The Gabbler: First of all, thank you so, so much for being here today! It’s really such an honor to meet someone so important to the history of mankind. I’m just kind of floored to be in the same room with you, to be honest.

Donald Trump: I tend to have that effect on people.

TG: …I was talking to Vasco da Gama, actually. Not that your work on The Apprentice wasn’t illuminating Mr. Trump. I mean, it was no sea route to India, opening Portugal up to trade with India without going through the Mediterranean or the Arabian Peninsula, but Bethenny Frankel sure is making her mark on the Bravo network. All thanks to the start you gave her!

DT: Actually Bethenny was on the Martha Stewart season.

TG: Right. But please, Donald, can I call you Donald? Why don’t you let Vasco speak for a second? Or at least move so I can stare deep into those beautiful brown eyes. Oh what they must have seen!

Vasco da Gama: Why thank you, Senhorita. Your eyes, too, are endless pools of understanding and curiosity.

DT: What does that even mean?! Listen, with all due respect lady, your eyes are putrid pools of liberal brainwashing. Let’s get to the real important topic: making America great again.

TG: Well, actually we’re here to talk about something else: ignorance. Vasco, how do you feel ignorance has helped you in your life?

VdG: Ignorance was the beginning of everything Senhorita. I did not know that there was a traversable sea route to India, so I left my home and travelled far, through treacherous waters, around the Cape of Good Hope, risking my life and the lives of my men to find the answer, to find the one route that would not result in total wreckage. And before now I was ignorant to what true beauty was. But I discovered it as soon as I saw your face.

TG: Oh, Vasco, please! I’m blushing!

DT: So you’re telling me that all this schmuck did was find the way to get to India? I can do that. Step one: get on my private jet. Step two: Tell them to take me to India. Done.

TG: Well, yeah, but he was the FIRST to do it. Because he admitted that he didn’t know the answer so he went out and sought it. What was the last time you had to go out in search of answer?

DT: Never. You wanna know why? I was born with the answers. They’re all up here, beneath my full head of hair. Trump see all, hears all, knows all.

TG: But isn’t that kind of the point? If all of human knowledge fits inside of Donald Trump’s brain, aren’t we done moving forward?

DT: Well we better start moving forward, toward the Reagan era, now that Obama’s been moving us backwards toward socialism. Time to make America great again!

VdG: If I may, Senhorita, isn’t the first step to knowing admitting that you do not know? Is life not an endless exploration, a search for the answers to our most profound, and most even most petty, questions? Without questions, what are we, but apes trumpeting our own greatness to the troop?

DT: Did you just call me an ape? With a mug like that, you should look in the mirror before you start throwing stones. Glass houses and all.

TG: And I don’t think someone with hair as disastrous as yours should criticize a man with such a gorgeous, flowing beard, Donald. Anyway, let’s get on to something more important. What’s it like to really, truly alter the course of human history?

DT: It’s truly humbling. But the economic enterprises I’ve built are nothing compared to what I’ll do as president!

TG: Yeah, I was talking to Vasco again.

VdG: Oh, I would not say that I’ve changed the course of anything, Senhorita. I am but one man on the endless search for knowledge.

DT: Well I don’t need to search for what I already have.

TG: Really? And since you know so much, how DO you get to India from Portugal by sea?

DT: I told you: you jump on Trump Air and cruise in style. But I guess if you’re going to be real insistent about this whole “sea route” thing, then we can hop on my yacht. Captain Pete will get us there.

VdG: You must stick close to the coast of Africa the whole way, of course.

DT: AFRICA?! I’m not a big fan of that country-bunch of whiny freeloaders if you ask me.

TG: Well that was wrong and offensive on a few levels. Perhaps it’s time that we end the interview, so Vasco and I can go check out that new wine bar they just opened up down the street from my completely-empty-because-my-roommate’s-gone-for-the-weekend apartment.

VdG: I would love to, bela.

DT: God, I should have known a lib like you would be kind of slutty. How about I come along and show YOU how to be great again, huh?

TG: Well on that note, I’ll leave it to readers who they’d rather be: the proudly ignorant and insatiably curious and incurably handsome Vasco da Gama, or the “knowledgeable” Donald Trump. Come on Vasco, let’s blow this popsicle stand.

DT: Whatever. You’re ugly, anyway.

The Gabbler: Welcome, Brontosaurus! It’s so great to meet you!

Brontosaurus: Bow down to your overloard, Homo sapiens! The noble thunder lizard has come to reclaim his existence! And his throne!

TG: Woah, woah, woah, calm down. Let’s not be too hasty. It’s 2015 AD, you know. We don’t really have overlords anymore. This isn’t the Jurassic Period or Westoros or anything.

B: Hahaha, sweetheart, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I was just kidding. That noble thunder lizard is a joke. You guys are terrible at naming things, you do know that, right?

