RANTS FROM OBLIVION

A few years back I was hangin out at the local tavern sippin suds and checkin out chicks when some sweet thang approached, enticing me into conversation, inebriation, and fornication. HAH! Do I look easy??? NO, I HELD MY GROUND. I insisted we skip the suds and the blah blah and go right to the backseat of my car. Well, I found out she was seriously upset because her boyfriend of 5 or 6 years had just dumped her. I figured, "oh good, easy pickins", but the more I talked to her, the more I realized she was a genuinely good person. So I determined I'd really screw with her head and go home. She wanted a kiss goodnight but I just pinched her butt instead and said "give me a call".

The next date was a revelation. It started out with a modest, all organic dinner she'd prepared. Now generally, when you leave a girl hanging without a kiss they either hate you or love you. She loved me; and greeted me at the door with a box of unpackaged (used) batteries. See, she knew I was in a band and was in constant need of replenishing batteries used in guitar effects pedals. What a nice, though interesting, gesture I thought.

After finishing dinner she gave me a tour of her pleasant home which included passing several pictures on a desk of women in the most bizarre and contorted positions I had ever had the opportunity to view. They were photos of 4 or 5 girls who had managed to turn themselves backwards and inverted in such a way as to be appearing to be "making a meal of themselves" if you get my meaning. "OK,I've really got a kinky one here" I mentioned to myself. And in questioning her about them I came to find out that this gentle soul, this frank, unabashedly honest woman, was in fact a compulsive masturbator attempting to achieve the suppleness and flexibility necessary to imitate the photos.

I discovered then how my cache of introductory loot (the batteries) had accumulated. She owned a device which contained a small, soft plastic covered, metal clamping mechanism which she would fasten directly to her "self", yes, her clit. A jumper wire was attached to the clamp on one end and an electrical source (battery) on the other end with a switch. When she flikked the switch life was hummin! The problem she had was that the batteries only provided the proper voltage to make her "happy" for a very short time. This is where fortune smiled on me. The remaining charge on the battery was not quite enough to move my friend past the edge of ecstasy more than once (with abandon), or maybe twice (with patience). But the remainder was more than enough to keep a rock'n'roller jammin' for a whole week. Consequently, the last few months of failed pleasure on her part now provided me with hours and hours of musical, though tainted, moments of joy, especially on reflection.

My point here though, is Christmas. Unfortunately Santa Clause had not yet invented nickel cadmium batteries or had failed miserably in marketing them. My friend had paid the price for being an uneducated consumer (and I had profitted). None the less, the message here is that in order to get the best "bang" outta your buck, before buying batteries for your toy, look into asking Santa for the rechargeable type - you'll save a bundle and they'll always be "hot".

Epilogue: The movie was great, but the more I saw her, the more my battery supply dwindled. She finally moved to Erie and I discovered AC adapters - something I do NOT recommend pluggin your self into (or into your self).