Sherman Ave Interviews: Renee Engeln-Maddox (Part 1 of 2)

Earlier this summer, Sherman Ave editors Ross Packingham and Sir Edward Twattingworth III interviewed Psychology professor and Allison Hall live-in Renee Engeln-Maddox at Sherman Ave Headquarters.  If any cultural references seem slightly out of date, it’s because that’s what happens when we decide to wait to publish interviews for three months due to reasons.

Renee, shortly after realizing what a terrible, terrible mistake it was to agree to an interview with us.

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Packingham: We noticed you didn’t bring your dog to his interview… Is he gonna make it, or…?

Renee: He’s visiting Grandma right now, actually.

Twattingworth: Well, all of our questions were for him, soooo…

Renee: Oh, do you want me to leave? He doesn’t really know many words, though. Plus he would get dog hair all over your apartment.

Packingham: Probably not the worst thing this apartment has been through.

Twattingworth: This is actually the cleanest it’s looked in weeks.

Renee: This is… Um. You cleaned?

Twattingworth: A lot.

Renee [pointing to where we stashed the beer pong cups]: Meaning you stashed the beer pong cups in a row?

Twattingworth: Well that cup used to be over here.

Packingham: Do you watch Game of Thrones?

Renee: Mhm, I unfortunately got really excited about the new season and I yelled to my Psychopathology class,

Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Raven’ As Read/Interpreted by Ron Artest

Last night, yeah, last night I was sitting in my living room next to a fire fueled by the heads of my enemies, stroking ‘Metta World Hunger,’ my beloved hyena.
Reading about techniques to maintain the perfect rose garden and shit.
When all of a sudden some soon-to-be-dead motherfucker went all a-knocking on my chamber door. And I said ‘Yo it’s just some soon-to-be-dead motherfucker rapping on my chamber door.
Only some shit like that and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I still wake up from terrible nightmares of last December. As I watched Nash and Pau drag their decrepit corpses all across the floor.
Eagerly, I wished to be traded.
Vainly, I tried to escape Kobe, and wept for the loss of my beloved mind.
For the rare and radiant hoodrat-for-life my mother named Ronald.
Metta Word Peace for evermore.