Stumble It!
Caracas, VZ -- When one considers the vast panorama of current events, what with suicide bombers acting all explode-y, smelly little men building nuclear weapons and third world countries careening en masse toward a precipice of famine, chaos and WalMart, today's geopolitical situation is precarious. So, doing its bit to illuminate this crazy mixed-up world, GQ has decided to send Naomi Campbell to Venezuela to interview Hugo Chavez. Because if there's anyone suited for the task of probing the thoughts of a despotic megalomaniac with his hands on a good chunk of the world's energy supply, it's a temperamental phone-hurling catwalk prancer.
The interview, which was conducted in November, is apparently due to hit the stands this month (sandwiched between an obscene Dolce & Gabbana shoe ad depicting a homoerotic Roman orgy and a fascinating article exploring the social significance of the boxer brief). Of course, in order to accommodate 185 pages of Prada and Balenciaga, their fascinating discourse had to be winnowed down a tad. Below, we've cheekily included a section of the interview that was jettisoned from the final version for space concerns:
NAOMI CAMPBELL: Hugo.
HUGO CHAVEZ: Si?
NC: Your pants are ill-fitting and your top is a poly-blend. How do you respond to critics who blast Venezuela's human rights record?
HC: Such critics are minions of el diablo. Why don't you take a seat on my chalupa while I ride you like a caballero to Lake Titicaca? Ouch! Did you just throw a phone?
NC: I'm sorry, Mr. President. When a bloke says something wot sound a bit rude, I bounce an iPhone off his gulliver. It's an old habit. Going on: I've a two-part question. First, you claim to have the interests of every Venezuelan at heart but you were handed a crushing defeat in your recent efforts to modify the constitution so you could stay in power. Have you lost touch with the masses? And second, as my limo sped past your vast slums, I noticed how disgusting those smelly little womb-boogers are. Don't you think as a populist leader you could provide them with well-coordinated children's casuals?
HC: My critics are poo-poo faces who object to the fact that I've decreed Tuesdays to be Toesdays, which means I get to do the stompy-stomp on everyone's toes all day. They are also holding a grudge because I now require all bad news to be sung to me to the tune of "Happy Talk" from South Pacific. I forget the second part of the question, but I would like very much to drill for negro lady oil from your sweet nubian hair taco. Ouch! Ay, mamasita!
NC: Mr. President, I travel with a LeCroix shopping bag full of Blackberries and cell phones for the express purpose of beaning cheeky ass-hats between the eyes. Let's get back to the interview. Imagine for a moment you're being wedged into a Vivian Westwood hobble skirt and just before it's your turn to slink down the runway you experience catastrophic boob tape failure. Would you A) hurl a razorphone at Anna Wintour so hard that her sunglasses shatter, blinding Karl Lagerfeld with the shrapnel, B) close down all newspapers and television stations that criticize your policies in a misguided attempt to derail your evil plan for world domination, or C) hurl an iPod with enough force at Zack Posen that it banks off his poofy skull and hits Vera Wang so hard it smacks the slant out of her beady little peepers?
HC: My boob tape has never failed. My staff sees to it that my boob tape is the finest boob tape in the world and they know if las ta-tas del hombre broke free and bounced along my paunch, the party responsible for boob taping my pendulous manbreasts would promptly be shot at dawn. Now, shall we discuss the imminent collapse of the imperialist American empire, or are you going to suck the leche from my flesh-tamale? Ouch! 
NC: Last question: Speedy Gonzales, the Frito Bandito and Mighty Mouse. Who could beat up whom?
HC: Let's skip these boring questions and get right to the sweaty grunty horizontal shame samba. OW! La cabeza sangra!
NC: Ha-ha! There's more where that came from! Dance, Speedy Gonzales! Andale!
HC: Ay! Ouch! Quiero a mi mami!
NC: Bwa-ha-ha-ha!
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