The Real 29th_Candidate Is Really An Alien/vodkaboy's Have A Drink With Me W/O
Sep 03 '03
The Bottom Line Obviously 29th acts like a real man here like an updated version of the Jonathan character in Carnal Knowledge!
Author's Note--For previous installments to the Dr. Freudine series, please see my profile page. For this write-off participants are to ask another site member to a bar of their choice for drinks and to answer whatever questions spring to mind. I asked 29th_Candidate to pretend I was Dr. Freudine to give me feedback on my therapeutic efforts now that he's quit therapy, but, well, a bar isn't the best place to be serious. These are 29th's answers for real!
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I'm waiting at a cozy table for two at The Cat and the Fiddle, sipping a Strawberry Daiquri, when 29th finally arrives a few minutes late. He looks and smells like he just stepped out of the shower, glistening like a dewy spring flower in Ireland, with a Downy-fresh, tailored suit straight out of The Great Gatsby.
"Hi!" he pours out, somewhat destroying the image. "This seat taken?" When I shake my head, he grins and says he'll be right back. He orders his drink at the bar and comes back.
"Okay, 29th, describe this bar and what you're drinking," I begin.
"The Cat and The Fiddle in Hollywood; an English pub with an outdoor patio; I'm nonchalantly chasing down a double shot of Jaegermeister with a Long Island Ice Tea."
Hmm, I reflect to myself. Not very imaginative, are you? You always come here. But you didn't understand it could be a fantasy bar, I realize. Wonder if I'll see any celebrities.
"So why did you stop therapy?" I ask.
"I had a supernatural experience in which 4 beautiful, naked female angels visited my bedside. They advised me that because, unbeknownst to me, I'm actually an extra-terrestrial being, the unusual structure and function of my brain's pineal gland would prevent any currently known or available Earthly methods of therapy (sexual or otherwise) from curing me of my extensive "alien" psychological abnormalities, at least until approximately 2016. They further advised that they were not in fact "angels," but extraterrestrial beings of similar origin, sent to me with the option of providing me an alternative sexual cure for my mental instability, but this treatment would require my engaging with them in 2 straight weeks of continuous intimate, unconventional and rigorous sexual exercises, and involve the sexual intermingling of life forces with them on a supernatural/metaphysical level, the sexual pleasure of which would be of such an overwhelming and intense nature, it had a 29% chance of causing a situation in which I 'would never be myself again.'
"However, this treatment is what would I would require to trigger the dormant functions of my brain's alien pineal gland (due to various elemental anamolies inherent in Earth's atmosphere that suppressed its 'normal' function.) I interpreted their phrase, '(I) would never be myself again' in its 'figurative' sense (meaning the intensity of the sexual pleasure from our intermingling of life forces might result in permanent insanity,) but they actually meant the phrase quite literally. As fate would have it, the life force you normally associate with this body was trapped in the physical shell that previously held my life force. Neither he nor I will ever be ourselves again.
"However, this shouldn't be a problem for purposes of our interview, because I maintain a direct psychic link to him and my original, physical shell. I also have full access to all of his memories and personal experiences, since they are retained in the inner lining of this physical shell's brain.
"The reason he, errrr... I "stopped therapy," is because he actually never required it in the first place. On our planet of origin, he would be considered quite psychologically "normal." It is only in comparison to the other carbon-based, humanoid life forms of your planetary heritage that his mental functions appear abnormal."
In other words he doesn't understand who he is, feels like an alien and wants me to mind my own business.
I laugh, anyway. Lighten up, I tell myself. "Did you ever want sex therapy or was it a joke?"
"All sex is 'therapy' of a sort. Our personalities derive their salient characteristics in large part from our sexual libidos. I believe there's a direct relationship between my socially aberrant behavior and my ceaseless desire to sample female body heat.
"A joke? Hell no. Sex is one of the few things I do take seriously. Dress it up in therapy, it's still the same thing. ...Just more fun to unwrap." 29th winks and takes a long draw of his drink.
I don't quite catch his meaning. Sex as therapy is more fun to unwrap...or discover what? Sexual problems? Is he thinking that sex and sex therapy are the same thing? But he's not wanting therapy anymore...or sex either??
