“Now, before we begin, how attached are you to your cervix?”
Michael Fassbender is the cover interview for the June 2012 issue of GQ, so if you’re in the mood for reading about the trials and tribulations of everyone making jokes about how huge your penis is while the writer awkwardly tries not to make cock jokes of his own, go ahead and give that a read. In the meantime, here’s the intro which is either meant to paint Michael Fassbender as a heroin addict or a man who has no qualms about quickly banging a woman then tossing her out the fire escape while a reporter waits right outside his apartment:
If he’s going to take me home with him, Michael Fassbender first needs a moment alone. That’s the one thing he asks. We’ve been walking and talking for a while in a local park, but he didn’t even mention that we were close by his apartment until the increasingly heavy rain triggered his sense of hospitality. “Just give me two seconds to do a little bit of a sort of tidy-up,” he requests. “My mother wouldn’t be happy.”
I wait in the stairwell, glad just to be getting no wetter, until he swings open the door.
“Okay!” he beams. “Welcome to my flat!”
Made your guess? Let’s see how you did:
In the middle of the room is a mini Ping-Pong table, borrowed from his British agent, who lives nearby. “Now that it’s here,” says Fassbender, “it’s not going. This table has been the best contribution for fun I’ve had in a long time. This table has seen some action…” He pauses, laughs. “That sounds wrong.”
But has it? I say, gently pushing.
“Just the paddles,” he deflects, and of course he then realizes that this sounds wrong, too, in exactly the same way.
Somewhere Alexander Skarsgard just pulled out a broadsword and yelled something about there being only one, except nobody could hear him over the deafening SPLOOSH of a thousand vaginas moistening at once. THE QUICKWETTENING IS AT HAND!