text: Interviewer: Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Naswhit, for doing this interview with me. I really appreciate it. Harry: No problem. Bertha: It’s fine. Interviewer: ...All right then, let’s just get into it. Now Harry--do you mind if I call you Harry? Harry: Are you implying something by that? Interviewer: Not at all, Mr. Naswhit. Harry: But I thought you wanted to call me Harry! Interviewer: I, uh, it doesn’t really matter-- Harry: You can call me Harry. Interviewer: Okay then, so Harry-- Bertha: I call him Har. Interviewer: He.. you... okay, um, as I was saying-- Bertha: Even though he’s bald. Harry: Be quiet, Bertha, you’re embarrassing me. Interviewer: So as I was saying... no interruptions? Okay? So the first question I wanted to ask was-- Harry: But you already asked your first question. You asked if you could call-- Interviewer: I know! I know, Mr. Naswhit. I am fully aware, thank you. So if we could just get to the questions-- Bertha: We hit a squirrel on the way here. Harry: She’s lying. We just got here ten minutes ago. Besides, there aren’t any squirrels in Heaven. Interviewer: And that’s how I’d like to begin this interview, if you don’t mind. How did you two get here? Bertha: Well, it all started last night when we decided to spend the night in a graveyard. Harry: No we didn’t, you old hag. It was no one’s decision. You burned the house down with a gas leak from the stove and we both died in the fire. Bertha: Well, it was still my decision. I wanted to visit that graveyard. Graveyards are cool. Harry: Literally. Our tomb was about negative ninety degrees. Bertha: You’re negative ninety degrees. Harry: What-- Interviewer: Okay, we can move on to the next question, if that’s all right? Bertha: Fine. Harry: Fine. Interviewer: So, Bertha, what was it like setting fire to your house? Did you do it on purpose? Bertha: Absolutely. Harry: Not. Bertha: Dammit Harry, if you’d let me answer my own questions for just one minute-- Harry: You’re not capable of that. You’re a woman. Interviewer: Um, it’s 2018-- Harry: Shut up. Interviewer: Harry-- Harry: It’s Naswhit to you. Interviewer: Fine. Naswhit-- Harry: Mr. Naswhit. Bertha: Harry-- Harry: Shut up, Bertha. Bertha: No, the question was addressed to me. As for how it felt burning the house down, it was a completely-- Harry: Unintentional, useless action that everyone thought was stupid. Interviewer: Um, maybe we just move on to the next question, okay? Bertha: But you were asking me! Interviewer: I know, and I really wish you could answer, but your husband seems to-- Harry: We’re not married. Bertha: We’re siblings. Interviewer: B... but it says right here that you live together, and have two sons--I’m not quite sure I understand-- Harry: We’re from Arkansas. What did you expect? Bertha: I believe they call it “in chest” or something like that in the north. Harry: I think it’s “incest.” Anyways, we make love every night. Isn’t that right, Bertha? Bertha: M-hmm. Interviewer: I, uh, think I’m gonna gooo... Harry: No! Stay! Don’t make me use the arm, now. Bertha: Use the arm, Harry. Interviewer: Let go of me! Harry: Ha! Now, you just stay sitting in your chair, there. Bertha! Bertha: I’m right here, you old coot. You don’t have to shout. Harry: I left my hearing aids in Wyoming. Bertha: When were you in Wyoming? Harry: Just last fall--look, just give me the rope. Bertha: Hey you, stop! Harry! Harry: We could've stopped the escape if we had the rope right away--here--lie still, now. It’s just a chair. And some rope. Interviewer: They let you bring rope into Heaven? Harry: This is Heaven? Interviewer: ...Uh, yeah, it is. Harry: Well golly dang, I thought this was Hell, or at least Purgatory. Interviewer: Um, why? What--you’re literally surrounded by white! There are golden gates like five meters away from us! Harry: Oh, you stupid Europeans, with your metric system, think you’re so fancy and all. Well take that! And that! Interviewer: Please stop hitting me, Mr. Naswhit. Harry: Hmph. Bertha: Sit down again, honey. Don’t let some uppity European ruin your day. Interviewer: I’m from Canada. Bertha: Oh, whatever. It’s all the same to me. Those stupid foreigners think they can just cross our borders and take whatever they want-- Interviewer: I’ve never set foot inside the States in my entire life. Bertha: And for good reason! Interviewer: Can we just... can we just finish the interview so you can untie me? I’m on watch duty in, like, five minutes and I can’t go until I’ve asked all the questions on this clipboard. Bertha: Fi-- Harry: Sure. Bertha: Harry, can’t you ever let me finish a sen-- Harry: You’re a woman, Bertha. Let me do the talking. Interviewer: I’m a woman. Harry: You? Interviewer: Yes. Harry: ...You? Interviewer: For the love of God, yes! I don’t care that I have short hair! I’m twenty-one, and it also happens to be the twenty-first century, so please just-- Harry: Darn feminists. Ruin everything. Interviewer: Mr. Naswhit, please-- Harry: It’s Harry to you. Bertha: I’m Bertha. Interviewer: I know, Bertha. This is Heaven. I’m the one who-- Harry: This is Heaven? Interviewer: We’ve already established that! Harry: Well, I thought it was Purgatory. Interviewer: You’re a Christian. You don’t believe in Purgatory. Harry: Well, I didn’t think so either, and then when we came up we had to be interviewed by you and I was just thinking, well, this can’t ever be Heaven, because what kind of Heaven makes you be interviewed by a girl with short hair? Interviewer: Harry, for the freaking last time-- Bertha: It’s Mrs. Naswhit to you. Interviewer: I wasn’t talking to you! Bertha: Oysters! Interviewer: Whatever. I don’t care anymore. I’ll get in a heck ton of trouble, but I don’t care. One of you, untie me, please. The rope is making it hard to breathe. Harry: Bertha. Bertha: Harry. Interviewer: It doesn’t matter! Here, Bertha, okay? Bertha, untie me please. Bertha: Fine. Harry: Fine. Interviewer: Thank you. Harry: You’re welcome. Bertha: I’m the one who-- Harry: Well yes, but you’re a woman, you see-- Interviewer: Holy crap.