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The Da Vinci Call
The Master ’s shocking revelations about his code,The Last Supper and an unknown apostle
Interview by Paul Jones

(Phone ringing…Machine clicks on) ‘Allo, abastards. You reacha Leo’s aphone. I’ma not in ata the momen’. Leavea the nota. And screwa you mutha! (Beeps)

BEAST: Uh, hello, Mr. Da Vinci, this is The BEAST. We just had some questions for—

(Machine clicks off)

Da Vinci: Yah, ‘allo? Whoa theesa, you say? Tha pizza?

BEAST: No, sir, sorry. This is The BEAST.

Da Vinci: Wheresa my friggin’ pizza? I waita forta-fivea minuta! It’sa free now, eh?

BEAST: I’m sorry, sir, I really don’t know about that. We’re a newspaper.

Da Vinci: A newsapapa? Vaffanculo! I hata tha press. How you getta thees numba?

BEAST: A source provided—

Da Vinci: A saucea? Whata you mean, “a saucea?” You drinka? You takea the drugs, eh?

BEAST: No, a source—a friend of yours gave it to us.

Da Vinci: No frienda mine doa thata to me. Soundsa likea sometheen that Dutcha bastard, Vanna Gogh, awoulda do. Well, whata you wanta from me now?

BEAST: Well, as you know it’s Easter time—

Da Vinci: Oh, brotha, here she’sa come…

BEAST: And we were wondering if you might answer some questions—

Da Vinci: Abouta the painta, right? Isa thata what you want? Eh? To know all abouta the painta!

BEAST: Yes, sir the—

Da Vinci: “The Lasta Suppa!”

BEAST: Right. Yes, that’s—

Da Vinci: Oh, Madonn’. (Mumbling, trails off into silence.)

BEAST: Mr. Da Vinci, are you there?

Da Vinci: Yah, I’ma here. Justa contemplata how I’ma gonna killa that motha humpa, Vincenzo.

BEAST: It wasn’t Van Gogh, sir. Besides, well, Van Gogh’s already—

Da Vinci: Yah, yah, I know: He’sa already adead. So, how I’ma gonna killa him, eh? I’m awarea that, okay? You see why it’sa so complicatea problem?

BEAST: Sure, I suppose…So can we discuss the painting? I only have a few questions.

Da Vinci: You know, I painta otha stuff abesidesa “The Suppa.” Eva heara tha “Mona Lisa?”

BEAST: Yes, of course. It’s very famous. Hey, actually, about that—

Da Vinci: It’sa me, ifa that’sa what you gonna ask. Okay? I enjoya dress upa likea woman—especia’ tha shoes. Unnastan? That’sa that.

BEAST: Uh, right.

Da Vinci: So, you reada the Da Vinci Acode? Isa thata eet?

BEAST: No actually, I haven’t.

Da Vinci: You know how moocha mooney thata swinea, Danna Brown, he makea offa my painta anda my name witha hisa stupid book?

BEAST: No, sir, I don’t…Well, it’s sold like 40 million copies, right?

Da Vinci: You know how moocha Leo makea offa tha painta? Stu cazzo—my pricka! Eh?! Those a scuma-sucka monks, they no likea the painta witha the ‘Postles ashouta. “How comea evaryboodys ashout ata tha table?” they aska me. “We hatea theesa painta!” I havea to gripea for evary penny witha thosea jerks.

BEAST: It was a unique depiction.

Da Vinci: That’sa whatta you pay for witha masta, no? What I’m agonna painta, by a numbas? Maybea Jesus witha unacorns ora sportsacar? No, I painta what I see.

BEAST: So, you’re saying there’s none of the symbolism suggested in The Da Vinci Code?

Da Vinci: I don’ta know nothin’ ‘bouta no asymbolism.

BEAST: Okay, so what about the dagger? Is that Peter wielding it, or is it, you know, a mystery hand?

Da Vinci: It’sa neitha onea those. Thatta hand, she’sa balong to Switchabladea Steve, tha thirtateentha ‘Postle.

BEAST: I wasn’t aware they had switchblades back then—or people named “Steve.”

Da Vinci: Ofa coursea they do. Switchabladea, he’sa midget witha tha bad atempa. Andrew, anutha ‘Postle, he’sa takea the lasta fig froma the table anda Steve—he’sa stumble arounda drunk ona tha floor—he’sa scream out, “I’ma cutta you fatta face, Andy!” So that’sa what I painta: people ina tha scene—thata s’all. They havea the dinna, justa likea normal apeople, with a lotsa talka anda that’sa what I do.

BEAST: So you imagined a much more boisterous scene?

Da Vinci: What I’ma talka, tha Spanish? I justa say: I painta what I see. I don’ta ‘magine anothin’. I goa there and painta tha scene justa like ita happen anda—

BEAST: Wait, wait. What do you mean you “go there?” Went where?

