A Brief Explanation, part I of V

[Doktor Howl]

Leslie Gore died because she was a worse dancer than me.

Not only was that incredibly difficult, but intolerable in the eyes of any orderly universe - I dance in the way that I imagine Richard Nixon fucked...Slow and plodding, with odd and inappropriate grunting noises that would be more appropriate in a zoo.  But Leslie Gore's Dancing in the televised version of It's My Party, and I'll Cry if I Want to from "Hollywood A Go Go" in 1965¹ demonstrates that you can in fact insult the Gods, even if those Gods might not exist.

The fail backed up and clogged her glands.

Within a year, she had become a mammoth sack of bloat, held in vaguely humanoid shape by a variety of industrial grade harnesses and girdles.  It couldn't last, of course, and when she hit the high note at the end of You Don't Own Me in concert, a buckle failed and the entire contraption flew apart, killing two stage hands and a member of the audience.  Poor Leslie literally came unglued, turning into an amorphous mass that leaked down through the RCA stage and into the sewers, thus depriving the world of another 10 years of saccharine "Johnny" ballads.

Rumor has it that what she had become still haunts the sewers and subways of the big apple, devouring homeless people and late night commuters, but nobody really believes that.  Things like that just don't happen, even in New York.

To be continued.


¹   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XsYJyVEUaC4  Be warned...This isn't pretty.

[Freeky]

Wait, what?

[Nephew Twiddleton]

Googling....

Wait.
That's who did those songs?
She was nineteen in this video?
Lesbian. Kudos to her.

I have never heard of this person before, even though I have heard her music.

So, repeating Freeky, what?

[Doktor Howl]

It is simply the first part of what promises to be a brief explanation.

All will be made clear shortly.

[Cainad (dec.)]

It is simply the first part of what promises to be a brief explanation.

All will be made clear shortly.

I hope so. How the hell am I supposed to get any sleep tonight with this story rolling around in my brain? Something about it makes me feel that it is very important, but I haven't the slight clue wtf is going on here.


And you say my head is full of broken glass...

[Doktor Howl]

It is simply the first part of what promises to be a brief explanation.

All will be made clear shortly.

I hope so. How the hell am I supposed to get any sleep tonight with this story rolling around in my brain? Something about it makes me feel that it is very important, but I haven't the slight clue wtf is going on here.


And you say my head is full of broken glass...

No, I've always maintained that mine is.  I've been told that's just another side effect, but you know how doctors lie.

But that is neither here nor there.  I shall continue the explanation tomorrow.  By this time on Monday, everything will be explained in a manner that everyone can understand and appreciate.  It will be most educational, and no spoiling it if you figure out what I'm trying to say early.

[E.O.T.]

I AM IN

          fear

AND

          awe

          of where this will go. The idea that this OP has a definite beginning and end is perhaps, more disturbing. like cereal murder disturbing.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Leslie Gore died because she was a worse dancer than me.

Not only was that incredibly difficult, but intolerable in the eyes of any orderly universe - I dance in the way that I imagine Richard Nixon fucked...Slow and plodding, with odd and inappropriate grunting noises that would be more appropriate in a zoo.  But Leslie Gore's Dancing in the televised version of It's My Party, and I'll Cry if I Want to from "Hollywood A Go Go" in 1965¹ demonstrates that you can in fact insult the Gods, even if those Gods might not exist.

The fail backed up and clogged her glands.

Within a year, she had become a mammoth sack of bloat, held in vaguely humanoid shape by a variety of industrial grade harnesses and girdles.  It couldn't last, of course, and when she hit the high note at the end of You Don't Own Me in concert, a buckle failed and the entire contraption flew apart, killing two stage hands and a member of the audience.  Poor Leslie literally came unglued, turning into an amorphous mass that leaked down through the RCA stage and into the sewers, thus depriving the world of another 10 years of saccharine "Johnny" ballads.

Rumor has it that what she had become still haunts the sewers and subways of the big apple, devouring homeless people and late night commuters, but nobody really believes that.  Things like that just don't happen, even in New York.

To be continued.


¹   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XsYJyVEUaC4  Be warned...This isn't pretty.

This is fucking amazing. What... what is happening in that video? Am I the only one who noticed one of the dancers on stage nearly tip over?

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

By the way, the cover of "You don't own me" by Rasputina is fucking massively awesome and wipes away the Leslie Gore stain.

Seriously.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0oxLybgEic

[Jasper]

The OP's video...  God, I don't think I've ever been made to feel like shit by a music video.  I've seen ones that make me feel happy, or sad, or other emotions, but I actually feel like shit looking at that.  Like I'm mildly ill, fatigued, headachey, and depressed now.

I wasn't those things a moment ago.

How did this happen?

What the fuck.

You better explain tomorrow, Dok.

[LMNO]

The OP has been built out of Awesome and Win.

[Richter]

CAN'T STOP GIGGLING!

It's shit like this that makes me afraid of fat people, Dok.  Not the kind that are round, yet affable, but the really BIG power scooter whale "fat is a disability" crowd.  The kind you ponder harpooning and rendering down.
When Lovecraft wrote about Shoggoths they sounded pretty cool, but the reality, as ever, never fails to horrify.
Moar.

[Adios]

I. Feel. Your. Pain.

Every stinking moment of it.

[Jenne]

The last 3 posts have said it for me.

[Doktor Howl]

I. Feel. Your. Pain.

Every stinking moment of it.

Men aren't supposed to dance, of course, it's not terribly macho, and then we ARE supposed to suddenly know how when we go to wedding receptions, etc.

I CAN dance, mind you, but only when I'm wearing hobnail boots, and only on the right crowd.