Double Plus Ungood
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Hello, everyone. Please excuse the long username. Feel free to call me "Double" or "2X". I'm a reincarnated soul currently a in a man's body. Over my lives I have been both male and female, so you might say I'm kind of trans.
I've been writing online for the past nine or so years. My roleplays generally feature FxM relationships but I can be tempted to write FxF and even MxM with a situation that intrigues me. I'm an incurable romantic at heart (I used to be a hopeless romantic, but I found hope) and I love happy endings…, or at least episodes of life that end happily. I enjoy writing drama, fantasy, historical fiction, humor, modern fantasy, romance, science fiction, slice of life and supernatural.
I generally write in third person point of view, but I will also write in first person POV.
My Original Posts in a story might be between one and two thousand words. Most of my reply posts will range from three hundred to six hundred words. I can usually make a couple of replies a week and I will let my writing partners know if I'm experiencing difficulties, like depression or jury duty, that will delay my responses.
Because living has violence, blood and guts in it, I'm prepared to write a little about those things. Hand to hand and melee combats that result in broken bones that don't break the skin / simple fractures, bruises, burns of the first and second degrees, "clean" cuts & slices, dislocations and the like are generally fine with me. I'd rather not deal with detailed graphic descriptions of things like third degree burns and bloody organs spilling out onto the street.
I love sex and writing about it, even if I'm mostly "vanilla". My fetish list includes (but isn't totally limited to) "Amazons", bondage play, breasts/lactation, costumes, crossdressing, oral, seduction, tall & short height differences, teasing, younger (18+) men and more experienced women. I'm really not into writing about cheating, degradation, pain and sadomasochism.
I prefer to write my own original characters, so I don't do a lot of fandoms. I will write stories in fandom universes, such as Harry Potter, Pokemon and Star Wars.
My Pairing notions are: Afflicted Lycanthrope x Non-cursed or Uninfected Person, Demi-Human x Demi-Human, Demi-Human x Human, Divine Being x Human, Extra-terrestrial x Human, Faerie x Human, Mage x Mage, Mage X Non-magical, Scientist x Human Guinea Pig. Writers should feel free to offer me other pairing ideas.
I enjoy fantastic, futuristic, historical and modern world settings. Something in a shifting virtual reality setting might be fun. I'm not generally into writing in dreary, dystopian and post-apocalyptic settings.
Some roleplays, here at The Inner Sanctum, that I am part of:
Lumen: City of Fairytales
The Magnificent House of Horrors!
Additionally, here is a short story and some storytelling scripts that I'm including as writing samples.
I've been writing online for the past nine or so years. My roleplays generally feature FxM relationships but I can be tempted to write FxF and even MxM with a situation that intrigues me. I'm an incurable romantic at heart (I used to be a hopeless romantic, but I found hope) and I love happy endings…, or at least episodes of life that end happily. I enjoy writing drama, fantasy, historical fiction, humor, modern fantasy, romance, science fiction, slice of life and supernatural.
I generally write in third person point of view, but I will also write in first person POV.
My Original Posts in a story might be between one and two thousand words. Most of my reply posts will range from three hundred to six hundred words. I can usually make a couple of replies a week and I will let my writing partners know if I'm experiencing difficulties, like depression or jury duty, that will delay my responses.
Because living has violence, blood and guts in it, I'm prepared to write a little about those things. Hand to hand and melee combats that result in broken bones that don't break the skin / simple fractures, bruises, burns of the first and second degrees, "clean" cuts & slices, dislocations and the like are generally fine with me. I'd rather not deal with detailed graphic descriptions of things like third degree burns and bloody organs spilling out onto the street.
I love sex and writing about it, even if I'm mostly "vanilla". My fetish list includes (but isn't totally limited to) "Amazons", bondage play, breasts/lactation, costumes, crossdressing, oral, seduction, tall & short height differences, teasing, younger (18+) men and more experienced women. I'm really not into writing about cheating, degradation, pain and sadomasochism.
