Mr. Wapojif Q&A: Getting to know the Professional Moron Editor

An artist’s depiction of recent events.

Back in 2017 we interviewed our editor: Mr. Wapojif. Over two years later, we decided to catch up with him as he sat stuffing raw cucumbers into his face one lunch.

The hope is our readers will get to know the hardworking journalists behind Professional Moron. And that starts with the human male at the top!

Another Q&A With Our Blogging Editor

Let’s not waste any further time here. Let’s do this!

Hello, Mr. Wapojif! Thanks for agreeing to this, we know you’re a busy man.

Mr. Wapojif says nothing. There are just sounds of munching on a cucumber sandwich.

We can come back when you’ve finished lunch, if you want?

More cucumber munching sounds.

Are you free?

Nods, puts the cucumber down.

Okay, great. Let’s start with an easy peasy, lemon squeezy one. What’s your favourite colour?


What’s your favourite colour?

Communist red.

What would you say is your biggest weakness?

If I was standing next to a nuclear bomb and it went off, I probably wouldn’t survive. So I consider my combustibility to be a severe hindrance.

What would your superpower be?


In what respect?


In what respect would your superpower be cake?

Because I like cake.

Okay. And that’s a superpower… because?

Oh, I see what you mean. Well, okay, I guess it’d be being able to shoot laser beams from my nostrils.

Why would you want to do that?

It’d kill the bogey invaders in my nose.

Is that a common problem for you?

Mate, you have no idea. They’re always up there, clogging things up. I have nightmares about it. Terrible, sweat-ridden dreams about snot, mucus, bogeys… it terrifies me.

Do you ever just think about picking your nose?

What with, a cattle prod or something?

Erm, no. Use your index finger.

Nonsense, I use that for indexing. I suppose I could punch my nose repeatedly until the bogeys fell out. But that may also hurt a tad. Can I try on you, office apprentice?

No, please! I’ve already suffered enough.


Okay, next question! Where in the world would you most want to go and why?


Okay. Why?

No idea, it’s the only place I could think of.

Right. Have you ever been to Spain?


What did you think?

It was Spanish.

What about France?

It was French.

You’re not a fan of travel, then?

No comment.

What is your earliest memory?

The Big Bang.

Good one. Really, what is it?

I was present at the commencement of the Universe.

That’s not physically possible. That would make you billions of years old!


You’re 34.

Wrong. I am billions of years old.

That’s physically impossible. And I know your 34, it says it on your revoked driver’s license after you were banned for ram raiding a funeral parlour.

Off topic, but yes, correct, I just liked the coffins very much.

Fine, what was your second earliest memory?


Don’t start with this…

Start with what?

You were not around at the time of dinosaurs, the Big Bang, Satan, or anything else.

I find your lack of appreciation disturbing. I’m the one paying you £1 an hour, mate, and don’t you forget it. I can sack you in an instant!

Well then I’d just get a new job, there are plenty of other places to work.

Mr. Wapojif’s glowering gaze of chaos commences.

Are you okay? You’ve started trembling.

No I haven’t.

Yes, you have!


Sure, what’s your favourite time of year?

Why? Why is that even important to you, IDIOT?!

These are the questions you emailed me to ask you last week.

What total nonsense! I did nothing of the sort.

I knew you’d say that, so here. I printed off your email for you. Date and time highlighted.

.Silence, but some quivering.

Are you okay?

Silence, but more quivering.

Erm… should I leave?

Kid… your “initiative” is making me think hiring you was a mistake.

Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll hand in my notice, then.

No, no, no, no. That’s a polarity. You don’t hand in your notice at Professional Moron.

Why not?

Because you either die horribly or get ejected from the planet first. It’s tradition.

Right… well, I don’t want to be a part of that. I just got a job offer as a reporter for…

Shut… UP! We have a legally binding contract with…

Actually, no you don’t. You scrawled out something on an A4 piece of paper in a mixture of mud, spittle, and cake. That’s not a legally binding contract at all.

What… what in God’s name are you!?!?!

They call me Andy the Aggressive Apprentice. I’m 52, I’ve made a career out of you exploitative monsters.

Lol. Whatever, mate. I’m the one wielding a chainsaw.

You’re not wielding a chainsaw, you’re holding a cucumber.

Okay. Well spotted. Is it menacing and terrifying for you?

Not especially.

What if I growl like this?


Okay, you’re sacked.


Dispense with some gibberish!

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