ‘who is that lady?’ Let children be the bane of any milch cow to confuse them for happiness. I once threw a child by her hair. I was incredibly high and it was something of a higher consciousness calling out.
Err… what happened?
A lot of allegations made… a number of contacts and lawyers paid handsomely and I was sectioned under the mental health act, rather than sent to a penal institution. They made me ‘right’ again.
… I see…
Which religion do you choose to follow?
I’m a Hindu by birth, but it is the hommes des lettres. The flaneurs. The wanderers, philosophical giants, The ancients, storytellers, those who have woven human thought into what you see around you; Socrates, Homer, Aristotle, Da Vinci, Voltaire, Des Carte, Goethe, Shakespeare, Newton, Darwin, Marx, Wilde, Doestoyevsky, Freud, Einstein and Disney.
…Disney?!
One man who is perhaps more responsible for shaping human consciousness in the past century than any other. Did you not see Tron?
…I did…
I’d like a red suit like the one that David Warner has.
Performing Arts, Fine Arts, or Sports?
‘(Launches into a truly terrible rendition of Richard the Third) Nooowww, is the winter of our Discontent…(and continues into Henry the Fifth) this brave few, this band of brothers… (and finishes with Hamlet) to die, to sleep. To sleep; a chance to dream!’ Such is the misfortune of those who have never shared the bard in a performance!
Riding horses or riding dolphins?
There’s nothing I’d rather experience than riding a black stallion. There must be real vigour to it. To buck with the undulations, a jarring thrust that makes the teeth chatter and bite in hard! Ruthless exertion and exhalation that takes the bond of beast and the riding beauty to such heavens that the stars themselves cannot know. I see the green glint of envy in your eyes, Samwise.(The interviewer feels disconcerted).
Ah… so, are you fed up of all these questions?
Well, let us retire for a moment. Quentin? I say Quentin? Will you bring me my champagne? (he pronounces it sham-pan-ya)
(An emaciated and epicene waif brings forth an ice-bucket containing an opaque pink bottle. Two flutes are placed upon two embroidered napkins. The lights dim as the cork is released. On first appearances, the champagne seems to be glowing pink, but it is merely a lackey shining a light behind it, all serenaded by a burst of New Order’s Crystal; Here comes love/ tastes like honey/ you can't buy/ it with money/…the lights go up as Bernard Sumner fades to silence. The champers is pink. Dominic whistles for the bottle to be removed from sight and sips stupidly –where did the guy learn to take his drink? – but all the time he’s looking over at the interviewer, smiling away.
Yeeesss… it is good, isn’t it? (The interviewer puts the flute to one side. it has a nasty anaesthetic taint, and bum-rape written all over it.)
Ahem. Very nice…Fish or Fowl?
Well fish is foul, if you don’t mind me saying. I have more of an affinity with birds (strokes plumes of hair) and I am a featherfinger by name. Also, birds soar above all other creatures, as do I. I am one whose acquaintance with daunting heights sends many a plebeian back to his bread and circuses… you know of Juvenal?
Er… sort of… what came first, the chicken or the egg?
Eggs are ridiculous, aren’t they? Who would think a human could come from an egg, although during a fascinating trip I experienced - after watching a Channel Four test card for an hour while listening to some ambient house and halfway into a Ketamine/absinthe binge - I actually flew along the entire network of the London Underground in a scaled-up, translucent egg at some 500 miles an hour. Friends say that they found me screaming in the bathtub.
What is your favourite colour?
The colour of a rude man’s tumescence, red-into-purple.
How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?
None. The wood chuck is a convicted arsonist and has set all the wood aflame. The fire brigadaccio’s have been called.
Beach or mountain?
I try not to frequent either; the sun plays havoc with my complexion. I have told the girls but they’re so keen to scorch their pudendae it is not worth my concern. Nina should be especially prudent – Reds are better off etiolated. A mountain has very little in store for me except for a frigid and lonely demise.
Left handed or right handed?
