The interview

A bright shining sun showed itself off on the day the promising young reporter Peter Proud entered his supervisor's office in order to obtain yet another invigorating assignment.

The nice not-too-hot sun; the wift of south-east wind that didn't even show the slightest sign of cold; the luscious green lawns in front of the rich people's houses at the boulevard; the wealth in blooming flowers, trees, plants and ornametal growths; the all-blue sky; the almost complete inexistence of disturbing phenomena like rain or coldness; the cheerful zooming by of spacious cars sparsely filled with only the driver; the healthy roar and rumble of souped-up mopeds and scooters; the grunting and squeaking of a passing bicycle, many years old but no doubt capable of sustaining another period at least that long; the moaning and groaning of its driver who had come all the way from the other side of town, accompanied by the crashing of a broken wheel on the asphalt and the short, abruptly cut off shrieking of an unlucky cyclist after the collision; all of them tell-tale signs of the shining and succesfull day that lay ahead. He, lowly newspaper reporter Peter Proud, had been chosen to meet the great author of big people's books (childrens literature in other words), Andreas Argent - obviously a pseudonym, in real life names don't alliterate - and conduct with him an interesting, fascinating and above all civilized interview without any annoying questions.

 He started out with it right away. Curioulsly enough the author wasn't exactly inclined to be cooperative, especially with regards to the part of keeping it nice. His answers were all obscene and rude, definitely not the kind of thing to put in a decent newspaper.

For one thing, when Peter asked "And, Mr. author, how exactly do you do your writing?", the man showed him a grisly, chewed-on, unseemly little stub of pencil en said "with this, on a piece of toilet paper. THE way to write a story to wipe your ass with!" and he just carried on  like this.

Choking with repulsion, but remaining polite, our promising young reporter finally thanked the author for the interview and hurried to the nearest establishment where nice people would consume small glasses of thin beer and liquor. There he got it all off his chest and tried to put some hair back on it with a good glass of non-alcoholic cider. He then hasted back to his cublicle at the newspaper's to transform his notes into printable language. My word, what a prole this author was!

We now proceed to the next day and find our promising young reporter Peter Proud reading the newspaper to which he contributes daily against a moderate fee, blissfully satisfied in having been able to render a decent story out of his interview with the famous author Andreas Argent.

All of a sudden this complacent tranquility is being disturbed by the door being thrown wide open in an inappropriate and brutal way, with such force that it bounces back from the little rubber doorstopper and bangs closed loudly behind the fierce creature storming in. It's the author!

Making ample use of the muscular, obscene vocabulary ogf the lesser citizen, the author lashed out against the stupefied young reporter, who was forced to listen to things that we for the sake of common decency can't reproduce (should we feel inclined to).

Submitted to these evil influences, a terrible transformation took place in the young lad. He rose from the comfortable seat in which he shortly before had been enjoying his humble contribution to the newspaper, and replied to his adversary using such language that it makes me downright ashamed to be his spiritual father. Following this despicable display of badly reacting to the author who had merely come to, albeit through the use of strong language, complain about the fact that the article totally did not reflect the things he had said in the interview, our promising young reporter Peter Proud was instantaneously discharged from his job by his decorum nd decency loving supervisor.

And what, I ask you, did our promising young reporter do? He became a writer as well and even managed to get famous, honestly! So i guess it just goes to show, handle dirt and you get dirty...

Ok I probably failed miserably in conveying the way the original story was written and the last sentence should have contained a corny proverb but I couldn't come up with a proper translation. Oh well