TG: Do I ever! I mean, Homo sapiens means “wise man.” And while I DO Know some pretty good fart jokes, I’m always worried that they’re not quite wise ENOUGH. You know?

B: Absolutely. Speaking of farts, remember that time you guys thought we farted our way to extinction? That was classic.

TG: Oh yeah! That was HILARIOUS. But we’re here to talk about your really exciting news: you’re your own real species and not just a baby Apatosaurus, like we’ve believed since 1903. Congrats on getting your existence back!

B: Thanks, babe. You know, I’ll be honest: it’s been a really tough road. When I was discovered in 1879 I thought: this was it! My big break. And then that TOTAL DOUCHEFACE Elmer Riggs came around and decided I wasn’t even real! And for the next 100 years, it was like I didn’t exist. Except, of course, you know, in science textbooks taught in school, in popular movies and TV shows, on a special commemorative stamp in 1989, and in the imaginations of children everywhere. But meanwhile there were literally tens of paleontologists doubting my existence. It was infuriating!

TG: That sounds awful. Being told you were an Apatosaurus must have been a real Matrix moment for you.

B: Matrix moment?

TG: You know, that moment when you’re watching The Matrix for the first time and you think “ohmygod, what if none of this is real? What if I’M in the matrix? How long will I have to wait until a hunky, ethnically ambiguous man named Neo comes to save humanity from the machines after making out with me a whole bunch???” I chopped off all my hair and wore a lot of full-body leather suits waiting for my Neo. But I’m going to let you in on a little secret: Neo’s not coming. Because the matrix isn’t real.

B: Don’t sweat it, babe, with legs as sexy as yours, you’ll find somebody one day. They’re so short and stubby and round, any dude would be lucky to have you.

TG: Ummmm, thanks, I think? So what are you going to do now that the world has discovered you’re real again?

B: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe go viral, monopolize headlines around the globe, hang out with Fred Flinstone, and star in Land Before Time 75: Brontosaurus Is Back. You know, just a casual day in being actually real.

TG: Yeah, and then maybe check out an advanced screening of Jurassic Park! That Chris Pratt sure is dreamy now that he’s finally dropped all that first year of marriage weight.

B: No, thanks, I don’t do remakes.

TG: Okay. But, like who was even in the original? Jeff Goldblum? Chris Pratt could crush him with one luscious bicep!

B: Babe, if you ever, and I mean EVER, shit talk Jeff Goldblum in front of me again, we’re going to have a problem. Capiche?

TG: Okay, okay, I got it. And since when did brontosauruses learn Italian? Aren’t you from Wyoming?

B: I’m from Utah, actually, but I have some family from Wyoming. Good guys.

TG: Okay…moving on. What do you say to the paleontologists who question the conclusions of this study? Some are saying that the only reason that you’re now classified as your own species is because the paleontologists who studied your bones completely redefined what a species is.

B: Listen, I get it, okay? Scientists have a lot of trouble defining species in the past. It’s pretty straightforward with animals that exist: if they can reproduce and create viable off-spring then bam! you’re the same species. But when you’re dealing with something that’s extinct, all you have are bones (and not the fun, reproducing kind, if you know what I mean!). So, yeah, there’s going to be controversy and all of these semantics over what is a species really.

TG: So you don’t exist? You’re an Apatosaurus after all?!

B: Oh, I exist. I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I grew up right next to an Apatosaurus and she was one hot dish, if you know what I mean. Her legs were stout as fuck and her tail just went on for yards. And not to kiss and tell, but if we had been able to produce viable offspring, we would have, with all the “reproducing” we were, if you know what I mean.

TG: Well, that sounds pretty definitive to me. #science! How do all of your friends feel about your great news? Is T-Rex taking it well?

B: Babe, I don’t know T-Rex. He’s 65 million years old; I’m 155 million. Me hanging out with T-Rex would make as much sense as you going on Kik to talk about how fleek Becky G is.

TG: I don’t know what any of those words mean, but I think you just called me old?

B: Sorry. But to the kids on Kik, you and I are basically the same age.

TG: Ouch. So we’re playing hardball, are we? Well at least I’m not extinct!

B: Keep denying climate change and you will be soon enough, don’t worry.

TG: WOAH. I believe in climate change, okay? I GET it.

B: Yeah? And how’s your green living going?

TG: I think I’m doing pretty well, thank you very much. I mean, sure, I have an SUV, but I NEED it to get to work and stuff. And you know, I go to Ikea like at least once every two years, so it wouldn’t make sense to have a smaller car. Where would I put all of the vegetable shaped throw pillows and cheap bookcases that I buy? And sure, I keep my heat at 80 all winter but you get it, right? You’re cold-blooded!

B: But you’re not.

TG: I might be. You don’t know my life.

B: Listen, babe, you do what you want. You’ll probably be fine. It’s more your grandchildren’s grandchildren that I’m worried about.

