“Mr. Robbins, good morning. Thanks for coming, especially at this early hour. Can I offer you something to drink? I have a Kuerig machine, so the sky’s the limit. Coffee? Espresso? Tea?”
“Fuck that shit. Where’s your liquor cabinet?”
“Ah, it’s right here sir. But…”
“Gimme that bottle of Wild Turkey.”
“Sure, Mr. Robbins. Let me get you a glass with some ice.”
“Fuck that noise. I’ll drink straight from the bottle. Now where are your drugs?”
“My drugs? Tony Robbins, I gotta say, you're not like the guy you are on TV."
“God damn it man, don’t hold out me. Gimme all your drugs.”
“OK, sure Mr. Robbins. I’ve got some Xantac, some Rolaids, Aspirin….”
“Quit fucking around, you God damned Communist. I said drugs. Drugs, God damn it. It's my birthday.”
“You mean like prescription drugs? I have some Lipitor..."
“Look, kid. I’m not sure you know who you’re dealing with right now. If we’re gonna talk, we need at least two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.”
“Holy shit. You’re not Tony Robbins, you’re…”
“Yes. Too weird to live and too strange to die!"
"Holy shit. Tony Robbins is actually the reincarnation of..."
"Shhhhh…you can't speak my name aloud. Nor can I admit my true identity. If I do, He’s gonna put me on the same cloud as Nixon for all eternity."
“Your secret is safe with me, “Tony”. Here, here’s what I have left from my Silk Road days. Have at it. I highly recommend the 2C-B. And here, I got plenty of whippets. So what's it like being "Tony Robbins"?"
"The money's good, that's for sure. And it's nice having really white teeth. But other than that, it sucks. Especially the people. I think that's why God chose Tony Robbins. He was obviously not amused by my Horatio Alger references. But I'm still writing, and none of it makes sense unless you know what I'm trying to say, so at least I still got that going for me."
"Huh. I'm not sure if I should be happy for you or not, but I'm glad you're here. Happy Birthday."
“Thank you. Now listen, Frank, I came here to tell you something, so before I forget, I have some advice for you. And it’s important. I know exactly what you need to do to get people to read this shit, and it has nothing to do with this bullshit advice you’ve been getting from those old dead ad guys you’ve been talking to. And it definately has nothing to do with the intersection between linear storytelling and social media. The answer is simple, if you want people to read this blog, all you need to do is…Great sweet mother of Jesus, what is that foul beast over there in the corner?”
“That dragon that looks like Spiro Agnew. Make it stop menacing me.”
“Mr. Robbins, that’s Monty. She’s my beagle. Sounds like the 2C-B is working. Do another whippet, then tell me what I need to do to get people to read this. Please.”
“God damn it, you’ve lured me into some sort of fiendish trap. That dragon over there is flapping its wings, and look, its face is morphing from Spiro Agnew into Bebe Rebozo. No way I’m going to let that savage beast tear me asunder. We can't stay here, this is dragon country."
“Mr. Robbins? Tony, come back. Please, come back. Tony? Please?"