Still this isn't the time to be serious. Instead I laugh again and ask, "Have I helped you in any way? Messed up?"
"I'm beyond help, but not beyond hope. You have entertained me with these sessions. Anything that entertains me is therapeutic. Gratuitous sex and violence are more therapeutic than quality writing and intelligent dialogue."
Really?! Oh, but he's laughing. I relax and smile.
"Do you flirt with all the girls?" I challenge.
"Na-a-a-ahhh... Usually just the ones who have the good sense and self-preservation instincts to try to avoid me," he quips. "After some "high profile" spectacles, one of which is well-known enough at epinions for me not to have to mention it here and which still continues to plague me after 3 years, I've become a bit apprehensive about inadvertently stepping on flirtation-triggered passion-mines. Nowadays, I won't indulge a flirtation with a hunny until I get back the fully completed flirtation form application that I hand out to eligible-seeming coquettes and divas."
"Could I have one? I'd like to apply."
"I'll think about it," he teases.
"So describe the perfect woman," I follow with, hoping for some helpful insight into how to best flirt with him. I'm not really that comfortable with flirting.
"For me, the perfect woman combines the body and sex appeal of Charisma Carpenter (from the show, "Angel") with the classic beauty of a young Grace Kelly or a Donna Dixon, with the aristocratic elegance, grace and cultivation of a Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, mixed with the "let's get busy right now" uninhibited lustiness of a Kirstun Dunst, all put together using Jessica Rabbit's assembly manual.
"Her general comportment and carriage looks like graceful, fluidity of movement given human form. She doesn't merely "fit in" to a scene, she wears it like an outward extension of her wardrobe. Her city-sidewalk tapping heels are Nature's metronome; they set the beat of her surroundings. Her voice would, at all times prior to sex, be well-modulated, sultry, breathy and seductive, with noticably sibilant, slightly lispy "S"s. During-sex exceptions would of course, be made for soft moans, whispery coos, delicate, whimpering cries of ecstasy and vibrato in proportion to soft-shivering.
"She would have the doe-eyed femininity, the hourglass figure and the alien aloofness of a Jerri Ryan (Voyager's 7 of 9), the sang froid and worldliness of a female James Bond, the athletic abilities of a World Class Decathlon participant, the intuitive perceptive insight and wisdom of a Shaolin Priest and the sexual appetite and prowess of a sailor on her last fling before "anchors aweigh." It wouldn't hurt if she had Madonna's artistic instincts, either."
I raise my eyebrows. He must've read my mind about needing insight and made sure I didn't get any!
"Well, are you romantic? Give an example."
"Exxxxxx-tremely so. Check it...
"Okay, ...like on a first date, I'd get it goin' by taking her to a strip joint so she could learn from the local talent how to give me a proper lap dance. Then we'd go to my place so I could test her on what she learned. If she felt uncomfortable or awkward about it, I'd even allow her to invite over 2 or 3 of her friends (but only the hotties) to join her, so she wouldn't feel awkward doin' the cheek-ta-beak-squeak alone for the first time. We'd play "The Helpless Genie & The Cruel, Spoiled Master;" a very fun and exciting "physical participation" game in which my date has to make educated guesses about what activities turn me on and what bores or displeases me. It involves a very minor amount of mental cruelty and physical torture (for incorrect responses,) but usually only at the beginning, before the thrall, errrr... date, I mean, has an opportunity to become oriented to my interesting assortment of deviant fetishes and kinky sexual aberrations. At this point, she would be so sexually stimulated, we'd skip the foreplay, and get right to knockin' boots. If I was in a REALLY romantic mood we might even extend the buckwildin' to a full fifteen minutes before my orgasm indicated our enchanting night of romance was at an end. I'd gallantly proceed to call her a cab, then roll over and take a nap so she wouldn't be forced to engage me in awkward conversation while awaiting her cab ride.
...And YOU thought chivalry was dead.?