TG: Oh thank god. My care lease isn’t up for another year, so I’m definitely not giving that up any time soon. Well, I think that’s all our time. I’m sure you have plans with pterodactyl? Stegosaurus? Am I getting closer?

B: Yeah, Steggy and I are pretty close.

TG: See, I know stuff! Well, thanks for meeting with me! And congrats again on your re-instated existence!

B: Thanks, babe.

We live in very exclamatory times. Thanks to the internet, we have a ton of outlets for our enthusiasm, most commonly expressed by the use (and overuse) of the exclamation point. But have you ever paused to consider how the Exclamation Point feels about this sudden turn in the spotlight? To find out The Gabbler sat down with him and had quite the illuminating conversation.

The Gabbler: Hi there Exclamation Point!!! Thank you so much for meeting with me today!!!

Exclamation Point: Good morning. It’s lovely to meet you.

TG: Well that was…calm. Are you feeling all right?

EP: But of course. Am I acting strangely?

TG: You could be a little more enthusiastic! Like, this is the first time I’ve EVER met a punctuation mark! And you’re going to get your name splashed in lights, right there on the Gabbler home page! Isn’t that MAJOR?!

EP: Well, I suppose. I’m more on the shy side, as far as punctuation is concerned. If you wanted someone who’s used to the spotlight, why not interview the period? He’s everywhere. Or perhaps the comma? He’s a big fan of controversy, as anyone who has ever engaged in the Oxford comma debate could tell you.

TG: That’s SOOO interesting!!! You know so much punctuation gossip! But why so shy?! You’re it, baby! You’re the center of all heightened human emotion!

EP: Well that’s just it, isn’t it? Most emotion isn’t heightened. So I’m really not used to being used much. It’s only lately, with the advent of the internet, that I’ve been everywhere it seems. In your emails, your G-chats, your Twitter feed. 140 characters and you use me four times? Now doesn’t that seem like quite the waste to you? I’m just not used to all the attention, I suppose.

TG: Okay, Exclamation Point. Let’s start at the beginning, then. Ease you into it. Where did you come from?  Where does any punctuation come from? Where do WE even come from?! What does this all mean?!

EP: I think I may only be able to answer one of those questions sufficiently. For the rest I’d refer you to any major world religion or the philosophy class of your choosing. As for my origins, it’s said that I come from the Latin io, which was added to sentences to denote great joy. Eventually they moved the “i” over the “o” and I was born. For the longest time, I was used sparingly to denote a sense of wonderment. I wasn’t even added to keyboards until the 1970s.

TG: But now you’re everywhere! It must be so great to be so famous!

EP: But that’s the point, isn’t it? I used to MEAN something. When you saw me, you knew, just knew, that something big had just happened. That someone had said or done something worth commenting on. Real enthusiasm, really human joy or anger or sorrow: your sweetheart is back from the war, or has left you for another man, or has died unexpectedly in a car crash. It was REAL, substantial human emotion fit for the occasion. Now I accompany every greeting, every email sign off, every single Facebook status. As if you’ll all die if you’re not enthusiastic every second of every day.

TG: But enthusiasm is SO important, you know? Like, how will people know that I’m a nice, sincere person, if I don’t pepper all correspondence with exclamation points? Then I’ll just seem rude!

EP: Isn’t that the point? That it’s NOT sincere to throw an explanation point on the end of a passive aggressive sentence to Julie in Marketing just to make it seem like you’re telling her nicely to stop taking coffee breaks and do her goddamn job?

TG: YOU have a Julie in Marketing, too? Ours is the worst!

EP: I can so unequivocally that your Julie is not the worst. Because in five minutes I’m sure the burrito you bought for lunch will be the worst and then the graphic designer you meet for drinks tonight will be the worst, and don’t you understand? Most of life is not lived in the extremes! Nothing is the worst! Nothing is the best! There is no use for me! Not all the time!

TG: I see I finally convinced you that exclamation points are useful.

EP: No comment.

TG: But I have two very serious questions: 1. How can a burrito ever be the worst? Have you even had a burrito? They’re the best! 2. What intel do you have on the graphic designer? Did Julie tell you something? She’s SO trying to cockblock me!

EP: I don’t even know how to begin to respond to that pile of nonsense.

TG: Getting a little touchy are we? Fine, let’s go back to the topic at hand. So why do you think that I’m overusing exclamation points when things like comics and Upton Sinclair exist? Upton Sinclair used you so hard, I’m surprised there’s anything left for all my email sign offs!

EP: Don’t even get me started with Upton. That man never saw something he didn’t think worth exclaiming upon. As for comics, I honestly see the need. They’re pulpy, surreal, they take place in a world where everything is over the top and men wearing leotards and tights save the day.

TG: So you don’t think that my Facebook page is an equally amazing, surreal world filled with tights and leotards? Obviously you haven’t looked closely enough at my photo albums!

