This is an excerpt from our debut episode:

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Me: Hey! Welcome back to The Breakfast Club with Heidi and Mike!!

Heidi: We all bark and all bite!!

Me: We sure are, Heidi, we sure are, and I have to say, that was a fascinating interview we just did with Muffin the cat! I mean, WOW, what an interesting cat!

Heidi: Heidi want to barf.

Me: What do you mean?

Heidi: HORRIBLE interview. Heidi no care what Muffin think about immigration or Kim Kardashian getting mom-shamed for straightening daughter’s hair.

Me: Well, you have to admit, Muffin did have some pretty interesting and unique ideas about how to solve the global immigration crisis.

Heidi: You want crisis? Heidi give you crisis. Name Muffin is crisis. So stupid! Why moron cat named after food? Why after crappy food? Why not Steak?! Why not Cheeseburger! Why not Twizzler?

Me: Twizzler is a good name!

Heidi: Heidi like Twizzlers.

Me: Me, too.

Heidi: Twizzlers a uniter.

Stupid Muffin don’t deserve name Twizzler. Such a fat, lazy animal! Muffin never hunt, just lie there! Make society hunt for her! Heidi hate that!

Me: Well, Muffin is an indoor cat.

Heidi: Heidi have no time for Muffin excuses! Muffin staring at diabetes, Heidi tell you.

Me: And hey, for those of you who have to commute today, you should know that traffic along the DVP is slow, so you might want to explore some other routes…

Heidi: Look. Heidi know this controversial, but Heidi think it wrong to normalize cats. Cats evil.

Either you against evil cats or you for evil cats. Not complicated. Not nuanced. You have cat on show, you cat apologist. You part of problem.

Me: The Heidi Hot Take! I was wondering when that was going to happen, so tell us, how can you be certain that all cats are evil?

Heidi: You got to break some eggs to make omelette. Way of the world. Dog eat cat eat other dog eat it all.

Me: Okay, well, maybe now would be a good time to open up the show to callers! Anybody out there have an opinion on whether it’s wrong to normalize cats or not?

Heidi: Ha! Heidi laugh!

Me: Why?

Me: No way you have callers! Also, Muffin really stink. Heidi almost faint from stench. Heidi need danger pay! You think cats clean because always licking paw and brushing self, but just OCD. Cats mental in the head! Cat hygiene fake news!

Me: While we wait to get connected to our first caller, it’s time to provide you with a message from one of our sponsors. Support for The Breakfast Club with Heidi and Mike comes form MailChimp…

Heidi: More than 7 million businesses around the world uses MailChimp…

Me: To send newsletters, messages and deliver high fives…

Me: Heidi?

Me: Heidi, it’s your turn now.

Heidi: Oh! Heidi sorry. Licking herself. What words?

Me: You say, “MailChimp, sends better email!”

Heidi: MailChimp, sends better email!

Me: And now you bark, Heidi.

Heidi: Heidi no bark. No chance. Heidi have self-respect.

Me: Okay, still trying to connect with our caller, just be a sec.’

Heidi: Ha! Heidi marry Muffin if actual caller. No way caller. Heidi can smell your lie sweat. Heidi know.

In it, he asks all sorts of cool, attractive and successful writers a series of questions about potato chips, but for some reason he forget to include me in his survey. This sometimes happens as an awful lot of people find my blinding talent and natural, easy charisma to be terribly intimidating, so they just act like they’ve never heard of me. Also, I’m sure that they figure I would command a very sizeable fee for any sort of participation or association, so I guess I understand why Kevin didn’t ask me.

No matter, as I am generous, I have decided to answer his questionnaire anyway.

1. Tell me about yourself. In 25 words or less, who are you?

I look like Elvis Costello, but remind people of Kanye. Skipped grade three. I do alright.

2.What is your favourite brand and flavour of chip? Of all the chips out there, what make it the every day chip?

