Speaking of Impulse Control Problems

Stewart Lee Interviews Ben Stiller

Stiller elects to meet at a Soho pancake joint. The comedian is, it turns out, obsessed with pancakes, confessing, “It’s the one vice I have left. As soon as I get to a new city I say to the runner, ‘Show me the pancakes’. I like to go to a new pancake store and sniff each of the pancakes in turn before I choose one. If I could die and come back as a pancake I would. I wish my nutsack was full of pancake mix so I could make my own on demand. Christine made undershorts out of pancakes at Thanksgiving. I felt really happy wearing them but in the end they just weren’t practical and after a few days they rotted away. C’est la vie, my friend, c’est la fucking vie already.”
Stiller, dressed casually in trousers, socks, shoes, underpants, shirt, jumper and jacket, orders a large plain pancake with no syrup, and a mug of pancake mix, which he downs in one, slamming the mug hard on the table afterwards like a shot glass. “Hoo hah!” he shouts, sweating and suddenly agitated, “Bisquick!” Stiller wipes stray mix off his lips using his uneaten pancake as a napkin, and clicks his fingers to the waitress for more mix. “Do you think maybe you could warm it up this time, honey, if it’s not too much trouble?”, he barks, Hollywood style, before turning his ire on me.

Read his righteous rant.  See the pathology.