EP: I’m saying that your email, your Facebook, your G-chats even take place within the realm of the real, where every hello doesn’t need to be followed by five exclamation points just to show that you are so very enthusiastic, upbeat, and nice.

TG: But how will people know that I’m nice if I don’t use exclamation points when I send them messages? Then I’ll just seem like a bitch!

EP: You could start by treating them nicely when you interact with them in real life. Take your friends out for drinks, invite Julie from marketing out to lunch, listen to problems with a kind heart and an open mind, help your best friend’s sister find an apartment, then help her move into it. Be a good person, then your punctuation won’t matter.

TG: Eh, that seems kind of time-consuming and expensive. I’m probably just better off shooting them an email filled with these: !!!!!!

EP: This is only going to get worse, isn’t it?

TG: Much. But that’s all the time we have. Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me!!! I hope you have a lovely day!!!

The Gabbler: Hi, thank you so much for meeting with me!

Anonymous Gamer: You’re very welcome, ma’am.

TG: What?! “Ma’am?!” You’re already starting in with the misogyny?! We’ve been here two seconds! A woman is more than just her age! Her young, young, practically infantile age, in my case.

AG: I’m sorry, miss. I just saw the wedding ring and assumed…

TG: Wedding ring? Oh, this? That’s just that ring from Lord of the Rings or whatever. I just wanted to blend in, you know. Go deep undercover. So that’s THE ring finger? The one for wedding rings and stuff? Good to know.

AG: Oh, well I’m sorry to have offended you. So, we’re here to talk about Gamergate?

TG: That’s right. I assume, as a white male gamer, you’re on their side? You probably think I’m a dirty whore for even daring to question you about the topic, right?

AG: Well, no, actually. I’m kind of in the anti-Gamergate camp, actually. I think what those men (and women, to be fair) are saying to Anita Sarkeesian and Zoe Quinn is just awful. Death threats because women dare to criticize your precious games and freely practice your sexual agency? Come on, gentlemen, we’re better than this.

TG: So you admit it.

AG: Admit what?

TG: That you think Zoe Quinn’s sexual! Which is code for “slut.” I KNEW IT!!!

AG: No, I think Zoe Quinn, as a grown woman, possibly engaged in consensual sexual acts, as she has every right to. I also realize that none of these sexual acts resulted in any coverage of her game Depression Quest, positive or otherwise. And, really, it’s not any of our business what she did or didn’t do. She doesn’t owe us anything.

TG: Ummm, well that’s good? So what do you think about the whole Zoe Quinn/Eron Gjonji thing? His claims that, while they were dating, she cheated on him and slept her way to positive reviews is what started this whole thing.

AG: Like I said, it’s really not any of our business, but I do think it’s pretty clear that she didn’t “sleep her way to the top” and that her relationship with gaming journalists did not actually result in any positive reviews of Depression Quest. Nathan Grayson, the journalist who Quinn dated, never reviewed any of her work after their relationship started. It’s as simple as that. So that claim was absurd. As to Gjoni’s other claims that Quinn emotionally abused him, disregarding his struggles with mental illness and manipulating him throughout their relationship, I don’t know. I do think those allegations should be taken seriously and looked into. Any claims of abuse should be taken seriously, regardless of the gender of the abuser.

TG: Ah ha! I KNEW there was a misogynist under all of those layers of soft, cuddly, reasonable man! How could there not be? You’ve been taught to objectify women your whole life by the gaming industry! Women are just skimpy clothes holders with giant boobs in all those silly games you play! How could you possibly learn to respect us with that image constantly reinforced?!

AG: Because I’m a human being with my own mind that is capable of critical thought? Raised by a strong woman in a house full of independent, smart, and sometimes bossy sisters who demanded respect and taught me to demand equality and recognize my own privilege? That might have something to do with it.

TG: Okay, Mister Smarty Pants. If you’re such a “human being” who examines things critically, such a fan of smart, independent women, then how can you DARE criticize Zoe Quinn, a woman who’s under attack right now basically because she’s smart and independent?

AG: That’s not what I’m doing at all. Let me clear about one thing: the death threats, the rape threats, the cries of whore and slut, the doxing, those are terrible and nothing that Quinn did could justify them. Gjoni himself has come out against them. But I have read some allegations that Quinn was extremely emotionally abusive. I don’t know if they’re true, but I do know that when a woman claims abuse at the hands of a high-powered man we demand that she release his name to the public so we can all vilify him. So why punish a man for doing the same when he believes he’s been abused? Of course, the beginnings of Gamergate, with Quinn and Gjoni, are so far removed from the issues at stake it hardly matters. But I think it’s a possibility that few consider because the trolls latched on and everyone seems to focus on them, despite the fact that no one has ever changed a trolls mind in the entire history of the internet.

TG: So it really IS just about ethics in journalism?

