We at Ruthless are nothing, if not spiritual. Having tapped into the spiritual realm of spirituality we were delighted to have made contact with the spirit of Heath Ledger for what would seem to be his final interview, conducted in his native Bogan (Australian) with the help of our Australian (Bogan) correspondent guy who insists on calling himself Gorilla Overlord.
Roofless staffers, Erich and Gorilla Overlord contact the spirit of the lately lamented Heath Herring.
RUTHLESS REVIEWS: So, Heath, itís really great to finally talk to you.
HEATH LEDGER: Fuck, mate, can we move this along? Iím not here for a fucking haircut.
RR: So did you enjoy making your final film? Were you happy with it?
HL: Bloody oath, Iíve seen it. Loved making it as well. Thereís a
shitload of artistic freedom to be found in making movies based on
comics. The fact that they paid me an arse-load of cash and as much
goey as I could handle is irrelevant. Iíve got all the original dolls as
well: Batman, Robin, The Riddler, Professor Chaos, Dr. Octagon, the
Scout Master. It might actually be the best movie Iíve made with the
word Ďknightí in the title. It was a big bloody change to working in
RR: How so?
HL: Chris NOLAN. Morgan FREEMAN. Christian BALE. Maggie GYLLENHAAL. You donít work with people like that in the Australian film
RR: I guess that is a pretty talented group.
HL: They’re shithouse cunts. But at least they’re not wogs. That might
sound a bit fucked but who gives a shit? I played a cowboy poofter for
fuck’s sake. I sign autographs for wogs and lebs. Not boongs, though.
But all those cunts are at Centrelink anyway so I never see them. You
never know, though. You only have to be like a sixteenth boong to get
money from the government, you know.
RR: But, you know, Gyllenhaal is part Cherokee.
HL: Do you have any questions that arenít about spear-chuckers, mate?
Actually, I called Morgan Freeman that a few times. He just smiled. I
donít think he understood me, but, like, I donít know what kind of an
education heís had. We canít all go to Boorooloola Technical College of
Animal Husbandry, can we? But he seemed like a nice old bugger, for a
RR: Moving along, did you kill yourself?
HL: Hard to tell. I was just taking all kinds of shit and I didn’t
really care. I figured I’d fucking cark it at some point. Itís not like
I was thinking ďI think Iíll just knock myself offĒ. Pretty fucking
surprising, actually. I figured itíd happen sniffing petrol or shooting
horse with a few prostitutes down in Kings Cross. Those gooks can
handle their skag, I tell you what.
RR: But you’re handsome, rich, famous…
HL: And have a tiny fucking dick. And, in case you were wondering, having a tiny dick
fucking stays with you after youíre dead. But the scrubbers I was
rooting didnít give two shits about the mushroom cap I was packing. I
guess the reason I was able to put the hard word on the Olsens was
because my old fella was still so huge compared to their scrawny
pelvises… is that a word?
RR: Thatís right, you were dating Mary-Kate Olsen. Don’t you feel bad about leaving her behind?
HL: The monkey twins, you mean? Fuck, I didnít even know which one was
which. Itís funny, me and Brian Brown used to joke about rooting them
when they were old enough. Which, in my case, was actually about 12, but
you can only call in so many favours from judges and crown prosecutors
before the media gets wind of it. So I waited, which is fine, because
theyíre so fucked up, you canít tell if theyíre 14 or 40 half the time,
anyway. Itís all the same with the lights off and a head full of
Demazin. I never really understood the fucking public fascination with
those sluts, though. Itís fair enough for me, but why would the man in
the street be interested in them? They looked like a pair of baboons
when they were on ĎFull Houseí. Parts of them still do, if you get my
drift. Still, she wasnít too bad. Iíve had worse than Ashley-Kate. But
sheís got some fucking problems. She called me ďUncle JesseĒ during
sex, which I reckon is a childhood thing. Never picked Richard Stamos
as a rock spider, but there you go. But she goes off in bed like a frog
in a sock. I took her out for dinner and she gave me a rim job out back
in the water closet. But I was pretty much done with her when I
croaked. You can only wipe your arse with a bit of dunny paper so many
RR: Supposedly, you are going to win the Oscar.
HL: Fuck me. How stupid is that? I’m fucking DEAD! “Hey, Heath Ledger
dies from drugs. Give the man a fucking oscar for Batman.” Cunts. What
a waste of time. And who’s going to collect it? My fucking dodgy
bastard family or that bitch Michelle? Then they’ll show some lovely
footage of my acting career – dressed up like a cunt in armour with
Queen songs playing, then a movie where I’m a poofter sucking Gyllie’s
dick. He’s actually bent, you know. Anyway, it’s a fucking Batman
movie. To be honest, if they gave me an Oscar, I couldn’t enjoy it anyway,
because Gallipoli never got an Oscar and that’s the greatest Australian
movie in history. And Rusty in Romper Stomper. The bit where he bashes
the slopes always made me laugh. I talked to him about it one day and
he said it was like method acting because he had a lot of practice
bashing gooks and abbos in Bankstown. Shit he’s a funny cunt.
RR: Did you carry any Hollywood grudges with you in the afterlife?
HL: Stone the crows! Where to begin? Well, why has no one figured out
that Tom Hanks is a kiddie fiddler? I mean, the cunt plays with model
planes and shit. Thatís always a ploy to lure in the kiddies. And, have
you seen his fucking wife? Ugly as a hat full of busted arseholes. Talk
about a horse face. She could eat an apple through a bloody chain link
fence. First time I met the cunt, he was talking about South East Asia.
I didnít get his fetish with gooks at first, but, then, he put me onto
some shit called 4chan. Pretty funny jokes about boongs and shit. But
then he starts on about some of the other stuff on there, like he had a
picture of that little napalmed gook girl from Thailand or wherever,
and he was dressed as Forest Gump and, well, I canít really talk about
What else? Oh, first time I met that old bitch Susan Sarandon she
shook my hand like a bloke and cut a large fucking fart. I think she
called her hemorrhoids Ďwind chimesí. Then she just fucking walked off.
Iím pretty sure she was a tranny. Few years later, I get a call out of
the blue, and her agent is asking me to get her into The Dark Knight.
Cunning as a dunny rat, that slut. And what would she fucking play?
Emperor Palpatine is a Star Wars character, you scrag. I could go on
RR: So, how would you like to be remembered?
HL: Um, as the first cunt ever to win the Nobel prize for shooting goey
and bashing sheilas. Listen, you poof, I made some movies, one of which
was not a fucking popcorn flick, and, now, I’m dead.
I mean, if people want to worship me because I made movies about
shirtlifter cowboys and cartoons, well, good on them. They’re total
fucking mongs, but, good on them.
RR: So the war in Iraq….
HL: I’m fading, mate… is that a white light? I’m being pulled towards the light!
RR: Really? Heath? Hello? Are you there?
HL: Yeah, but you’re boring the shit out of me. Fuck off, and tell any other interviewers to do the same.