I prefer to write my own original characters, so I don't do a lot of fandoms. I will write stories in fandom universes, such as Harry Potter, Pokemon and Star Wars.
My Pairing notions are: Afflicted Lycanthrope x Non-cursed or Uninfected Person, Demi-Human x Demi-Human, Demi-Human x Human, Divine Being x Human, Extra-terrestrial x Human, Faerie x Human, Mage x Mage, Mage X Non-magical, Scientist x Human Guinea Pig. Writers should feel free to offer me other pairing ideas.
I enjoy fantastic, futuristic, historical and modern world settings. Something in a shifting virtual reality setting might be fun. I'm not generally into writing in dreary, dystopian and post-apocalyptic settings.
Some roleplays, here at The Inner Sanctum, that I am part of:
Lumen: City of Fairytales
The Magnificent House of Horrors!
Additionally, here is a short story and some storytelling scripts that I'm including as writing samples.
Born Again
How the world had changed since her previous lifetime, when she was a man named
'Toby'.
Jessika Rabbitt didn't look much like the 'toon woman' that was in the now ancient two
dimensional classic twentieth century film. They were both pretty and fair-skinned, but Jessica
was tall while Jessika was a quite petite one hundred fifty centimeters. Jessica had a
statuesque figure and a bosom that could stop traffic at a Gran Prix, where Jessika had a
runner's body with maybe just a tiny little extra in the bust and booty. They both had red hair,
but Jessika's hair wasn't quite as red or perfect. However, while the girls were quite different
anatomically, in the theatre dressing room, Jessika was quite happy with how the signature
ensemble, consisting of a red sequined strapless dress that accented her cleavage, a low back,
sweetheart neckline and high thigh slit looked on her and how it made her feel. Along with the
matching red stilettos, elegant purple opera gloves, gold stud earrings and make-up, looking in
the full-length mirror, she felt like an atomic home-wrecker and heart-breaker. A line from an
old song crept into her mind, 'I en-joy be-ing a girl!'
There was a knock on her dressing room door, accompanied by a woman's voice saying through
the door, "Jessika, it's Sam. Can I come in?"
Jessika said, "Come on in!" It wouldn't have mattered if Jessika were dressed or not. Sam had
seen her without so much as a thread on her, since before they gotten their B.A. degrees three
years ago. Sam had even proposed to Jessika three times since then, too. Each time Jessika
tried to let her down easy. Reminding her back then when the girls first started being lovers
that Jessika told Sam that she, Jessika, had made a promise. It hurt a little to say 'no' to her
lover.
Sam, looking like a model in a high-end charcoal gray skirt suit, gushed, "Oh, Jess, you lo…"
Jessika stopped her and told her for the whatever-hundredth time, "Sam, I call you Sam
because that's what you want. We've talked about this. It's not that it's overly familiar, we're
lovers, but you know it's about my identity. You can call me 'Jess' behind my back and talking
to others when I'm not around." That admonishment would last for at least a day, maybe up to
a week.
Sam Peterson had been on a scholastic track for an M.B.A. degree and met Jessika just after the
redhead had legally changed her name to Jessika Rabbitt. Sam had a thing for little redheads.
For her part, Jessika liked her lovers tall and the olive-skinned brunette was more than qualified
in that department. Where the woman had nearly shaved the part of her head, about the
temples and above the ear was also enticingly edgy. She was something of a partier, easy to be
with for the most part, a little over-protective and tender. After they got their B.A.s, Jessika
persuaded Sam 'take a sabbatical' to be Jessika's manager.
It was a good team.
"Sorry, Jessika," apologized Sam. Then her lover said with wicked smile and a bit more sweet
talk than earlier intended when she first came in the room, "You look so fuckin' hot I want to
take you here and now!"