O’Grady’s Extra Thick Au Gratin potato chip. They were as thick as a pork chop and covered in some sort of chemical cheese powder and they were awesome. Each chip was like a sandwich, a toxic, completely narcotic sandwich. I think they were discontinued in the 1980’s, although I did see a bag in an Amish General Store a few years ago in West Pennsylvania. (I heard rumours that they were used in the Chernobyl clean-up, but I never believed them.)

3. Have you ever had a negative experience with potato chips?

Yes. I had a Cinnabon flavoured potato chip the other day and it tasted like a fucking Cinnabon. It was disgusting. Also, I have very vulnerable gums and sometimes a jagged, little dagger of a chip can get lodged in them. Very painful.

4. Have you ever incorporated potato chips into love making? If yes, what was it like? If not, is this something you have considered?

Potato chip packaging has been used in a variety of sexual acts, but the actual potato chips have never been used in love making.

5. Finish this sentence, people who list plain chips as their top snack choices are _________.

First against the wall.

6. Dip or no dip?

Dips are for rookies and pretenders, the proper chip, the O’Grady’s Extra Thick Au Gratin chip, needed no such vulgar embellishments.

7. Do you ever mix flavours of chips? What is your favourite combination? Is there a combination you have been meaning to try? What is your signature blend and what do you call it?

Mixing flavours of chips is something a child or somebody who suffered a very serious head injury would do.

8. Dehydrated fruit chips, yay or nay?

If you’re a Dumpster Diver of some sort of Freegan, sure, but for members of society? Of course not.

9. Is there a time for a baked chip? Or is it a fry or die situation?

Maybe in times of extreme deprivation, like in a war, but certainly not when America’s clipping along at full speed.

10. Tell me about your favourite chip memory?

I was a student at University in Montreal and I was broke. I went to the local corner store and begged for credit, which they stupidly gave me. I bought a large bag of O’Grady’s Extra Thick Au Gratin potato chips, a can of Coke Classic, a pack of Winstons, five quarts of Molson and the magazine Celebrity Skin. I think it was the best night I ever had, a moment of still perfection that I travel back to often.

Tickets for the game were under ten dollars and there was a pretty good crowd at the rink. When we walked toward the bleachers, we were quickly accosted by a man who sported a patchy, not-quite-as-full-as-he-wanted-it-to-be goatee, and told that we had to wait until there was a stop in the action to proceed. He took his responsibility seriously. However, the swarms of undefeatable 12 year-old girls, as if a new and limitlessly powerful species, proved far beyond his control. They moved about freely, in happy packs, completely indifferent to his waving arms and demands that they wait for a stoppage in play.

At the concession stand hotdogs were deep-fried, poutine gobbled like popcorn at a movie, and brand-new teens ordered The Grave Yard, a drink that was comprised of a couple of ounces of every flavour in the fountain. Women in cowboy hats sold 50/50 tickets, and parents watched over their children with greater care than they paid to the hockey game. It was beautiful, like a country fair, and it proved to be an entirely transportive experience, relocating me to a time and place where the routes to first loves were all still being negotiated.

On the ice, the boys, in the transitional stage between acne and full beards, celebrated goals or punched one another in the head behind the net, living a love that would stay fresh within them for the rest of their lives, while outside the snow banks rose up over our heads, and the drone of snowmobiles blew back from the lake and through the town.

What follows is a partial transcript of what some of their surveillance revealed:

2:43 am: Ford drives his Escalade, distinctive Ford You license plate and brass balls hanging from the vehicle’s undercarriage visible, into 7-11 parking lot. Tom Cochrane “Life is a Highway” plays loudly through the speakers.

2:45 am: Ford urinates against a nearby dumpster and enters store.

2:46 am: Ford buys large bag of Cheesies, opens them and begins eating them.

2:47 am: Ford says that each Cheesie is like “ a little orange blow-job,” and then offers some to the clerk.

2:48 am: Ford associate Sandro Lisi drives into the parking lot.

