A short introduction on my muse, Malcolm. He was assigned to me by Calliope, Queen of the muses, as some sort of sick joke. His natural (is ANYTHING natural about Mal?) shape is that of the mythical griffin, though he can shape-change. He doesn't like to, however, and you can always tell by his ever-gold eyes and bitchy comments. Really. He's a misogynistic, racist, sexist, sad little shit. The best example of his personality is the interview with me and Brooke Shields (an addiction to the comic strip
the malcolm interview
Brooke Shields: Two months ago, Calliope assigned writer mamfa with a muse. Today, we're going to see how they got on.
Mamfa: Did mummy teach you to read that?
Brooke Shields: *thinks hard* Fuck off.
Mamfa: Oh, mature. Is that the only talent you have?
Malcolm: You should talk, you stupid dyke.
Mamfa: Bite me, birdbrain.
Malcolm: I daren't. I might catch something.
Mamfa: As you can't see, this is Malcolm, my new muse. He's a recent graduate of the Imagination Collegium, majoring in advanced angst.
Malcolm: Talentless twit.
Mamfa: Be nice to the interviewer, Malcolm. Again, as you can't see, he's a griffin, a member of an apparently extinct mythical species, though he can shift his shape if he wants to.
Malcolm: It's uncomfortable.
Mamfa: Anyway, naturally, he's a griffin. That involves an eagle's head and wings, and a lions body. He's got a bunch of feather boas –
Malcolm: I have a feathered tail and feet, you Jeffersonian twat!
Mamfa: I'm sorry, that was your insult? As I was saying, he's got feather boas on his feet and his tail --
Malcolm: That's--!
Mamfa: --because he's secretly repressed and in deep denial.
Malcolm: Are you suggesting something?
Mamfa: Me?
Malcolm: I'll leave the unnatural disgusting sexual perversions to you and your kind.
Mamfa: Good, cos there's no way you're ever going to get any. Ahem. As you can hear, Malcolm is a bigot—
Malcolm: What? What?
Mamfa: --with a slightly effete British accent. Think Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady.
Malcolm: The man who spoke instead of singing? But I have a lovely singing voice!
Mamfa: You sound like a chicken being fucked by a rhino.
Malcolm: Well, at least I'm not the one with the mental disease.
Mamfa: And that was such a brilliant comeback. Anyway, Mal is extremely homophobic…
Malcolm: I'm not!
Mamfa: You are. And you're a snide, misogynist, sexist, chauvinistic, racist, smugly superior asshole besides.
Malcolm: How you flatter me, bitch.
Mamfa: I don't know what Calliope was thinking, assigning me this one. Unless it's only to get some entertainment out of hearing us fight.
Malcolm: She is my slave. She's a whore and a slut, and I bend her to my sexual will.
Mamfa: Oh, please. That's another thing – he's always coming out with things like that.
Malcolm: Perfectly understandable. I am a stunning example of my species.
Mamfa: Only through the Colonel's eyes, Tweety.
Malcolm: She wants me.
Mamfa: She wants to kill you. Who was it who woke me up, parading around looking like Obi-Wan Kenobi chanting, 'Who's got the force, baby! Oh yeah! STRONG in the force am I!'
Malcolm: You drooled on your shoes.
Mamfa: (defensive) I like Ewan MacGregor.
Malcolm: Amazing.
Mamfa: What? That I'm so shallow as to lust after a celebrity?
Malcolm: No, that you noticed something with a dick.
Mamfa: Listen you, I'm bisexual, not a lesbian. There's a difference.
Malcolm: Yeah, lesbians are faithful.
Mamfa: that's it—
Brooke Shields: If I could suggest…
Mamfa and Malcolm: Shut up!
Mamfa: You are dinner. Griffin flambé served for two, comin' right up…
Malcolm: (sneering) You couldn't kill a tossed salad. You couldn't even top yourself, remember?
Mamfa: (goes an interesting shade of purple) I don't mention that. NOBODY mentions that. It didn't happen…
Malcolm: (sing-song) Oh yes it did! You were feeling sorry for yourself, and you got a knife…
Mamfa: Shut UP!
Brooke: Have you tried counseling?
Mamfa: (stands, hikes up her sleeve and punches the Shields monster) Stupid vapid idiot.
Malcolm: She really pisses you off, doesn't she?
Mamfa: 'Suddenly Susan' is a travesty against the human intelligence.
Malcolm: Much like this situation – stuck with a woman who won't sleep with me.
Mamfa: Diddums. Shift into a Remy form and go chase a Mhaire fictive.
Malcolm: Isn't there ANYTHING we agree on?
Mamfa: Hmm. Let's see – I'm tolerant, manic-depressive, musical, insecure, easy-going, and Australian.
Malcolm: Heh. Convict.
Mamfa: Effete British fairy.
Malcolm: Why I ought to…!
Mamfa: You've even got wings.
Malcolm: (Sputters)
Mamfa: (continuing) While you're repressed, racist, sexist, unimaginative, violent homophobe. Worse, you're snide.
Malcolm: Snide! Snide, madam!
Mamfa: Madam?
Malcolm: Well, you're certainly a dominatrix… Urgh! Gah! Arrgh!
Mamfa: Serves you right. And keep that beak to yourself, I'm still healing from the last time you savaged me.
Malcolm: And I hope it gets gangrenous and kills you.
Mamfa: The feelings is oh so mutual.
Malcolm: That's something we agree on.
Mamfa: That and the lack of talent in Brooke Shields. And we despise each other.
Malcolm: Well, you're a bleeding-heart dyke with delusions of literature.
Mamfa: And you're a shallow bastard with prime real estate on a river in Egypt.
Malcolm: I am NOT in denial! I am a MUSE, dammit!
Mamfa: Hah! The only thing you ever inspire is nausea.
Malcolm: Oh, that's right, blame me for your lack of ability.
Mamfa: Every chance I get, sunshine.
Malcolm: Has the Shields monster revived yet?
Mamfa: Still out cold.
Malcolm: Well, at least there is that.
Mamfa: Small mercies, birdbrain.
Malcolm: Oh, fuck off.