Jessika smiled back, "Flatterer, not that I don't love it and you." Then she embraced Sam, her
little arms holding the taller woman's butt and her head nestled under her chin. Sam
responded by holding Jessika close and about the shoulders.
Jessika knew that Sam was worried about tonight. After last year's tour, Jessika was going on
with her plan. Jessika had given Sam a general outline of it, on how Jessika would meet
someone from another life and why she had changed her name…. Had Jessika been totally fair
to Sam? She thought about historic arranged marriages, some future queen's romance with a
stable boy ended because someone they'd never met was coming to claim her seemed terribly
tragic. The lovers' knew that it would end one day, but that knowledge didn't mean that there
wouldn't be grieving.
Still, Jessika did believe it was love between them. Jessika would have done anything Sam
asked of her, except break the promise she had made in her last life. Jessika released her
embrace and Sam did likewise.
"You're crazy, you know?" said the manager to the comedienne. A little quiver was in her
voice.
"That doesn't matter," the little comedienne answered the manager with a big, bright smile,
and hoping that Sam wouldn't make things more difficult, "as long as it's fuckin' funny."
Sam recovered and said, "I'm sure it will be". Jess had said that this person from her past life
was really great, but refused to give hardly any more details, even if Sam got her drunk. Jess
also said that maybe there'd be a three-way marriage, but Sam wasn't sure if she, or this other
person from another life, could share Jessika with someone else.
Jessika asked Sam, "How does the house look?"
"Your fan club bought about half of the seats a week before the general public and the rest of
the seats were sold within hours, when everyone else had the opportunity," answered Sam,
genuinely smiling now. "So, it's just going to be you and fourteen hundred of your closest
friends."
Jessika smiled back. Fourteen hundred wasn't a huge number in terms of what the newer and
more modern theaters (and stadiums) could seat. This was really close to the maximum
number of people that she felt comfortable performing for. Bigger crowds meant more money,
but it also meant that many people would have to sit farther away and would be viewing
Jessika like a person looking down on a small insect, an ant.
The Globe Theatre, in London, England was the fourth creation of that theater, the third
which was burned down during the Great Covid Plague Panic of the Twenty-twenties. It was
located on the same grounds as the third Globe and both of those were only a couple of
hundred meters from the original Globe, made famous as the theatre that premiered the works
of poet and playwright William Shakespeare.
Along with history, the stage and seating at the Globe was perfect for a crowd to actually see a
performer, without the use of video screens. The stage was located at one end of 'the Yard', a
nearly circular area on the theatre floor. There were three levels of galleries that encircled two-
hundred seventy degrees of the yard and facing the stage.
Earlier in the day, Jessika and Sam had gone over the last lighting and sound check for tonight's
performance. Jessika, while craving the attention and approval of the audience like the
majority of performers, was not a spotlight in a darkened room/theatre kind of person. Truth
be told, bright lights made her nervous and uncomfortable. When she was with an audience,
she wanted to communicate with them and not just parrot her stories to them. That meant
that she had to be able to see them as well as they saw her. Which also meant that she wanted
to be illuminated only slightly more than the audience.
As far as sound went, if Jessika had wanted, she might have forgone having the mike at all. She
could be loud enough on her own, like the actors of long ago that had trod on a stage like this,
but the microphone and a mic stand were tools and props for her. She could choose to whisper
or rage through the microphone. On a stage, the mic and stand could be used to represent
personal closeness. She could express her feelings by how she held them, how close she held
them and her body language as she spoke through them. By expressing herself in these ways,
the audience understood that she wanted them to at least feel like they were having some
strange relationship with her, distant but still personal. She couldn't do those things as well
with a headset mic.
The stage was set, in more ways than one.
But if Jessika thought that Sam had let go of Sam's fears of losing the little red-head, then
Jessika was wrong. Her manager asked with some desperation, "Jessika, even if this guy came
back after his last life to come be with you, what if something happened to him in the years
since he was born?"