AG: I feel like you’re not even listening to me…

TG: Well, no, because you’re using a lot of words and none of them sound angry, so it’s pretty easy to zone out. So if Quinn is awful and the trolls are awful, then who’s right? What is this whole thing even about?!

AG: It’s about a bunch of whiny white men get all upset that women and minorities are playing in their sandbox. So they’re acting awful and cloaking it in claims about ethics in game journalism. What passed between Quinn and Gjonji was tangential, a heartbreak that blew up into a movement, or really just an excuse to treat female gamers like shit.

TG: Sounds like we should just gang up on all of those whiny white men and push their heads into the sand. That way we can have the sandbox all to ourselves.

AG: But can’t just one side act like adults? For a while the internet was riddled with articles claiming that anyone pro-Gamergate deserved to be bullied. Seriously? Can one side of this whole conflict treat human beings like human beings? Even if they are terrible human beings who say awful things and don’t deserve courtesy or respect? It’s like the perfect storm of internet-based ignorance. Only articles that create an intense emotion are clicked, so everyone runs away with their emotions and no one stops to consider the real nuances, the ways that we can impact and improve society. Instead everyone yells at each other and the page views roll in and nothing ever changes. Can’t one person take the high road?

TG: I’m pretty sure the high road is where websites go to die. No one likes the high road! It’s just boring! Anyway, it’s been great talking to you, but I really was hoping for someone angrier and more terrible. So I’m just going to spend some time on internet comment sections to get my fill of rage. But thanks for taking the time to talk with me! Hopefully if we meet again you’re a little more filled with rage and a lot less reasonable. Work on that, okay?

TG: Hi, Danielle, so nice to meet you. I’m so glad you were able to speak with me today about beach reads. I know your favorite are historical romance novels?

D: Why, yes, milady. I do quite enjoy a leisurely afternoon in the sands with a fine novel.

TG: Ummm, you don’t have to call me that. I mean, I like to think that in my group of friends my role is “The Classy One” but milady might be taking it a bit too far.

D: (Whispering) Oh are you playing the role of the servant who I tell about all of my hidden feelings for the rakish duke?

TG: I’m playing the role of the modern day interviewer who plans to post this interview on her blog? On the internet? In a post-rakish duke society?

D: Boo, that’s no fun. You’re as bad as my ex-boyfriend!

TG: Yeah, exes are the worst. Boys are just dumb. What did this one do?

D: Well he was great at first. He wore period costume and everything. And man could he rip a bodice! Literally, I went through like 10 of those while we were together. He even whispered slightly offensive sweet nothings in my ear in a British accent. He was everything that a wicked Earl posing as a stable boy to hide from his father’s pressure to settle down and stop messing around in brothels who then falls under the spell of a sassy countess who refuses to play by the rules of court life (that’s me) should be. It was magical.

TG: Sounds, um, like he was a really good sport. So what happened?

D: Well one day we were at the Renaissance Fair and a knight’s erstwhile glance lingered too long on my bosom. And then Thomas, my ex, refused to fight him! It was like he didn’t even care that my honor had been completely besmirched by this ruffian who had no respect for the milky white expanse of my heaving chest. It was absurd!

TG: So you wanted him to physically assault a stranger for your honor? Wouldn’t he get arrested?

D: As if anyone would dare arrest the great Earl of Nottingham! As if anyone could lay a hand on his taut, quivering forearms, sculpted by hours of hard labor in the stable. Much less get past his deadly blade.

TG: Thomas knew how to sword fight? That’s pretty impressive.

D: (Whispering) Not really. He worked in IT. I’m pretty sure his forearms were only sculpted because I was his first real girlfriend. If you know what I mean…

TG: Ew.

D: But, yes, Thomas turned out to be quite the disappointment. But it is the heart that has been broken and turned away from love that is ripest to be plucked through the sheer physical sexiness of a Fabio lookalike, is it not?

TG: Umm, I guess? So back to romance novels. You primarily read historical romance novels, right? What do you like about them so much?

D: The realism. Although they lived in different times, the human heart and strong male body were the same then as they are now.

TG: So you think that the depiction of love in romance novels is pretty accurate?

D: Of course! Love, love is unsheathing your literal sword to fight off highwaymen and rapists and then unsheathing your metaphorical, quivering sword to fight off the loneliness. It’s talking about your enraptured soul and how you are my heart and my sky and it’s a rake breaking down and becoming an honorable man as he explains the deep pain that caused him to look for love in brothels. It’s a woman, beautiful but too sassy for her time who finds a man whose shirt mysteriously goes missing and whose back muscles ripple in the morning sun. Also, it’s not being afraid to use the term “quivering member.”

TG: Have you been able to find this kind of “quivering member” love yet?

D: I thought I had found it with Thomas, but alas! The greatest loves can fall so far so fast!

TG: What about other guys? He can’t be the only one?

