By: Annna [2003-02-11]

The J. Geils Band and the Missing Vulva

two horrible, horrible dreams

Sean called me up and told me that he had won tickets to see the J. Geils Band. Since he was in Germany I would have to go, to report on the show for thingsihate. That didn't seem terribly odd; Sean's family has an insane knack for winning free things from drawings and raffles. I was a little concerned about something else, though; the only things I'd ever heard by the J. Geils Band were "Centerfold" and "Freeze Frame," and I didn't have time to get an album or listen to anything else they'd done.

I am uneasy when I go to musical shows for bands with whom I am not terribly familiar. I guess I worry that the singer might jam the microphone in my face and ask me to sing the chorus, at which point I would let everybody down. There might also be some kind of clapping or dancing I was supposed to do; while I am good at getting to and enjoy being in the front few rows of standing-up type concerts, I always feel obligated to look like I am very into things, in case the band is watching. Then I feel sad, because I can barely manage a sort of rhythmic rocking back and forth.

I didn't feel too worried about letting down the J. Geils Band, though. I figured I could just stand in the back or something. I guess if I didn't pay to get in, I don't feel as strongly about getting to the front of the audience.

When I got to the show it turned out that they had somehow found out that the only songs I had heard were "Centerfold" and "Freeze Frame." Because I was representing the press, those were the only songs they were going to play. They played those two songs over and over and over, and it was really unfortunate because, as it turned out, I only know the chorus to "Freeze Frame," so they'd play that for a while and then play "Centerfold" again.

It felt like that show lasted for days. Then I tried to leave without the band seeing me. I had to hide behind a Dumpster like in a bad spy movie; as I waited in the night, feeling really cold after the hot, sweaty auditorium, my throat felt hot and scratchy like I was about to catch a cold.

.


A middle-aged woman came to my house and asked to see all my bondage gear. I dragged a large duffel bag out of the closet and started laying it all out, a little nervous that she would disapprove. I guess she was there to renew my bondage-gear-owning license or something.

As it turned out, I had the stupidest bondage gear ever. I had a pair of leather pants - not sexy leather pants but dry and cracked brown leather slacks. I had a thing that looked like an enormous bowtie, untied, with one side covered in grip-knobs like a work glove or a slipper sock. I had a whole bunch of sea anemones, which at first I thought were french ticklers or something, but instead they turned out just to be jelly vinyl replicas of sea anemones. Then I found something hideous and flesh-pink and hollow, wrinkled and obscene. The woman and I stared at it for a while, until I remembered what it was; the inside of a vagina.

As I tried to explain to the woman, I had one of those pairs of latex underwear that looks like a woman's genitals, made to be worn by transvestites. (Mine was super-realistic, though; not one of the cheaper models.) I had it largely because it was on sale and I thought it would be ironic to own, but I didn't want to say that because I thought it would make her, a professional fetish gear inspector, look down on me and possibly give me a worse grade.

Absently playing with the inside-out vagina, she asked me where the rest of it was. I realized with a shock that turned into panic that I had no idea. Forget about my stupid fetish-gear-ownership permit, what if Mom came over and found it? Or the computer guy? What if I moved and left it behind? I started to worry that I'd left my name in the vulva panties, and the next renters would track me down to return them. My name is pretty uncommon but I am still the most peripatetic Oregon Truwe; what if they found my father first?

With that to worry about, I developed a much more cavalier attitude regarding the bondage inspector. As I unpacked my duffel I found a hard case full of sticks and canes and things, so I tried to distract her by hitting her a few times with each of my whips, flails, paddles and riding crops, which she took in stride. That might have been part of her job, though, what with the inspection and all. Then I ran out of things with which to hit her. She asked me again, where were the vulva panties?