I dispatch my fun-custard with my right.
…Quite an image!
Let me demonstrate…
No! I’m fine….Who do you count on when feeling down?
A boy. Sometimes the girls will cosset me with maternal bosom – heaving and ample, but there are boys who will steer my ship away from the rougher seas, the darker clouds, although we’ll be tossed and lashed along the way, like dogs you see. Like dogs!
Do you plan in advance?
Such hubris! Chaos reigns supreme in our lives. Plans will be torn asunder by micro-events; the beat of a moth’s wing, the transformation of hydrogen to helium within a star, the twitching synapses and chemical fluctuations within the unhinged mind of the next psychopath that happens by your way to the bathroom fittings exhibit…
Right! Yes!... What attracts you most?
Self-assuredness and the belief that whomever he encounters, they will not change him, combined with an impressive style and refined tastes. If he has a new voice across several matters of import, not a dilettante knave, more a child of the renaissance - arts, fashions, scenes. That is something worth paying attention to, as well as a full pouch and weapon ready.
Do you hold hands when you walk in public?
Everywhere when I’m trying to make a statement. I detest these vanilla straights that will hold hands amongst the community and yet snigger at the love that two boys, or a man and a boy, decide to share. Two men sharing love is both obscene and disgusting.
...You don’t think two older men should show affection in public?
It is the bear and the twink…the hawk and the chicken! And of course love amongst boys is a perfectly acceptable. Remember, I am an Aesthete!
Love is meant to be lavished on the young, and I have lavished many limber youths with love.
How many hobbies do you have?
I took to being a DJ in New York, assuming it would parallel conducting an orchestra. It went to Hades and I was accosted by several bloated queens who insisted the scissor sisters had something worth ruining. I wound them around on some Machiavellian premise, before cutting their strings like the peroxide marionettes they were! Hahaha! I also enjoy creating installations and staging consciousness-raising happenings for the lumpen proles to watch while they injest vacuumed meat in, how you say… baps.
Close your eyes for a moment, who pops into your head?
That frolicsome filly Lucy! Such delicious schadenfreude! Any other man may well have been ready to expel a glistening bolt of liquid lightning at the sight of her gyrating avoirdupois within cunnilingual distance, and I must say it was such a sweet exercise in ‘preconceptions of sexuality’ to see her slowly realise that I may, indeed, be gay.
Do you say "I love you" in the relationship?
Love rarely gets time to spread its soft and complacent tendrils into my life and I’d prefer it remain a squirming foetus – ever-present yet muffled and smothered. I feel its appendages dig at my insides occasionally, but an insertion of an oiled fist soon delivers us both a skewering that is never forgotten.
Aliens have landed and selected you to visit their home planet. Do you go with them?
They could very well be curious about homosexuality as a non-reproductive, recreational sexual pastime. I may introduce them to this and do some probing of my own, perhaps turning the tables on their liverish, grey behinds
Describe your perfect Sunday morning?
On stained sheets with several writhing catamites and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon, playing find the boiled egg!
If you could be successful at any job in the world, what would that job be?
Job?! Do I presume the appearance of a skivvy? I was born outside of your mundane nine-to-five rat-race. When you have my inheritances, a job is akin to dying over and over each and every day. Let the unenlightened salarymen keep feeding paltry pittances into bank accounts, feeding gristly stubs to their twittering wives, and subsisting on service station breakfasts and rancid ales... (He takes a noisy slurp from a THIRD drink at the table – a brandy-rum cocktail) It is their lot in life.
If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
I live across the world in accordance with the season, the vibe, the happenings, the scene and the crowd. Really it is best to position yourself in anticipation of a moment, to arrive at a happening at the zenith, when the feelings are good and abundant. Then you can ride the wave of bonhomie from London to Milan to Kiev to Bangkok to Sydney to San Fran’ to New York and return London, drunken and wailing. I have people in each and more of these happenings, and they’ll hook you up if you talk the international language.
…Esperanto?
