Russell Brand sits across from an interviewer.

Interviewer: Hi, Russell, how have you been?

Russell: Funny you should ask me that because I was just standing in front of the mirror, naked, of course, and I was asking myself that very question when my wife and small human came into the room—I’m a family man now—, oh, yes, my life is quite modest, mate, quite modest indeed, in comparison to the glitzy sparkle of yesteryear when I was addicted to drugs, sex, and alcohol, but now I’m clean and searching for my spiritual side of things, you know, the spiritual side of things: I plan to hodgepodge together an assortment of incoherent beliefs under the larger canopy of the twelve steps, some of which I know by heart, which impresses me personally—and, therefore, other people, too, because I know how stupid my audience is—, so I’ll recite them to you right now—although, I usually do this naked standing before a mirror, so I might mess this up, but here we go—I can’t help that I’m beautiful, can I—here we go: the first one is that I have a problem; the second is that there is someone who will save me—like my mother or my now wife who has stepped into my mother’s role or it could be a god of some kind or a guru if you are into the Eastern stuff, again, if, like me, you are piecing together a horrific monster of modern insanity in the name of enlightenment then all this is just pure gold, and number three—wait, I messed up—my number three should be number two: first there is the idea that I have a problem (but do I really or is that just the jealousy of stupid and ugly people?), second: something about getting help for my problem, and, yes, this is it, third: there is a power outside of myself who, it, she, they will come to my rescue—I did it! I recited the first three of the twelve steps!

Interviewer: Hi, Russell, how have you been?

Russell: Funny you should ask me that because I was making toast today and—you know, buttering it after it had come out of the toaster—warm, runny butter that was running everywhere and I was licking between my fingers and sucking them and licking the knife and, just you know, enjoying the warm runny butter, and I paused and said aloud something like a direct quotation from something I was reading, but now the name escapes me: one of these really smart authors with the crazy hair who write big books, you know, um, Steven Pinker, and I was standing there in the garage—my wife set up a kitchenette for me in my garage so that I can talk to myself out here without waking the small human spawn which results from my domestic activities—and I said to Steven Pinker, whom I was imagining across the table from me and my toast, “Pinker, I love your fluffy hair!” and Pinker ran an absentminded hand through his hair like this and I mimicked him—only, as you’ll remember, I was making toast and I had the butter knife in my hand, and, you’ll never guess, but I put butter into my hair! Haha!

Interviewer: Hi, Russell, how have you been?

And so the interview continued long into the night. The end.