The Pagoda hasn’t always seen eye to eye with our colleague, Jack Arute. Partly because of his diminutive, hyena-like physical stature … but mainly because he’s notoriously evil and boorish. But we thought it high time to end this madness between us. Or at the very least, call a cease-fire on the blood feud. See where it takes us.

We sat down with him recently hoping to build upon the similarities between us. I mean, we’re all swell dressers and none of us are Chinese. That’s a start. Maybe we can make this work. We’ll see.

The Pagodium is yours, Mr. Arute.

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First things first: Does your agreeing to this interview mean that you and the Pagoda have buried the hatchet?

No, just the opposite. Apparently you don’t know the primary Italian directive, “Keep your friends close…and your enemies closer.”

That didn’t take long. Fine. Have it your way. The blood feud endures. And speaking of physical violence upon others, have you ever stabbed someone for making fun of the fact that you smoke women’s cigarettes?

That’s never been necessary. You see, with the gender equity issues and Title IX that permeate my business, it pays to be in touch with my “feminine side.”

Keep telling yourself that, Maude. Moving forward, when’s the last time you wore your ESPN fire suit into a bar?

I never have. But now that you mention it…..I might try that. I did wear it on my Match.com profile and it landed me a date with fire swallower from Ringling Bros. Circus. Things didn’t work out too well.

Well sure. Things seldom do with circus folk. They’re a shifty lot, those carnies. But industrious. And quite savvy, oddly enough. But that’s neither here nor there. Alright, finish this sentence: Some people think that Brian Barnhart is a bona fide badass, but I know for a fact that he …

… drinks green tea, enjoys croissants and a fine Brie.

Now we’re getting somewhere. Libeling others is what this country was built on. Let’s keep this going: When you, Marty Reid, and Scott Goodyear are showering up before a show, do you ever wrestle? Word around the TV compound is that you guys are always one dirty martini away from some questionable decisions.

I would NEVER shower with those two. Can you imagine bending down to pick up the soap? Goodyear would be talking about working his weight-jacker and Reid would be announcing into the shower head, “Don’t go anywhere as we go to break with side by side commercial coverage because we are the greatest broadcasting booth in the world!”

Here here. You should go punch Reid in the throat. But before that, give me your most tried-and-true pickup line — the one that succeeds most often with the ladies (keeping in mind that there are only seven people reading this … and explicit language is always encouraged here).

Having failed at 3 consecutive marriages, I just cut to the chase and ask the broad if she’s interested in getting an expensive house for free.

Ummm, wow. Wow. And — uhhhhh — that sound you hear is an armed platoon of Disney attorneys barging into my office. Pay them no mind, Jack. Keep doing what you’re doing. Now, your own IndyCar.com blog — despite being about as entertaining as a colostomy bag — has all the lush comforts of a professionally operated blog. (And by “lush comforts,” I mean “paragraph breaks” and “the ability to post images.”) In your scholarly, rum-soaked opinion, why does the Pagoda look like it’s hosted on an Etch-n-Sketch? Who do we have to Anthrax in order to get some upgrades around here?

Upgrades would be wasted on the Silent Pagoda. And rum-fueled????? I prefer Champagne with an RC Cola chaser.

Here we go again. Back on that train. There will never be peace between us, will there? Whatever, Arute. Let’s stay focused here and wrap this up. The legendary story about you, Teo Fabi and Burt Lancaster getting into a barfight at Brad’s Gold Club after the 1983 Indy 500 … is it true?

Yes. Fabi was distraught and sought refuge in a full chilled bottle of Reunite. Teo was sitting at the bar gulping down the red when Old Burt sauntered in and sat next to the short Eye-Talian. One of Lancaster ‘s old films was on the TV (pre-empting the Indy 500). It was the “Birdman of Alcatraz .” The next thing you know, Fabi is spouting off about how he would have eaten the pigeons. You see, where he is from in Italy, Pigeons are a delicacy (see the Food Network’s web site for Mario Batallia’s recipe for Pigeon fra Diablo). Lancaster gets pissed and takes a swing at Teo with a pork tenderloin that was left over from the track.(Don’t ask me how it got to the bar. That’s an ugly story that I don’t care to relive. Had to do with Howdy Holmes and a VERY fat lady.)

I had to step in and mash my More cigarette into the middle of the tenderloin to spoil the fight. It really was tense for a few moments.

HOLY CHRIST! Slow the f–k down, Jack Kerouac! Just hold on a second! Hold on. Wait! Why don’t you write like THAT in your blog?! You know, entertainingly. Like you’re high. Howdy Holmes … a lone More cigarette … diaoblo something or other … deranged pigeon-eaters!!! Sweet bloody hell, old man! As much as it pains me, a tip of the cap to you. Really. Because that was about 14 trillion times more entertaining than whatever it is you blather on about in your weekly blog. I’m just blown away. And at the risk of contracting gonorrhea for asking this, I feel I must: If I were to hire you for your own weekly column, what could you add to the Pagoda? What could you bring to the table?

NOTHING! You don’t pay enough and besides, I wouldn’t want to raise the bar of the site beyond the mediocrity that it currently wallows in.

Jesus. What’s with you, Arute? Sometimes you’re cool and/or high … but you quickly return to being imminently dickish. Cool … dickish. Cool … dickish. Right on cue. Like the tides. I’m just going to come out and ask it: are you a pirate?

Funny that you should ask. No, I’m not a pirate. But I did have a parrot once. Cooked him. He tasted just like chicken.

The hell you say. I’m not buying it. You don’t have the stones to flash-fry a pet. Few do. I’ll leave it at that. Lastly, I heard you’re launching your own cologne. Word out of Shreveport is that it’ll be a simple bouquet centered around musk melon and lighter fluid. Any truth to that?

Yes. It’s called “Whatever” (for the man who has nothing). It’s actually a blended mix of possum sweat, ethanol and axle grease. It goes well with Parrot and Pigeon.

Well, I’m certainly vexed. I feel like I’ve been Arute-ified. Obscure, hallucinated rants … brief periods of semi-coherent thought … smarminess … charm … high-octane douchery … some Barry White coolness … flame broiled exotic birds … all wrapped up in a big “F—K YOU!” tortilla of vicious attacks on the Pagoda.

I’m not sure what to make of all this, you crazy bastard. I need time to mull it over. Maybe the battle between us marches on. Maybe not. We’ll see, once the peyote-laced dust settles.

Until we meet again, Arute. Good day.