Our Interview with Storm Large

My friend Maggie (I call her Poots) sent me a book last month and said "Read it.", to which I responded "Don't you tell me what to do.", to which she responded "Eat my ass.", to which I responded "It's already been broughten.".

To which she responded by stopping talking to me.

She is so moody. I blame her ovariesies.

Anywhoo, the book she sent me was titled Crazy Enough and it was written by notable Canadian-American pastry chef and critically self-proclaimed professional recipient of le penis, Storm Large. I had no idea who Storm Large was, but I'm crazy for broads with multicolored hair and a horrible nailbed, so I felt it necessary that I give the book a shot based solely on judging the book by its cover.

So, being a huge book nerd who loves reading while moving my bowels, I read the muthafucker. And I loved the muthafucker. Crazy Enough is a candid, oftentimes disgusting, disgustingly honest, memoir that recounts the intoxicating progression from blah past into the Fuck yeah present of our delicious protagonist Storm. It's both well written and hilarious, and has even taught me even better ways in which to curse creatively.

I would say I'm leery of reading autobiographical books written by women, because honestly, I don't really care for weepy "I was high on paint thinner and embalming fluid and that's my excuse", emotional "she threw away my dolly", and self deprecating "I'm ugly even though I know I'm fucking hot as fucking Fuck" rambling. Thankfully, Storm Large does an afuckingmazing job of telling her story without sounding like a whiny bitch.

If anything, this broad is kicking an exhaustingly unlucky string of years straight in the fucking balls, and it's as hilarious as it is inspiring.

I wanted everyone to read it, I wanted my chance at a SYFFAL interview, and I really wanted to see her vagina. So, I waited for my erection to subside and then I went ahead and requested an interview with the lovely Storm Large, who was nice (and topless) enough to award me with one of my favorite interviews to date.

STORM LARGE INTERVIEW GO:

SYFFAL: I read your book. Like, I actually physically read your book start to finish. There were a few parts where I actually flagged the page and read passages aloud to my sleeping children. I fucking applaud you for being able to vent like that. Normally I'm just happy with a good long, leg numbing shit or a two hour masturbation session. You took it to a HO nother level. Do you see what I did there?

Storm Large: Thank you! You should check your circulation if your leg goes numb while shitting, and if you're yanking it for two hours without coming.... yikes.

SYFFAL: I would join you in a "yikes" but I'm busy applying A&D ointment to my D&B's. If you had to change your last name for a starring role in a documentary about cheese, what would it be and why?

Storm Large: My last name would be Tawny-Kittaen. No idea why. But people would fear me.

SYFFAL: Here you go again in the still of the night, is this love? In the book, which I will refer to as "Your Book" for the remainder of this sentence, you mention your band, which is named The Balls. Is it okay if I say that I've never heard a fucking lick of Balls music, but I am already signed up for the fan club, have practice-sketched a tattoo on my lower back using my bathroom mirror and a sprig of my wife's mascara, and I'm interviewing their hot lead singer chick right nowsies?

Storm Large: The Balls was my favorite band name ever. Our albums were, Hangin', Blue and a re-mix record called Vasectomy. We ruled.

SYFFAL: I fucking love you. When you were deciding on what to leave out of the book, why did you cut out all the talk about bowel movements? Lord knows us gents sure do love a good chick poop.

Storm Large: Not my call, my editor had me take out the part where I snuck a maxipad soaked in a combo of chocolate-y spit, fake blood and car floor crumbs into my friends carry-on before he flew to Ottowa.... it later ends up getting tasted by a crazy fan.

SYFFAL: Your book is filled with crazy fan stories, and most of them are creepy as shit. What is it about crazy chicks who have so many crazy chick fans? I'm guessing it's the whole "broads of a feather". So does your live show goes along with the book? Or does the book go along with the live show? Regardless, please to describe your nipples after you had them tattooed on your wrists in olde english script? At least in so far as how they relate to your live show/book or book/live show thingamajigger.

Storm Large: My live show is a musical glimpse at some of the stories in the book. The show happened first.

SYFFAL: And the nipples? I recently watched the entire second season of Treme on my toilet using my iPad. Using only molecular gastronomy terminology, how awesome of friends would we be if we both got ourselves off meth at the same time and we had both juiced beets and purple kale the night before?

Storm Large: I always think I'm having a crones flare up after I have beets. Stick to yellow beets. I'm a huge fan of Breaking Bad, so I want all those people to NEVER quit meth.

SYFFAL: That is the most brilliant thing I've ever heard. I'm on the 5th episode of the second season and that fucking show is fucking unfuckingreal. And I HAVE had yellow beets, but they're fucking yellow. So instead of purpley stains on my hands and feces I have hello yellow stains all over? Fuck that, give me the purples.

I'm trying to teach my children that you shouldn't tattoo yourself unless you're absolutely sure the story behind it is fucking ridiculous, good ridic or bad ridic is irrelevant. Just last week, I sketched a ripe watermelon breasted congressman smoking an Irishman crusted tilapia on a cast iron skillet sizzling over a fire of karaoke singers singing about a barbecue stain on their white tshirt on my four year old's stomach while he struggled to get out of the restraints made of Thomas the Tank Engine train tracks and Nerf gun suction darts. It represents the power of imitation marijuana on the psyche of a developmentally superior bald gentleman such as myself, and why you should never put anything into your own ass. What would you care to draw on my children and why?

