The savage beast on "Being Him"; A man with contempt for journalism.

We met the savage freak of nature at his hide-out around midnight on a not so particular night. The moon bathed the scene with cold light and the whole crew was freezing like flamingos taking a wrong turn and ending up at the North Pole. No one was dressed for this weather and no one kept their mouth shut about it. It was like working with whiners straight out of kindergarten. I was nervous enough already and this bickering bunch of unprofessionals did not make my evening any better.

Four guards loaded with ammo was each holding a Kalashnikov and staring at us without even trying to conceal their disgust. I would not be surprised if they wanted to rally us up for some execution practice. That sort of thing is good for moral, The Savage would later tell us as he escorted us to the other side of camp for an exit through the back door.

When we entered the room of the interview the setup was ready; a beat-up chair, much like the ones used in classrooms sometime in the late forties, stood under a lamp hanging from the sealing as a poor excuse for a spotlight. The Commander, as he like to be refered to, greeted us with a bleached smile that nearly blinded me on the spot and shook my hand with the strength of a professional heavy weight boxer. I was not allowed to say my name, he would maybe have to kill me later if the interview made him come across as an “imbecilious”, as he put it, and not knowing my name would make it more of an effort to locate me to execute the smalltime assassination. It would not be newsworthy, he said, and no one would care at all.

Then he sat down on the chair under the lamp and tried to look like a mean bastard but he looked more like he was copied on a broken Xerox machine, the image of him was distorted and made you feel uneasy. My photographer started to do his thing with the camera, the light guy was kicked in the stomach and my makeup girl was thrown out of the room with threats of multiple rape and long hours of sodomizing if she ever tried such physical slander on The Commander again. Somehow I knew that we had to get this over with fast.

“The first thing I have to ask you, Commander, is how you managed to get an interview with such a prestigious magazine as (……).” (Red.- We are not allowed to mention the magazines name due to ongoing allegation and upcoming court dates).

“Well, it was a pure case of a hostile takeover of the newsdesk with AK-47s pointing in every direction,” The Commander says and puts his hands on his knees. “Then I simply said; It’s time for an interview boys, let’s get it over with, shall we.”

“Very impressive and innovating indeed, Commander. What was the reaction in the room at that point?” I felt a need to play my cards in favor of his ego to get some points in his good book.

“A couple fainted, one guy urinated on himself and the chief editor seemed to have a stutter problem. They all looked scared or maybe star struck, it’s hard to tell sometimes.” Yes, indeed, I thought.

The Commander has a history of slaying, excessive murdering and having a trigger happy troop at his command. If you want to stay alive around the savage bastard, you better stay in line and follow orders.

“What was the reason for this, shall we say unexpected, demand for an interview?”

“I had a need to put these people back where they belonged, scared shitless and getting a piece of the action, how it feels to actually be on the brink of being killed. I would say they have a very boring life and this kind of experience will make any man appreciate the fact that he is alive.”

“Why was a staff member executed before the interview started?”

He looked a bit dejected at this question and he set his tone of voice as if he was about to correct a naughty wild boor of a child on how to wipe his ass.

“If you don’t start of by killing an innocent bystander you will be treated disrespectfully from the start and no one will take you seriously. And besides, it’s good for the moral of the company to loosen their tight fingers once in a while. ”

For some strange, hypnotic reason The Commander has a way of getting into your brain and every bit of information seems like divine messages. He tries to cover up his thuggish ways with a plastic personality and the “Made in Taiwan” imprint is labeled on the backside of his skull like a warning in neon.

“Do you feel that nervous tick in your brain right now or do you have a sensation of euphoria,” The Commander asks me and this sets me a bit off. Is this a test? Can I answer this wrong? How do I get out of here alive and why didn’t I bring any hand grenades or wire myself up like a suicide bomber? Sweat starts to trickle down my forehead and my vocal cord malfunctions with every effort to sound normal.

“I most certainly feel the need to pee and get some fresh air right now,” I answer and the scrutiny begins with the hopes of finding a good prayer for my last minutes on this earth.

“What made you feel this way?”

“To be honest, you had the effect on me.”

I never learnt any good prayers as a child so I hope my imagination won’t go out on me and not be able to come up with a substitute.

“There you go. Another journalist cured.”

Next his gang of hoodlums shuffle us up and push the butts of their AKs in our backs in a gentle effort to show us the door. At the gate The Savage Commander, the mad hellhound or plainly put; Mad Bastard (I can’t say bastard enough about this guy) shakes my hand and flash his way too white teeth at me and says, “I sure hope we won’t meet again.” Me too, I think to myself and start to rummage through my list of secure houses to spend the rest of my life in after this not so charming piece of extreme journalism has come out.