Moi: Do you mind if I call you Don?
Van Zandt: Please call me Donnie.
M: Right. Anyway, Don, your brother is dead, correct?
VZ: Well, I don't see what that has to do wi-
M: Blah blah blah. Talky Talkerson over here! What are your thoughts on gun control?
VZ: Well, my band's name is .38 Special, so...
M: Yes, but what does your love for Hispanic trannies have to do with my question? The NRA is nothing but camo-loving grampies, wouldn't you agree?
VZ: A .38 Special is a gun. I like guns. Aren't you going to mention that we're playing at the 3rd Annual Scarecrow and Roadkill Festival in Ocoee this weekend?
M: No. Can I ask, who are you wearing?
M: Listen, ugly, I've had to crack harder eggs than you in my career as a journalist/follicle anthropologist. (The slash is pronounced, however, these parentheses are not.) If you're not going to pull it together and answer my questions than you'll never work in this town again.
VZ: I've never been or worked here before. I live in LA.
M: Good for you and yours. Didn't you used to be in Jesus Jones?
VZ: I'd appreciate it if you didn't use the Lord's name in vain in my presence, girlie.
M: Okay, Don. Let me level with you. Will you sign my mom's breasts? She's a huge fan.
VZ: Wait! Is your mom the one who's dancing by herself outside our tour bus? The one with the empty bottle of Jack Daniels and the Members Only jacket? She's a fox!
M: Oops, I just realized I don't care about this interview anymore. Great to meet you, Ron.
VZ: Don't let the door hit you on the way out.
My mom: Make good choices!