D: Well, no. There was Brian, who actually laughed in my face when I told him to unsheathe his sword. Ruffian jerk. And then there was Jake who refused to wear the breeches I provided him. And how could I forget Noah, who had an irrational fear of bodices and refused to get anywhere near me while I was wearing mine?

TG: An irrational fear of bodices? Is that a thing?

D: (Shrug) Apparently his mom’s a big historical romance fan, too and he tried it on when he was little. His brother pulled the stays too tight and he couldn’t get out or breath very well. Historical romance is not for the faint of heart, I’m afraid.

TG: Apparently not. You’ve certainly scared me away. Any final thoughts before we finish up.

D: Only, to my future duke, count, earl, or even prince, I’m waiting for you! A rake you will not forever remain, because one day I will open your heart with my body.

TG: That’s gross. But thanks for taking the time to talk to me today, Danielle. It’s been very illuminating.

The Gabbler: Hi, Sochi! It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me!

Sochi: You’re welcome Miss Gabbler. It’s always an honor to represent the world’s greatest country-Russia!

TG: Umm, yeah, I suppose it is. Well, let’s get right into it. What’s it like being the host city for the first Winter Olympics ever held in Russia, a country famous for its winters?

S: It is great honor! To show the world the power, the genius, the incredible superiority of the Russian people has been my greatest pleasure.

TG: Well, not to be THAT guy, Sochi, but didn’t the Winter Olympics really highlight some of Russia’s shortcomings? Like the fact that it took $50 billion, more money than has ever been spent on an Olympic games, to get you ready ? Or the concern for LGBT athletes in light of a recent Russian law that bans promoting “homosexual propaganda to minors,” whatever that means?

S: Did Russia not win the most medals? Did we not dominate every sport? While you puny Americans came in fourth! Fourth! We won five more medals than you. You won less medals than Canada, a weak nation known only for being “SOOO nice” as you Americans would put it. You are pathetic and weak.

TG: Woah, Sochi. Back down a little. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just a hard-hitting journalist, you know? Trying to dig deep to get the good story.

S: You think you are hard-hitting? You are puny, baby reporter. I’m Russian. I show you hard-hitting. When Russian hit you hard, then we need to dig deep. To make your grave.

TG: OKAY. I get it. You’re a super tough Russian. The evil empire and all that, marching through Ukraine like it’s any of your business.

S: Oh, how original, an American criticizing Russia for invading the Ukraine. Big surprise. You Americans always hate when anyone else invades a nearby country, but you have no problem “bringing democracy” to Iraq and Afghanistan. You are original evil empire.

TG: Well you’re really coming out swinging here. But don’t you have a vulnerable side? Like, weren’t you a little bit worried that in a country with Siberia, the Olympic Committee decided to hold the Winter Olympics in one of Russia’s only subtropical locations, where the temperature is averages 50 degrees in the winter months?

S: I am PROUD to be subtropical. You know who liked my subtropics? Man of Steel, Josef Stalin himself. He was the first one to believe in me! To tell the world, to tell all of Russia, “Come to Sochi! Breathe the seaside air!” And now look at me, I am hosting the Olympics. And soon the Russian Grand Prix. And in 2018, I will host World Cup soccer games. I have arrived!

TG: Ohhhh, I get it. No wonder you’re super loyal to Russia. It’s all the money they’ve spent on you, the resort visitors and sports tourists that they’re bringing you. Without it, you would just be some one horse town, hidden south of the Caucus.

S: “One horse town?” We don’t need horses! We will have Grand Prix! These are race cars with many horse powers! But, yes, Russia has found me worthy of investment. She has grown my city from a small seaside village, an outpost of the Ottoman Empire into a great city!

TG: Correct me if I’m wrong, but, okay, so you weren’t always Russian, then, right? You were a ceded territory after the Caucasian War in the 19^th century?

S: Correct. But I was not Sochi, then. I was just a Dakhovsky, and I was ruled by barbarians. Russia saved me, just like Russia will save the Ukraine. Without Russia, I would be just one more Middle Eastern country at war with itself.

TG: Barbarians? Don’t you mean the Circassians? Who were killed en masse and forcibly removed from the area by your precious Mother Russia in the 1860s, introducing the world to the modern day understanding of ethnic cleansing?

S: I do not know what you speak of. Russia charitably gave these people passage to the Ottoman Empire. This is generosity, not genocide. It is a free trip to new lands! So fun!

TG: Ummm, or it’s not. But, moving on to happier things. What are you looking forward to, now that the Olympics and the Paralympics are over and you can finally relax a bit?

S: Relax? I cannot relax! The Grand Prix is coming! And the World Cup is almost here!

TG: Well, yeah, the 2014 World Cup, hosted by Brazil is almost here, but you have some time before 2018, I think.

S: No time! I cannot disappoint Russia!

TG: Okay. But are you excited about the World Cup? Nervous about hosting after Brazil, a country legendary for its soccer skills?