2:49 am: Ford asks clerk about his accent, wants to know if it was real or just something he made up.

2:50 am: Cheesie dust all over the mayor, he tells clerk that if city hall wasn’t so stuck-up, he’d speak with an accent all the time.  Loves the Jamaican accent he says in Jamaican accent.

2:51 am: Ford gives clerk his business card, tells him to call if he has a pothole problem.

2:52 am: Sandro Lisi honks car horn.

2:53 am: Police receive tip from psychic that Ford might be in New Jersey. Helicopter dispatched. Possible we are currently following a double. Ford not to be underestimated.

2:54 am: Ford hurries out of 7-11, avoiding all eye contact with Lisi, unrolls Escalade driver’s side window and then goes and hides behind the dumpster.

2:55 am: Lisi, one arm in a sling, enters into 7-11 and buys a pepperette, bottle of Gatorade and a Scratch N’ Win ticket.

2:57 am: Lisi scratches ticket and wins. Very happy. Punches good arm up into air. Cashier gives him $10.  Lisi buys five more tickets, scratching each one at counter. No wins. Lisi, angry, but clearly more disappointed in himself.

2:58 am Lisi leaves 7-11 and drops small parcel into front seat of Ford’s car.

3:00 am: Lisa makes cell phone call to Rob Ford. Undercover detective working as 7-11 clerk hears ringing behind dumpster. Lisi drives away

3:01 am: Rob Ford pops up from behind the dumpster and runs to car, looks in window at parcel Lisi had placed on the front seat. Does window of vehicle back up and returns to 7-11, buying rolling paper, matches and a copy of Maxim Magazine.

3:05 am: Ford exits 7-11.

3:06 am: Ford returns to 7-11, buys chocolate milk, drinks it, sticks several “Ford for Mayor” fridge magnets on a variety of products and surfaces.

3:10 am: Ford exits 7-11. Spots raccoon near dumpster, throws empty chocolate milk carton at it, shouting “Go deep, raccoon, go deep!”

3:11am: Two more raccoons emerge from shrubbery near dumpster, they all stare back at Ford with determined, glowing eyes.

3:12 am: Ford hurries into car and quickly departs parking lot.

*1 “I don’t want to be conceited and I don’t want to toot my own horn. But I believe when it comes to my fiscal policy, I am by far the best mayor the city has ever had.” Rob Ford, Nov 3, 2013

Q. What is your biggest weakness?

A. I’m quite handsome and clever and sometimes people, particularly those less handsome and clever than me, find it intimidating.

In my past job at the box factory, they talked behind my back and said things that were, at the time, entirely untrue about my sex life and the way I treated animals. Well, I showed them, I tell you. Anyway, there will always be people like this, people who have drunk deeply of the Hatorade and are out to get you, and so you just have to take care of it, you know?

Q. What irritates you about co-workers?

A. Usually, and I know that this sounds petty, but it’s the way that they dress. It’s always so predictable and lumpy, their outfits typically accented with some sad detail of their life like Cheesie dust or cat hairs. It just depresses me, and then I get mad at them for depressing me. It can be a toxic cycle.

Q. How do you handle stress and pressure?

A. I’m glad you asked this question because it’s really quite a complex issue. Often, I simply take time off work. This helps, but it doesn’t really solve the problem, and so after trying meditation and finding it useless, I’ve discovered that I need to create a cocktail of prescription medications to help calm the “BLACK TORNADO ZONE” I typically spin into. Also, I find that regular target practice at my gun club near Brampton is incredibly therapeutic.

Q. What will you do if you don’t get this job?

A. I will go and see Iron Man 3 again. I always get inspiration from the Iron Man. He’s made of iron, you know? Nothing gets him down. And then, after a good, inspirational cry, I will just try and take what I’ve learned from this experience and apply it to the future, hopeful that I may yet get a job at your shitty company when the next opportunity arises.