Okay, now I know he's just having fun with me! I lock eyes with him, but he's able to outlast me. I think fast for any question that might save me from embarrassment, sipping my vanishing Strawberry Daquiri with the right amount of ice.
"Are you a good cook or do you burn everything?" I inquire smugly, confident he couldn't cook.
"I'm a pretty respectable cook, but I still like to burn things because I'm a hardcore pyromaniac."
I nod, grinning. In other words he eats out or orders in.
"Are you familiar with the writer Guy deMaupassant? Not that he was a pyromaniac."
"Yes. I've read some of his short stories. The only one that comes to mind is "The Necklace. Do you want another drink?" I just tell him water and he goes to the bar. Interesting! He hasn't read 'Tales of the Woodcock' or other bawdy ones? A real answer, it seems. Soon he comes back with my water and another Long Island Ice Tea.
"Is there anything you dislike about yourself?" I pose, expecting a thoughtful pause.
"I'm too romantic."
Not an overthinker by any means! Meaning too sexy or too driven by sex, I wonder.
"So what does this world need most?"
"That's easy. The world needs many, many more lawyers and politicians. If we could even just double the current populations of each, I feel certain we'd soon litigate and legislate most of the world's problems out of existence. People would fear the expensive litigation associated with perpetrating mean acts against each other, thereby making the world much kinder, nicer and more user-friendly.
"With more politicians, we'd have more positive role models for our kids. The world's nations would be able to make more laws so we could outlaw evil, hatred and random sinning, and DOUBLE, perhaps even TRIPLE the penalties for the dirty criminals who flout prostitution, censorship, public smoking and marijuana laws. OFF with their extremities, I say! We'd rid the world of sex, drugs and rock n' roll in like a week, maybe less! Jeeezzzz-- What else?
"We could institute more anti-gun laws, and after the guns were gone we could start getting rid of the world's overly-sharp kitchen knives, then heavy, blunt objects that could potentially be used as murder weapons, generally. Oh yeah, and rope too. Definitely get rid of rope. Without rope, bad guys would never be able to tie any good guys up. (I keep forgetting how many evil inanimate objects populate the world!) I don't know why we haven't outlawed road-rage yet, but with more politicians, we could do that too. For once, we'd be able to keep all the bad people in line, thus making it easier for good people, like us, to get things done and move about freely. Ultimately, the world would be a much happier, more satisfying and friendlier place, but only for good people. Bad people would finally get what they have coming to them. I can't believe I'm the first one to think of these ideas."
So he thinks people listen to politicians and ambulance chasers! Hmmm...
"Okay, just one more. I'm curious. If you wrote a book, what would it be about?"
"That's a toughy. I'd probably write a few books:
"--"Jim Scileppi: The Non-White House Years"
This would be a book chronicling all the historic things I did while somebody else was President of the United States.
--"The Rand MacNally Pocket Guide To Consumerly-Helpful Events & Attractions"
A handy guidebook to world events and attractions that provide SCADS of useful product information calculated to help world-traveling consumers make better buying decisions.
--"The Eventual Suicide Committer's Stalker-Negotiation Reference Book"
A step-by-step guide to:
1) Coming to terms with the inevitability and eventuality of your stalker-escape suicide.
2) Making your few remaining earthbound days as a stalker victim less torturesome through diversionary stalker negotiation & bargaining tactics.
3) Making your eventual suicide an eagerly anticipated event by insuring that the stalker who made your suicide decision unavoidable, suffers the maximum amount of torture and anguish possible as a consequence of your demise."
I chuckle. "I'll be looking for those, definitely. Well, I think I know you a little better, 29th. Don't know if you'd make the most effective politician, but you sure are entertaining! Thanks. Now..."
He bursts out laughing, throwing his head back in Jay Gatsby or Tom Cruise style. I notice other women watching and ignoring me. His laughter only gains momentum as I nervously gulp my water. Well, obviously the tea is getting to him or he's doing the alien thing. I shakily rise to my feet.
"I'm going to the bathroom," I announce and hurry off to the sound of a low whistle. It seems I have cured his alien attack.
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Member: Jan Peregrine
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Farrah, I'm stunned. Play with the other angels, love.
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