It is more complicated than a robust like yourself can contemplate. It’s more a mode of dress, style, tastes, accoutrements, manners, gesture and cadence. It is not enough to be aware of what constitutes the zeitgeist, but be part of the zeitgeist itself.
…Like an ‘it’ girl, or even the illuminati, or whatever they’re called?
But infinitesimally more subtle, perhaps it helps to be the son of a barrister in Westminster or have a grandfather in the Bilderberg group, but others less privileged, more often than not, make it the happening that it can be. Do not think for one minute that young royals and sluttish heiresses are amongst my circles. They court the media all too readily and are generally shambolic in their deportment, bless their moneyed souls.
If you could be someone else for a day, who would it be?
Perhaps, and with numerous reason, Oscar.
If you have friends coming for supper what would you cook?
I’ve never really cooked anything in my life. There’s always been this… food there; I just don’t know where it appears from. I was locked out for an evening and gut and gizzard were foaming with chip vinegar (I take it he means bad wine) and I had to eat. I found a half tin of cat food by some bins and consigned myself to bolting it down. It was so unremittingly foul I gagged, I wretched -dear god - I nearly wept. I walked out into the road to flag down a carriage. Some poor souse wound down her window only for me to utter ‘caaat. Foooo’…before having my gut rear up and deliver it and the vinegar across her windscreen. The stench started something of a domino effect… and I spent a night shivering and wretching in the toilets off Bayswater Road near Hyde Park alongside legions of vagabonds, who I drunkenly inducted into our ‘Army of Hell’ that night.
What is your favourite word?
Cognoscenti. It means ‘those in the know’ and it’s rather ironic because if you have no idea what it means, then you can’t be one! I use it on journalists quite often.
What makes you cry?
Friends who keep getting ill and me having to hear why.
What makes you laugh?
I can always enjoy jesting with the ticklish triumvirate. They are very playful creatures. I find their preponderance for tickling my genitals gives us good humour. Such wicked little sluts!
If you were an animal in the wild, what would you be?
A beautiful bird. Something elegant. Perhaps a peacock? A hybrid of peacock and swan. Not a budgie. They are beneath pathetic and will die if you so much as raise your voice. I would like to walk past an aviary full of the tweeting twits and spray them with mites.
…Spray them with mites?
Yes, I have a device that can spray micro-fauna on people’s clothes. I’d happily use it on a cluster of budgerigars, and then watch them tear their feathers out! hahahahahaah!...tweet tweet… tweeeeeeaat!
Oh. My. God.
Haha… right… If you won the lottery, how would you spend your millions?
I’d continue with what I’m already doing. When people say that it wouldn’t change their lives, well obviously they’re as mad as balloons; why else take part? In my case however, it probably wouldn’t, and I’d burn through it in a few months.
Do you believe that the cup is half empty or half full?
If it’s lemonade, half full; if it’s vodka and orange, half-empty.
Who was your hero as a child?
Wilde and Shakespeare.
If you could date an actor, who would it be?
The boy from the Lord of the Rings. Bloom?... He must be gay.
What do you do for fun?
Drink, drugs, sex, parties, boys, torturing the fox girls, psychologically and physically (they’re obsessed. Obsessed!). They pee themselves! Their humiliation is delicious.
Are you an outdoor or an indoor person?
Well I can get away with more indoors… I’ve never been fond of the elements. They wage a quiet war ‘pon my extremities.
If you had only six months to live, what would you do first?
A number of close friends have had to deal with that…personally, I dread to even think… when you embrace life as I have, death is the ultimate terror.
What 3 words would your best friend use to describe you?
(at this point Dominic looks into his flute, his top lip trembles. He waves me away. Dominic lets out quiet sobs. His face has reddened as he sniffles.)
…Would you like to do this another time?
No… I think I shall take a brisk drink. Get me something with bite.
(a lackey brings over a fat measure of schnapps. Dominic knocks it back, red eyes blinking from the vapours)
Where do you see yourself in five years?