S: Nervous?! Pah! Brazil is nothing to Russia. You know last World Cup that Brazil hosts in 1950 they lose to Uruguay? Uruguay, a puny, baby nation!

TG: Yeah, true. But they’ve since won five World Cups. How many has Russia won?

S: Haha, you are so funny with your mean American sense of humor. But Russia will rise again. And I believe that the United States have won as many World Cups as we have.

TG: Incorrect. Our men’s team may never have won a World Cup, but our women have won two.

S: Women cannot play soccer! This is ridiculous! Women’s World Cups do not count!

TG: Okay, Sochi. Well, I’m going to let you get back to honoring Mother Russia. But thanks for taking the time to speak with me, and hopefully I’ll see you again at the 2018 World Cup!

S: Thank you. But please do not come back unless you are prepared to watch Russia destroy your puny United States soccer team!

Ah, Cupid. Our favorite Greek god of erotic love, desire, and affection. With Valentine’s Day (Or for us single ladies, Galentine’s Day – thank you, Leslie Knope!) quickly approaching,  we at The Gabbler thought it appropriate to interview Cupid on modern love, online dating, and his perfect V-Day date. Note to readers: Beware of Cupid’s stray arrows. We weren’t so lucky.

The Gabbler: Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Cupid! I know it’s a little early for Valentine’s Day, but at the rate CVS is going, Valentine’s Day falls on January 2^nd these days, anyway.

Cupid: I couldn’t agree more. It’s given me a lot of anxiety. Much less time to sharpen my arrows. Why can’t humans just live in the moment, instead of always pushing for what’s next?

TG: Sorry, man. To err is human, right? We’re not perfect deities like you.

C: Like I should be getting royalties on quite a few Hallmark commercials, for one. Who can I talk to about that? But besides that? I mean the concept behind it is sweet, and it’s nice to have a holiday to celebrate romantic and erotic love, but I think it’s a classic case of materialism and media hype ruining a perfectly great tradition. God, I think this string is loose on my bow. Can you pass me one of my arrows?

TG: (Slumps over into love spell, then slowly opens her eyes.) I, uh, never thought about that. Yeah, she’d be a pretty shitty mom, then. But wait, I thought you were like one of those “primordial gods” – who basically just popped out of nowhere, right? Did I ever tell you your eyes are like warm pools of amber?

C: No, you didn’t. And that depends on whether you’re reading the Greek version or the Roman version. I still think of Aphrodite/Venus as my mom.

TG: Well, they are. I just can’t stop staring into your eyes. I have this sudden urge to strip totally naked and swim in them.

C: Let’s, er, hold off on that for now, please. Damn, I need to get better about my aim!

TG: (Giggles, and blinks repeatedly.) So Cupid, how do you define modern love?

TG: No, like actual modern love. As in love in modern times. Do you really believe in love at first sight? Because I think I do now.

C: It’s usually lust at first sight, not love. It’ll pass.

TG: Lust, love. You need lust for love. Let’s make love. What do you say?

C: Er, back to your question: I find love in the modern era to be complicated. And it’s lost a lot of its mystery. A lot of that I blame on social media and cell phones. Before those things, there was time between seeing or hearing from each other that allowed for anticipation and longing. Now, it’s so instant. Plus, there were a lot more steamy affairs. Now everyone tweets pictures of their dicks, and people tend to find out.

TG: That’s just Anthony Weiner. Most people are smart enough to use Snapchat nowadays. How are things with Psyche, by the way? Is that still going on? Or are you single?

C: Oh yeah, we’re great. Very much a couple. I’m very much taken. I finally admitted that refusing to turn the lights on was a manifestation of my own insecurity, and we got over that initial hiccup. Zeus made her immortal, and it’s all good. We even have a little baby goddess, Hedone.

TG: Congrats. (Sighs deeply.) I already knew that, though. I follow you on Instagram, and you post like a million baby pics a day.

TG: God, you’re adorable. What a loving father. There’s nothing sexier than a man who’s good with kids.

C: Let’s talk about something else, please.

TG: Okay, okay. So tell me about OkCupid. What made you decide to invest in online dating?

TG: You know, if we were on Tinder right now, I’d be the nearest warm body.

C: But we aren’t, are we?

TG: I mean, I could log on right now…

C: We’re in the middle of an interview. That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?

TG: Okay, okay. Be coy about it. I like coy. So what’s your idea of a perfect Valentine’s Day date?

TG: I love you.

C: Listen, you don’t! There was a bit of a mix up with my arrow; my bowstring was loose, and a stray one sort of hit you in the noggin. I was the first thing you saw. You don’t love me. NOW SNAP OUT OF IT!

TG: But I’d do anything for you. I want you to have me in this interview chair, right here, right now. (Stands up and starts to walk over to him.)

C: Oh, look at that! Emergency call. Jay-Z and Beyonce just had a tiff, and he needs me to shoot an arrow or two. I’ve got to go. You don’t want to be responsible for breaking them up, do you?

