“Penetration”

Art by Dave Mitchell. Logo by Greg Reinel.

            “This one’s for all you lovers out there…” –Some smooth-ass Radio DJ.

DISCLAIMER: The story you are about to hear is true. The names have been changed to protect a total degenerate.

“I’ll be back in a bit, guys…” Ernie told us as he left to pick up his new girlfriend, Yazni.

“Sounds good, man—see you soon!”

The door slammed and we got to work. First, we pulled the stack of Playboys out from the wicker basket which Ernie’s dad kept right next to the front door—the front door. Who the fuck keeps Playboys next to their front door? We opened every issue’s centerfold and tacked them up all around the living room. Next, we went to Ernie’s parents’ room and borrowed their entire library of sex books, the very tomes, we deduced, which had led to Ernie’s creation as all of their copyrights were issued back in the late 1970’s. We circled these sacred volumes on the coffee table around a quarter-bag of pot and a resin-clotted pipe… y’know—to help get Ernie and his new gal-pal into a more literary mood. Since we were in this deep, we also decided to liberate Ern’s mom’s bras and panties from her undie drawer and string them up from the ceiling fan to really make it a family affair.

Ambience was of the utmost importance, so we swapped out the lights in the living room for some red-tinted bulbs we’d found while ransacking the kitchen cabinets. We also came across some candles, which we lit for the additional amorous effect. I found one of those archaic back-scratchers in Ma and Pa Ern’s room that resembled a tiny pervert’s wooden hand—Pinocchio, perhaps. This, I offered at the foot of our haphazardly-constructed Sex Alter beneath the piece de resistance—a childhood photo of only-child Ern to inspire the conception of more little Ernies down the line… We were some sick individuals.

The room was almost ready, but there was one crucial component missing—the very piece of the puzzle which had led us to collectively play Cupid for our friend to begin with:

The soundtrack.

Time was slipping fast; Ern and Yazni, who was actually Ernie’s first girlfriend now that I think about it, would be back any moment. I rushed to his room and ripped through his CD collection to find the Stooges Raw Power—the album which had roused us to construct this family-friendly love chamber—then throttled back to the living room where I jammed it in place among the other smooth silky R & B Slow Jammers Ern’s parents’ kept in constant rotation. Those freaks couldn’t even keep their hands off each other in the sanctity of their own living room… Yuck.

I reminded myself to keep off the couch as I skipped past my favorite songs—“Search and Destroy,” “Gimme Danger,” “Hard to Beat” (originally entitled “Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell”)—to find the track in question, the tune which had motivated us to torture and humiliate our friend to this degree as he shuttled his new girlfriend back to show her off for everybody…

“Penetration.”

You see, about a week or so before, Ern had made the fatal mistake of bragging to all of us that he’d had sex with Yazni while playing this song on REPEAT. The sick fuck—may Jesus save his soul.

I programmed the Iggy Pop classic on the disc-changer as Ernie had in the passionate throes of his lover’s arms and boosted the stereo to an intimate but not over-bearing volume. It was time to let the love in.

Now, don’t get me wrong—the track does have one of the hottest guitar licks of any Rock ‘n Roll song imaginable, but—this display of rampant confidence from our friend Ernie could not be tolerated… this sick son of a bitch needed our help.

We shot out of the house giggling like prepubescent girls, parked our cars far down the street, then bolted back to the Ern-abode where we killed all the lights except for the ones providing the illumination for Ernie’s pleasure dome. After that, we crammed into the guest bedroom, hid the best we could, and waited.

And waited.

“Isn’t this guy supposed to be back soon?”

“Probably had to have a quickie at her place, that horny bastard…”

“Yeah, but his soundtrack is over here!”

“Well, I don’t—”

“SHHHHHH!” We heard a jingle of keys mingle with the din of the song—Ernie was finally home! The door opened and we heard voices, though it was still Iggy’s that was most prominent as he repeated over and over again, ad infinitum: “Ah, PENETRAAAAAATE ME—AH PENETRAAAAAATE—SO FINE—SO FINE—PENETRAAAAATE—”

“What the hell? What is—?”

Instant understanding dawned in Yazni’s words—Ernie hadn’t brought home some dummy. “Why would your friends do dis to you, Ernie?” she inquired earnestly in her thick New York accent. “Are dey mad a’choo?” Since none of us had met her before this was quite a first impression we were making.

“Those guys…” Ernie the grumbled with what he thought was Alpha-masculine authority, though to us he sounded more like a combination of Jackie Gleason and Cookie Monster. I’d give a thousand bucks to hear him speak that candidly again… “I can’t believe they would do this!”

But what did we do, exactly? We were just a bunch of aspiring Cyrano De Bergeracs—only slightly more depraved.

“Wait a second…” We could hear the gears clicking in Ern’s head from the other room, above the thunder of the Stooges and our own maniacal laughter. At that moment, Ernie was a detective for the ages. “They would never leave their POT here!” A very astute deduction. “You guys!!”

We braced for impact as Iggy continued his lustful litany—Ernie and Yazni tore open the door to the guest bedroom where we all sat there in stitches. “Okay, you guys, THAT’S IT!” he chided us in his most Father-like voice—appropriate since Ernie’s dad was perhaps a bigger sexual deviant than Ern himself. “What’s the big idea?”

“What? We were just trying to set the mood!”

Seriously, though—as I struggle to write this years later, I do wonder—what was the big idea? Why did we do such horrible shit to our friend? I think I might have some idea…

As much as I hate to admit it, I understood the plight of young Ernie. A year or so before we constructed this aphrodisiacal alcove, I myself had also been seduced by the raw power of the Stooges eroticized Rock ‘n Roll abandon. Before hearing them, I had mostly disavowed every other kind of music besides Hardcore Punk, which implements anger as its primary pump where blood vessels are concerned. When Iggy and the Stooges came along, I discovered a music that could embrace every nuance of humanity—sensuality included. It was a revelation—an AWAKENING—which led to the development of some alien sensation inside me that almost resembled… confidence? The Stooges had penetrated me, for sure. It was the dawn of a new day…

But this self-assurance is a beast that can run rampant if left unchecked as I—and I’m sure Iggy himself—eventually discovered. Humility is the key to balance, even if you’re the runaway son of a nuclear A-bomb. Ernie had obviously undergone my same metamorphosis—he, too, had felt the power from Raw Power, but Ern had overdosed. Confidence can go too far, and absolute confidence can corrupt absolutely. Raw power’s got a healing hand, but raw power can also destroy a man. Like helium, it’s an element that retracts and expands, and this particular explosive gas had elevated Ernie to a stratospheric height in the atmosphere where there wasn’t much oxygen to go around… This, probably combined with his years of huffing Glade, had massacred his mind, obliterated his brain cells. It was our job—no—our DUTY—to step in and help our chum back down to earth—to guide him to a more grounded reality. And humble him, we would.

“Oh, you guys!!”

Did we accomplish our job that night? Probably not—but it was pretty damn funny! After we hit STOP on the CD player, we exchanged awkward introductions with Yazni, then cleaned up our makeshift love dungeon, careful to put the Playboys back where they belonged, nestled in their little wicker basket right next to the front door, in plain sight for all visitors to see.

POSTSCRIPT: The events of this story occurred over twenty years ago and “Ernie’s” parents are still happily married. Perhaps “Penetration” isn’t merely a debauched anthem, but the key to eternal matrimonial happiness???

Live Free(aky) or Die.