Da Vinci: Atlantica City, you jackass. I go to the dinna!

BEAST: You’re saying you were actually at the Last Supper?

Da Vinci: Well, ita wasn’ta my lasta suppa, ifa you know what I’ma mean. Unlessa my pizza, she’sa neva come! I cutta that Papa John’s astomach open!

BEAST: About the painting…

Da Vinci: Yeah, yeah, that’sa what I’ma say. I cannota usea ‘magination—ifa I coulda do that, you thinka I’da painta myself ina tha woman aclothes? I havea to see for myself whatta happen. That’sa my astyle.

BEAST: I don’t believe that for a second. That’s crazy—it’s not possible.

Da Vinci: Hey, you calla me, okay? You aska Leo tha questia’, I givea you ansa.

BEAST: But how—

Da Vinci: Eh! How?! I’ma inventa, no? I’m inventa tha machine. That’sa what I do.

BEAST: Well, what was it like?

Da Vinci: It wasa pain ina my ass! Nobody she’sa listen to Leo. Thosea guys—Jesus anda the ‘Postles—they a booncha prima donnas.

BEAST: But what—

Da Vinci: They’sa fishamen, okay? But boy dida they drinka likea tha fish! I thinka that’sa why they makea thatta symbol ina the sand! It’sa gooda thing Jesus can makea alla tha wine ahimself. Lemme tella you—he’sa say, “Thees eesa mya blood…” Thosa ‘Postle, they sucka heem dry. Reala vampapires! (Makes drinking motion.) Aftawards, it’sa getta real outta hand. Some of tha ‘Postle, they starta drinkin’ alla my paints—they don’ta care. James, he’sa swallow five brushes.

BEAST: What were they like? Did you get to talk to any of them?

Da Vinci: Notta so mucha, you know? They screama the whole time ata Jesus: “Eh, Jesus, can I havea you tools whenna you dead?!” “Eh, Jesus, whosea gonna bop aMary aMagdalene whenna you gone? Howsaboutta me?” Judas, I rememba, he wasa very upasetta whena Jesus says he wasa goin’ so soon. He saysa, “Eh, Jesus, you promise to makea mea bed beforea you go to the heaven. Now, I’ma sleepa ona tha floo’ fo’ eva!”

BEAST: You mentioned Mary Magdalene. Is that her in the seat next to Jesus?

Da Vinci: Ah, no. And onna theesa point there wasa beega fighta betweena me and tha ‘Postles anda Jesus. Tha women, includa botha Marys, they cooka tha food alla day and makea evarytheen alla nice. But whenna she’sa comea time afora the pictcha, they don’t wanna no women. I wasa crazy witha rage. I almosta saysa “Forget it. I’ma notta do it.” Thena Mary, Jesus amotha’, she’sa come ova to me, with a pouch. She saysa to me, “Look, why don’ta you takea some a’thees amoney, somea silva, okay? I gotta geeva somea to Judas alata on, for a fava, but he won’ta notice ifa some isa missin’.” So, I painta the pictcha.

BEAST: Huh. So, it’s John sitting next to Jesus then?

Da Vinci: Yeah, he wasa strange, thatta one. Alla night, he’sa keep tella me he’sa gonna havea the virgin abirth, justa likea Mary. I saysa, “Oh, who’sa you wife?” He saysa ta me, “Wife? Whatta you talkinabout?” I justa rolla my eyes, grabba my drink and go talka to Peter. He knowsa ‘lotta ‘bout tha real estatea and I wasa lookin’ for tha ‘partment.

BEAST: And you’re not a member of this secret group, the Priory of Sion?

Da Vinci: Eh? Tha Scion? She’sa piece a’crappa car makea by the Toyota—that’sa all I know. I ahear it’sa driven bya fagulas. Only theeng aLeo belonga to eesa tha bocce club. Anda nothin’ else. Eh? We got our owna shirts. My nickaname isa “Mona.” Mya teammates, thosea summabitches, they stitcha thatta name ona my shirt. But, I’ma finea with that. I’ma not gonna stabba them all with a tha scissa’, o’ cut offa they balls. Okay?

BEAST: Uh, okay…Well, I guess that’s it. I don’t have any more questions. Thanks for clarifying everything.

Da Vinci: Yah, that’sa no problem. So, you don’t gotta my pizza, then, eh?

BEAST: No, I’m really very sorry. I don’t have any pizza for you.

Da Vinci: Don’ta worry. It’sa notta you fault.

BEAST: All right, well goodbye.

Da Vinci: Yah, okay, go screwa you mutha.

 

BEAST Blog

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Big Fat Whale by Brian McFadden
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