Will Ferrell plays Mad Libs with Jason Gay's "classically clichéd celebrity profile." For the full article, pick up the July issue of GQ. For more of the profile, see the the jump

Will Ferrell is half-cocked. It's a painfully early morning at the Bevonshire Lodge Motel, and when I knock on the door to Ferrell's room, he opens it dressed in only a kimono and a Clippers hat. His face resembles a jigsaw puzzle, and in the background I hear the television tuned to The Rockford Files and see a half-empty bottle of Laughing Clown Malt Liquor.

MensStyle

"Sorry, man," he says as a California condor chirps in the distance. "I didn't get home until 6 a.m.! We went out to the airport Hilton, and I thought I'd be in bed by midnight. But then Gary Busey showed up and things just got crazy! We wound up at Chuck Mangione's house, and I think I ate a box of condoms!"

Ferrell laughs. It's been more than 12 years since we last met, and the 53-year-old actor has been on a remarkable ride. The first time I saw him, Ferrell was still a struggling knife thrower, trying to find his way in an uncompromising business. He was far from the $80 million-per-picture superstar he is today--the comic genius celebrated for his work in such films as Old School and Drowning Mona. Back in the old days, Ferrell drove a golf cart. He ate his meals at Ralphs supermarket, and his only dream was that one day he'd get to design a line of throwing knives made out of shark cartilage.

"Let's eat some breakfast!" Ferrell announces. He calls out to his loyal assistant, who is sleeping under a hibiscus tree. "Captain Greg! Captain Greg!" he cries. A few minutes later, we're surrounded by a feast of lobster, mango, and chili. Ferrell inhales a bite.

"Mmmmmm!" he says. "You like this recipe? Jan-Michael Vincent gave it to me on the set of Knight Hawk 4. Fantastic!"

There are many things I want to ask Ferrell about. For starters, there are his upcoming movies, the first of which is the summer NASCAR comedy Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (originally titled Speed Kills: The Ballad of Bobby Ricky). The second is Stranger Than Fiction, a quirky, cerebral film directed by the extremely Swiss Marc Forster and costarring Dustin Hoffman, whom Ferrell now affectionately calls Hambone. Stranger is a departure for Ferrell, and it's already attracting awards-season buzz; Roger Ebert recently attended a screening and raved that Ferrell "reminds me of a young Richard Burton, only not as good."

"Captain Greg!" Ferrell cries out. "Can we get some cilantro pancakes, por favor?"

I have other questions for Ferrell, too. There's the tantalizing news that he's thinking of running for office, specifically a bid for attorney general in the state of New Mexico. There's his on-again, off-again relationship with Loni Anderson and the rumor that the two may be planning to have a child in Africa. Finally, there is the uncomfortable truth of his recent arrest for possession of illegal snakes and his painful public admission that he has "a problem with the booger sugar."

These may strike you as typical movie-star-type clichés--a brilliant comic actor battling his demons on his way to the top. But Ferrell is no cliché. He's not a player, a mover, or a shaker, or even a dolphin with a harelip. He's just, frankly, Will Ferrell. And that's the only thing he's ever wanted to be. That, and a friend.