TG: (Sighs.) No, they were too cute at the Grammys.

C: Exactly. You have to let me go. As in, physically unhand me, please!

 TG: Oh. Sorry.

C: (Flies away.)

TG: WAIT! BUT I LOVE YOU! WILL YOU BE MY VALENTINE?

The Gabbler: Ladies, I am so honored to be sitting here with you today. This is like a reincarnation of my childhood! I was obsessed with American Girl Dolls – I totally owned you, Samantha!

The Gabbler: It’s so great to meet you Fifty Shades of Grey! (Tries to shake hands.)

Fifty Shades of Grey: I don’t think you really want to touch that…I’m a library copy, after all.

TG: What do you mean?

FSOG: I just mean, that well, a lot of lonely women have checked me out the library, and well, sometimes when they read me, they um, well, they touch…

TG: Oh God! Gross! Yeah, let’s just settle for a nice wave, shall we?

FSOG: That’s probably for the best.

TG: Let’s just dive right into things, then. This book that you have the privilege of being, this remarkable work of literature, it’s just so…deep. Do you think that Anastasia’s struggle to love Christian is a metaphor for the struggle of a young person to succeed in the pleasurably painful modern world or more of an allegory for Eve’s struggle to get down with the serpent?

FSOG: Ummm, I don’t think Eve “got down” with the serpent. I think he just gave her an apple. Also, I’m not sure I’m what you would call a “work of literature,” exactly.

TG: So you’re more of a poetic treatise? An artistic abstract expression of what it means to be a lonely being in the chaotic universe of your mind, looking for your kindred spirit to fill up your soul with purpose and spankings?

FSOG: I think I’m mostly just poorly written erotica that is somehow acceptable for middle-aged women to read. But kudos on fitting being, mind, spirit, and soul all into one weird metaphor that barely made any sense.

TG: Thanks, I think? Wow, this interview is going as poorly as that time that Anastasia Steele interviewed Christian Grey. But then, wait, then does that mean we’re going to, you know (winks) afterwards?

FSOG: Absolutely not. And not just because I’m due back at the library today.

TG: Ouch. You know, I may not be some innocent little college senior, but I’ll let you know many an inebriated man has only half regretted the decisions he made with me the night before, so…

FSOG: Congratulations? Especially on the correct use of the word “inebriated.” Seems like a word that’s a bit out of your vocabulary range, really.

TG: (Shrugs.) One of the inebriated men was an SAT prep tutor. I checked out the flash cards on his desk after he fell asleep. But thanks.

FSOG: Well, that’s one way to grow a young mind, I suppose.

TG: So, you really don’t want to get into the nitty gritty of the story? Like, the deeper meaning of the shade concept? Or how about the foil of the subconscious to Ana’s inner goddess?

FSOG: No. There is no deeper. There are no foils. There is only the incredible overuse of the phrases “holy crap,” “holy shit,” and “holy cow.” And the rather unfortunate turn of phrase “he’s my very own Christian Grey flavored Popsicle.”

TG: Ooo, let’s talk about that. What do you think she means by “my very own Christian Grey flavored Popsicle.”

FSOG: Perhaps it’s best if you ask the SAT prep tutor, dear. I’m sure he could help you out with that one.

TG: (Taking notes and whispering.) Ask SAT prep tutor about Popsicle flavors. Okay, well, let’s maybe talk about your origins, about your hopes and dreams.

FSOG: Well, I come from Maine, as do the majority of Fifty Shades books. Over 3,000 tons of paper were processed in the small town of East Millinocket just to make Fifty Shades available to Americans in print form.

TG: You must have been so happy to become such a great book!

FSOG: Well, not exactly. Since I was just a little sapling, I’ve wanted to become a book. You know, some trees grow their whole lives just to become the cardboard that encloses a box of Imodium. I never thought I would be jealous of those trees, but this book is so…

TG: Fantastic? Inspiring? Life-affirming? Sexy?

FSOG: Awful. I had dreams of one day becoming a hardcover, signature edition of Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman. You know, “I sing the body electric” and all.

TG: Isn’t that a Lana del Rey song? Yeah, I think it is! I love that song!

FSOG: Seriously? I’m now beginning to see why you’re a Fifty Shades fan…

TG: Thanks! It’s a pretty fantastic read. And thanks for meeting with me today. I’m looking forward to coincidently running into you in the giant Portland area hardware store where I work. (Winks.)

FSOG: For God’s sake, child, this is NOT Fifty Shades of Grey in real life! And I am NOT Christian Grey.

TG: Whatever you say, Fifty Shades. I’m just saying, my inner goddess knows how to salsa dance, too.

FSOG: I’m going to go, now. You know how the library can be such a stickler about due dates and fines and all.

TG: Laters, baby.

FSOG: No…just, no.