Storm Large: The phone number to your local child protection service office.

SYFFAL: ZING! Please to list, in grammatically incorrect cock, your favorite responses to everyday bullshit questions that people you don't fucking know ask you for no other reason than some fucking people just can't fucking deal with existing in a world with fucking out fucking small talk goddamnit.

Storm Large: "You are really on to something there."
"I'd like to sing a duet with Jesus Christ.... Ebony And Ivory, specifically."
"Yes, it's my real name. If I could name myself, like say, a stripper name, I would call myself Snuggie Boner, or Poopie Condoms."

SYFFAL: Poopie Condoms would be a great scat jazz band name as well. For the record, I am completely okay not talking to you and staring at your breasts or your artificial dimple so you don't feel like I'm forcing anything (besides my dude-shank into my waistband).

Storm Large: Huzzah.

SYFFAL: Huzzah indeed. Since I can't watch reality television without wanting to masturbate (second masturbation reference, I just won 7 dollars from my friend Brendan who bet me I couldn't shove masturbation references inside this interview without seeming creepy), is it true you were on the 4th season of The Bachelor and played the role of sober, ambidextrous, roadkill sous chef from Carnitas, Porksylvania?

Storm Large: Yup. But that was me pre-op... And I called my self Brendan! How weird is that?

SYFFAL: SYFFAL does not judge people. As long as you're happy, you can turn yourself into a fucking water buffalo if it doesn't involve me, my money or my genitals, you feel me? You mention your boyfriend, his young son, and your newfound ability to communicate with the adolescent market. Does this mean you are familiar with Phineas & Ferb?

Storm Large: Do you mean those born again christian vegetables? I don't know them or what happened to them.

SYFFAL: I'm being serious here, DVR an episode or six of Phineas & Ferb on Disney Channel, smoke a few bowls, crack open a bottle of Boones Farm, and enjoy the best part about being a parent. That show is fucking hilarious, and I am completely okay watching episode after episode with my children before they crash out for the night. I'm serious.

There's something disgustingly erotic about a woman who can tell you how to candy flip while anorexic, key a Monet style painting of a cabbage listening to the My Fair Lady soundtrack sung in Icelandic onto the hood of a pussy ass Prius, and shave anyavailable crotch on a tour bus. What is the best thing about having your boobs on the internet already BESIDES being able to tell your boyfriend "go google yourself"?

Storm Large: Because my boobs are nice. So if someone hates me and googles me to prove to their friend what a jerk I am and they see my boobs, afterwards their friend will secretly like me better than their bitchy friend. I win.

SYFFAL: Not only do you win Storm Large, WE win, because your bewbs are le nice. As a representative of the male gender, I would like to thank you for sharing those happy danglers with the internet. What would it take for you to get into anus clenched magic marker paintings and might I suggest attempting a picture of my piece of shit friend Del LeFevre first?

Storm Large: My anus is booked long into the unforeseeable future.

SYFFAL: ME TOO! SYFFAL is a music site run by former musicians and wanna-be former musicians who only cover the music they love. We consider writing a negative music review akin to self-torture, without nipple cuffs. We are constantly on the look out for delicious music that nobody else (meaning the 7 people that read our site) has heard. Can you name three bands/artists we should be checking for? And after each suggestion, can you mention what you would do with them if all you had was a gallon of astroglide, a case of Boones Farm, and a Newt Gingrich blow up doll?

Storm Large: Sarah Peters, Liv Warfield and Holcombe Waller....just a gallon of astroglide? Who's Newt Gingrich?

SYFFAL: I AM SWOONING YO. SWOONING. I love the fucking pants off of you, and would like to offer you a permanent position at SYFFAL. We want you to start a sex column where anyone on the planet can write in with questions, no matter how gross or out of line, but the kicker is, every question will be from Del LeFevre. He is a piece of shit, that shitbird. Can we come to some arrangement and can the first question be about tubthumping?

Storm Large: Yes. I am busy, but love to tell people what to do with their bits.

SYFFAL: Consider yourself contractually obligated then. Thanks in advance. I adore you in those sweatpants Storm. You're gorgeous as fucking shit on the inside, and if it weren't for those hoots on her chesty, I would SO internet marry you. The book is fucking amazing, and I applaud you for getting all of it off your chest. Strength like that doesn't happen overnight, and whatever happened to you and around you over the years, you're fucking on top of it with a fine shiny leather boot to the fucking throat.

Storm Large: Thank you Joel.

SYFFAL: I admire you.And I want to see your vagina.

Storm Large: Well just look at a baby's mouth while it's staring at something slack-jawed confounded, and you get the idea.

SYFFAL: That is fucking disturbing, and all the more reason why I love you.
Love,
Dad

Storm Large: Love you back.

Go buy Storm's book. And then read it. And then tell me she isn't fucking awesome so I can fucking stab you in the fucking pancreas.