In… control.
What are you most proud of in your life?
(More sobs. Dominic rubs his eyes, then gestures that we move along)
Some minutes pass, before he smiles gamely. I kind of feel sorry for him, although this may be him ‘acting up’ like I’ve been told.
Do you own any pets, and if so what do you have?
Can one count people as pets? If so, then I’d say the domestic staff of my late father’s pile. The little people who move the soil from one plot of acreage to another. A friend of mine, Gaspar and – he’s fashion - I quite often go out to the tundra of a garden - as I care nothing for the grounds – and perform nude Beckett in the filth as they toil around us. There are also the tweeting parakeets, budgies and other companions for geriatrics to give the local wildlife something of a feed.
Who do you admire most?
Oh the vixens… Fox girls. They are so very successful at catching a hungering, snorting he-man. I would like a he-man more often. Their savage blood should not be diluted by sissying them for marriage, but ennobling the thrust and punch of virility. There are too many gay men who should just go back to women and flap against them ineffectually, as that is all some females seem to want in their diets.
Do you have any tattoos, and if so what and where?
Tattoo’s are for the heathens and beasts. Oh it might be ‘rock’n’roll’, but the only time I want a needle near my raw skin is when its contents can keep a grin on my face for four hours.
When do you plan on getting married?
When my soul has had enough of living. Marriage is giving yourself over to a waking death, subsuming your vitality within a stale, bogus institution. It has never held any meaning in my life and I pity the wretches who subscribe to it.
Get the number or give the number?
Facebook, Shamu, facebook! At least I know what I’ve rutted with on a party night.
Romance or Kinky Sex?
I remember a James Bond-themed party at my uncle’s estate with the Fox Sisters. We gave a young ruffian the chance to play Casino Royale and Nina promised to have him, but only after he let her torture him as Bond. Of course I arrive as le Chiffre and begin rubbing coconut oil onto his aching balls with my feminine hands, and just as he’s about to come I lean over and greet him in my best baritone ! Hahahahah – (there is that hideous, machine-gun laugh again) he can’t reign in his pleasure and he gives me the most delightful shriek as his load splats against my chest!
…And he thought it was Nina?
Yes, haha. He was called James Bound from then on.
That’s very cruel, but funny…How do you feel?
Like a duke… a handsome duke who has the time and money to indulge his passions, his fantasies. Once in my thrall, reality is all the more suspect.
What size shoe do you wear?
A rather dainty 8. What size are you?
Err, 12.
My word, do you give your shoes to the circus when you’ve finished with them?
They aren’t that big.
But there’s promise… for later!
Ah, No… Water or 100% Juice?
Please, neither. If I’m to quench a thirst, there must be efficiency, that is to say, that drinking must serve a hedonistic purpose. It must be drugged!
…What? You only drink alcohol?
Oh you fool! What madness brings your numbed, sluggish intellect to such a non-thought?... I take tea! TEA!!
Good… okay, well… Would you rather be hot or cold?
I take my tea cold. With ice.
You misheard me…
Don’t dally-gaggle! You have my answer, and this is beginning to test my patience. There is little sun this time of year. I shall be leaving soon.
Well, we can hurry along if you like… er…Would you rather lose an arm or a leg?
What kind of hatchet-wielding inquisitor sent that? Am I to join his quadriplegic victims? Get on with it…
Ahem… Favourite Place to Eat?
I refer you to my earlier answer, but I’m quite happy to accompany the sisters to the latest bistro… swiftly, swiftly.
Opera, Musical, Concert, Play, Performance, or Other?
A new show is always a draw for the boho crowd, of which I may sometimes sample. Everything is within my cultural range, from Wagner to street-poets to arthouse cinema. Dear Lucy tried to drag me into a cinema that served Mexican crisps and hot dogs a while ago to see a film about airbrushed Americans finding treasure in the Caribbean Sea… I obliged due to the number of men her scent would draw in later. It was all so contrived but she giggled heartlily , bless her foolish toes.
