Song Of The Day 8/1/2016: Sammy Davis Jr. – “The Candy Man”
ANDY WARHOL: What did you have for breakfast this morning?
WILLY WONKA: Flaxseed porridge and black coffee.
ANDY WARHOL: What was your first job?
WILLY WONKA: Taco Bell.
ANDY WARHOL: Who was the nicest person you worked for?
WILLY WONKA: Salvatore at the auto parts store. He showed a lot of patience with me. I had this habit of mixing up transmission fluid and anti-freeze. Guy was a saint.
ANDY WARHOL: Do you keep a diary?
WILLY WONKA: I take down names. That's a list you don't wanna be on.
ANDY WARHOL: Who would be your dream date?
WILLY WONKA: I live and work in an environment that's comprised of physical manifestations of most children's dreams, every day, so the notions of dreams and fantasies are pretty much canceled out for me personally. You know? Especially from the waist down. There's something about working with orange-colored midgets on a daily basis that makes you aware of the unlikelihood of romance.
That said, Susan Sarandon.
ANDY WARHOL: What's your favorite color?
WILLY WONKA: Take a look at my last answer. I've had it with colors. All colors. Yet grayscale is about as appealing to me as a wool sandwich. Wool that you're not supposed to be able eat, unlike the wool in my fucking factory. God! I can't believe the EPA won't even send us a warning. At my place we just frack for fun on Saturday night. What do we need to make? "Willy Wonka's Asbestos Pops?" Will that set off some alarms for once? Seriously. I'm dying to be audited. Just to relieve the anxiety.
ANDY WARHOL: Do you dream?
WILLY WONKA: I dream about brickyards. Masonry. Abandoned copper mines. Someplace where you can't eat the carpet.
ANDY WARHOL: What are you reading right now?
WILLY WONKA: "How to Win Friends and Influence People."
ANDY WARHOL: Don't you want to be a famous painter? It's really easy.
WILLY WONKA: I tried painting in college. I lost interest. Too static.
ANDY WARHOL: Is there anything you regret not doing?
WILLY WONKA: Not getting whole versions of my office equipment. The half-lamp wasn't a big deal, but I probably over-estimated the value of having half a typewriter. It was a phase. I was seeing a woman who was into lunar cycles and I just wanted to impress her.
ANDY WARHOL: Do you think that it is vanity to worry so much about what you look like?
WILLY WONKA: I don't really care if it's vanity. This is showbiz. If you're not vain you're not doing it right.
ANDY WARHOL: Are you always thinking?
WILLY WONKA: Most of the time. The rest I subcontract.
ANDY WARHOL: Do you get depressed if you don't work?
WILLY WONKA: I get depressed if I wake up. Have you looked at this place? It's like Michael Jackson's Neverland decorated by a steampunk convention.
ANDY WARHOL: What's your favorite movie?
WILLY WONKA: "Shoah."
ANDY WARHOL: When do you get nervous?
WILLY WONKA: Focus groups. I'm always worried that they can see me on the other side of that one-way mirror.
ANDY WARHOL: What's the craziest thing a fan has sent you?
WILLY WONKA: Someone sent me the results of their diabetes test in a gold frame. Two weeks later she sent me an hourglass, and then finally she sent a Venetian death mask. So I hired her. She's my benefits administrator.
ANDY WARHOL: What do you think about love?
WILLY WONKA: Nice work if you can get it.
ANDY WARHOL: What are you working on now?
WILLY WONKA: I can't talk too much about it. Let's just say I'm hoping there's an untapped market for root vegetables and malt. I just don't care anymore, man.
ANDY WARHOL: What kind of clothes do you like now?
WILLY WONKA: This old bird never met a pair of velour sweatpants he didn't like.
ANDY WARHOL: Are you interested in furniture?
WILLY WONKA: Not to keep harping on this, but my interest in furniture is inversely proportionate to its edibility. If I never have another butterscotch duvet again it'll still be too soon.
ANDY WARHOL: Do you have a TV?
WILLY WONKA: Not since that little twerp Mike beamed himself into mine. We scaled back after that. I got Netflix on my laptop.
ANDY WARHOL: I don't want to live forever, do you?
WILLY WONKA: Personally I always feel I'm about 45 minutes late for my own wake.