I looked into her eyes for a moment, then threw the whip case through the window and jumped out. It wasn't as cool as it might sound; we were sitting on the couch, in front of a ground floor picture window, so I basically threw it then heaved myself up and over the couch, landing sprawled on the ground outside. I crawled and flailed awkwardly, eventually getting to my feet. I don't know if she was looking through the window or even following, because I just started running.
Pogoing [2003-02-11 01:37:00] Hieronymous Biscuit
I thought that at the concert, maybe the pogoing girl from Portland would appear and start pogoing all over the place. I had a bunch of those sea anemone thingies and could never figure out what they were for, but the cat liked to play with them. I found a series of porn auditions which were various young ladies self-stimulating for their interviews, and generally took about five or six minutes. There is one sort of average looking but very athletic sort who took up four 18-minute segments, and completely flabergasted the cameraman/interviewer. I had a sort of erotic dream during my afternoon nap, which was actually more burlesque and sordid sleeze than any erotic action, and consisted of skanky women changing costumes and it was an unusual dream in that there were lots of scents and smells. Everyone was waiting for this guy named Spike to show up, and I was anticipating a major player; but when Spike finally showed up, he was a squeaky voiced little guy barely over four-feet tall whose appearance brought no change in the flow of the plot.
Annna update! [2003-02-11 04:13:00] Antwan
Yay! Annna updated! I guees we've been good!

On a related note: Do you ever feel that if you post the wrong thing down here, you will personally offend Anna and she will track you down to punish you?
Anntwan [2003-02-11 06:34:00] posthumous
I like you, Antwan. Tell another duck joke.
"n's" [2003-02-11 07:17:00] Hieronymous Biscuit
If'n you keep leavin' n's out of Annna, she'll probably track you down and whip you silly with a rubber vulva and smite thee with a bladder.
Duck Vulva Jokes [2003-02-11 09:55:00] Hieronymous Biscuit
I went looking for duck vulva jokes and found that some statues in Churches in Ireland have statues of a woman with an explicit vulva.

CISSY CAFFREY
I gave it to Molly
Because she was jolly,
The leg of the duck,
The leg of the duck.

(Private Carr and Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their
oxters, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their mouths a volleyed fart. Laughter of men from the lane. A so hoarse virago retorts.)

THE VIRAGO

Signs on you, hairy arse. More power the Cavan girl.

CISSY CAFFREY

More luck to me. Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet. (she sings)

I gave it to Nelly
To stick in her belly,
The leg of the duck,
The leg of the duck.
Fetish Camp [2003-02-11 12:28:00] Hieronymous Biscuit
I realize that there aren't always good reasons for everything in dreams, but having your name in the vulva panties suggests that one might be going or have been to fetish camp. Granted, one might get separated from such accoutrements during normal activities wherever they might occur, and want to be able to retrieve them.
Henry the Faithful Duck [2003-02-11 13:42:00] Antwan
Henry the faithful duck was a smart duck. The stripper said "wow, you're smart!" one day he bit a man. The man said "Hey! You bit me!" and Henry said "technically, I know that"
Comment on comments [2003-02-11 22:25:00] posthumous
Excellent duck work, gentlemen. Antwan, I noticed a reference to a previous Zirealism. You little kiss-ass, I love you!

And in case you aren't a properly aware US citizen, americanos are all advised to go out and buy duck tape and plastic sheeting. Don't ask why. You don't want to know.
No Air!!! [2003-02-12 00:03:00] Hieronymous Biscuit
From past experience with duc(k)(t) tape and plastic, having taped up windows one winter when it was very cold, just overnight one can run out of air. So, I do not see that being asphyxiated is much better than being gassed, although it might be a bit better than perishing from unspecified germs. I suspect yet another scam by the international duck tape cartel. What would make some sense is to have maybe one room. A friend has long had a 5-minute rebreather, which is long enough for some gas attacks; but some chemicals are persistent or contact, and germs tend to be pesky. There was talk during the Gulf War that the Iraqis had put AIDS DNA into cat scratch fever virus so that it was just as bad but a lot more contaigous. The best thing to do is to hide-out in your luxurious underground bunker and breath filtered air and drink champagne with the duck until all this blows over.
The Luxury Bomb Shelter [2003-02-12 19:39:00] posthumous
Sure, if you're Duck Cheney!
[2004-04-01 17:21:00] Kittens Toy Room
There is nothing better than a good joke, one must put this one in that basket....
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