What is your favourite clothing brand?
Well, I have a coterie of fashion students who can cut Westwood, Gautier and costumes from Pinewood together, provided I supply the means. I pick up pieces from university fashion shows… it is more invigorating and vital than wearing the utter garbage the prudish big houses put out these days. The Versace collection in Paris last month looked like an accident at a children’s party.
If you had to pick one car, which would it be?
I refuse to drive or own a car. There is always a taxi and ‘dealing’ with cars or their attached mechanics is a responsibility that drains my will to live. Who needs a car in a city anyway? I have no need to visit the arrondisments.
Your favorite Disney Films?
Back to Disney…. Of course, Fantasia and Alice in Wonderland. There is always a prickle when I hear Dukas; I think of Mickey and his satanic broomsticks.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because the Animal Liberation Front was canvassing support…other than that I can’t tell you.
Where is Waldo?
On stage with Ronald McDonald, Lord Lucan and the Pope performing West Side Story.
Favorite element?
Of the four? Fire… it inflames passions and desires that none of us can resist, even you my resilient swine.
What was your last thought?
You scrabbling along the floor of this establishment, naked and slippery from drink, while I pull at your doughy bulk and dust you with talc.
Please don’t…
Merely a thought (he sips from one of his drinks, before knocking one over. He looks at the empty glass and swipes it off the table and into the wall. A waitress scurries over and picks the shards into a plastic box. Dominic regards her cruelly).
The less you pay them… the harder and longer they seem to work. A curious culture of labour relations…
Ahem…Juice and crackers or milk and cookies?
Damn these buffoons and damn you for parroting them! Please try to be more selective about which questions you pelt me with.
…Sorry…
Favourite fruit?
A cluster of ripe plums and a turgid length of fleshy rhubarb, with lashings of yoghurt.
Which is worse? A bad laugh or a bad cough?
A cough is a sign that someone carries a loathsome lurgy, and should be avoided or beaten. A bad laugh is a sign of intent, of criminality and the wrong side of the tracks is quite an aphrodisiac. I would have you down as a criminal.
Sorry to disappoint…
But we haven’t had time to discover if you disappoint, have we?(The interviewer lowers his head and shakes it.)
…bloody hell…
Are you a cat or a dog person?
Is this for?…
… It’s not for sex…
Are you insinuating that I would perform sex acts on animals?
Well…
Because if you are, then you’re right. Cats maybe limited in their willing and capacity, but the promise of a dog’s lapping tongue is actually feverishly exciting.
(Interviewer holds his hand to his face, weeping with laughter)
You can’t say that!
Au contraire, my undisciplined oaf. Your concern is misguided. It is a mere fantasy. To think that this act would go ahead… no, I think I would. I would relish the struggle.
(Interviewer takes time to recover from laughing) Oh Jesus… Would you rather be blind or deaf…?
I have no idea. Wait for a moment (Dominic holds his hands to his ears and proceeds to scream, alerting to everyone to his presence. Your interviewer is doubled over in hysterics)… Hutchinson! Guard my drinks. (He gets up and puts a hand over his eyes, walking gingerly amongst some diners, before stumbling and placing his elbow in a plate of linguine. He walks toward to the terrace at the far end of the restaurant and a crash of plates can be heard, along with a lot of swearing and high, erratic laughter).
Time presses on and Dominic pays each offended person the price of their meal plus a bottle of chilled Cava. He brings two bottles to our table and -visibly drunk - pops the cork and shakes the foaming bubbly from his crotch before stooping to pour two glasses, muttering as he does.
So…define yourself in 3 words...
Erudite, transcendent….and extremely high
Uh… (Interviewer regrets that glass of cava) …Do you eat cold cereal at night?
Please… (Takes a swift gulp from the glass) enough of these uninteresting questions. Did somebody ask that to see if they’re normal, because it’s not the most intelligent question? I don’t eat cold cereal, I eat cold barbiturates.
What is your favorite TV show?
Something that happily lends itself to a happening… take Charlie’s Angels, or Tales of the Unexpected for instance. Last of the Summer Wine holds no such quality.
Kill the spider or let it out?
Shower the hellion with every form of aerosol to hand until it perishes. The snapping jaws, the twitching pedipalps… I’m sure Barbra would be fascinated but for me their utter destruction is required. Burn their scuttling hides!!
Do you shower every single day?
I wonder about the titillating answers my jelly-chested little wonders have given. I assume it is a lot as none of them seem to remain in their finery for too long. I need to be clean, if only to celebrate – through ablutions – the purging of boy musk from my limber body (he stands on the spot and performs a hysterically funny, gyrating dance while shrieking).
Walking past a beggar, spare change or ignore?
Deliver him from the ignominies, burdens and tragedies of his wasted life and commit a sexual act upon him. You are blessed with my love, leper!
What is your favourite Pj Fabric
Pyjamas are a construct for the sexless aged. My only need for nocturnal garments is to entice and arouse.
Where do you want to travel next?
It all depends on the happenings and the scene; it is all as fickle as a moth’s tongue. It also depends on the quality of the pharmaceuticals to hand. I’ve travelled across the universe, through the mind of God and received a rimming from William Shatner agmongst a field of feverish, snorting, braying Houyhnhnms... Houyhnhnms!! Neeeeighhhatatatataah!!...
I believe they were goading us!... Do you know atoms have faces?
…Is that a discovery you made while you were chemically-inclined?
But they really do!
What would you do if Michael Jackson asked you out?
Imagine the utter depravity that would ensue if he met me? Neverland would play host to such fantastic libidinous acts…the children! Think of the children mixed with the animals! (laughs a cackling howl that can only be described as stark raving mad)… society would not look lightly upon such an event, orchestrated by my hand!
…Are you sure you want me to include that answer?
Of course! Together, we are taking the taboos of society to task. It is all very illegal now, but therein lies the irresistible thrill!
… that’s a very controversial view.
I’m a controversial entity. Let the sisters see this. We’ll see if this as controversial as you suppose by their response.
Well, yes… What is your favorite food?
As before, food is a non sequitir within my sphere of being.
What is your favorite place?
Where the happenings are. The moment. The vibe.
If you could have one super human power what would you choose?
To hypnotise the twinks into a state of languor and have them, mercilessly.
Vitamin Water or Gatorade?
An affront to the palate. I only know of Gatorade through American mass culture; a vast cultural wasteland that threatens to subsume all others (ed – Dominic’s views do not represent our publication).
Favourite body part?
The buttock cleavage, particularly that of a strutting boy. A ruddiness about the cheeks is also pleasant.
Flip flops or sandals?
Oh how could I fall so easily into either category? The world is so much more fun than that.
What do you do on Fridays?
I simulate rape with some theatricals and catamite man-sluts.
Do you like bananas?
What about a bit of rrruuude-barb? Next question
How tall are you?
A little taller than average. How tall are you?
Five-eleven.
Oh I’m taller than you. (He’s really a little shorter than me; about 5’9’’)
Well Dominic… that was quite an adventure!
( Dominic refuses the interviewer’s hand, and a relieved journo nods and makes a hasty move… suddenly there is a call… from a lighter, female voice)
Oh, bun-gle!
Bungle?... wait a minute?...
Get him girls!
As your interviewer turns to see what the hell is happening, all he can see is three pairs of tremendous boobs hurtling towards him and before he knows it, he’s down on the floor with the Fox sisters laying across his legs, torso and arms, chuckling abusively.
Dominic is leering down, and then Nina’s red face and flashing green eyes as she laughs cheekily at this predicament. It’s really tempting for a humble hack to tickle way his out from under their giggly, undulating curves, but it seems they have the same in store for your poor wretch of an interviewer, as a hand teasingly glides under his t-shirt…
Oh brother!...
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