Jessika had not been stabbed with a knife in her previous life. It might have happened in a life
before that one, but she had no reason to want to remember a life where it had happened.
Still, she recalled how it felt. There wasn't a real knife in her guts in this life, but somehow it
felt like there was.
The comedienne briefly quaked in her shoes and looked down. She fought to keep her self-
control and to keep from herself from crying. She then looked up at Sam. Jessika's once impish
face had paled and was now like gray stone. But that image was short-lived. Her eyes became
hot and the color rushed back into her skin.
A passion gripped Jessika and with her fists shoved down to her sides she shouted back at Sam,
"Do you honestly think that thought hasn't crossed my mind?!?! Sam! I don't want to think
about that! I can't think about that! Not now!" Then she regained her sense of self and
continued, "I…, I have to go on stage. I…, I can't let the fans see me break down."
Time seemed to momentarily stop for both women.
Sam felt ashamed. The taller woman knew enough to not fuck with the little comedienne's
feelings before a show, but she'd just done it. During the scripting of the show, Sam had seen
Jessika strive at putting her heart and soul into this year's show. She began to see how much
Jessika really believed that Jessika had lived another, previous lifetime, as a man. At first Sam
thought that it was an elaborate roleplay, designed to let Jessika access some of the
comedienne's seemingly boundless creativity. Sam then began to fear two things. The first
fear was that her lover was losing her mind, like so many other tragic comics of the past. The
second fear was that Jessika wasn't crazy. Sam wasn't sure which she feared more.
Jessika broke the silence and time began to flow again. "The show must go on," she said, her
voice returning to it's usual and conversational pitch and tempo. It had taken some effort, but
she was once more her own mistress.
Sam was crying on the inside. If all of Jessika's notions were just silly dreams, then Sam would
be there to help Jessika pick up the broken pieces. If things went the way Jessika believed they
would, Sam didn't know what she would do. Maybe she could share Jessika with someone else,
if they were good enough for the little redhead, maybe?
The house lights briefly dimmed. Two minutes to show time. Mustering her own willpower,
Sam smiled at the woman she loved and said, "Break a leg.
Jessika had practiced and memorized the steps to the stage from the wings. Therefore, when
the theatre went completely dark, she knew exactly where she would be when the house lights
came back up. On cue, it happened. During the darkness, the house went almost silent, except
for a few hurried whispers. When the lights came back on, she was there as if she'd appeared
out of thin air. Also, appearing behind her was a huge banner-picture of 'Jessica Rabbit', the
'toon woman'. The lighting that she allowed sparkled off the red sequined dress. There was a
momentary, 'ooh', followed by enthusiastic applause.
A huge smile adorned her face as she greeted the audience, "Hello, London!" she happily
exclaimed into the microphone and joyful clapping returned her greeting.
She motioned for the attendees to let her speak and the crowd quieted.
"Welcome to my 'Born Again' tour!" Jessika began, pulling the mic from the stand. "If there is
anyone here who's an evangelical type person, or a person who believes in one life and one
afterlife, and you thought this was going to be a prayer meeting or a Revival…, this ain't going
to be a prayer meeting or a fuckin' Revival. I am an entertainer and I entertain a LOT of strange
ideas. I am a raconteur, a storyteller, and I'm going to talk about 'what ifs' and blur the lines
between reality and fantasy. Some of the things I'm going to tell you are true and some things
are going to be lies. Don't worry about it. Most of the people here know this…, the rest of you
have been warned. Don't take me too seriously and we're going to have a great night!"
"So, why is this thing I'm doing called, 'The Born Again Tour'? It's because I'm some of the
things that I'm going to talk a bit about involve 'reincarnation'. Reincarnation is the belief that
your 'spirit', or your 'soul', the thing that turns a collection of elements and chemicals into a
living being doesn't always go on to a final resting place or just disappears after death, but that
it sometimes comes back to the world and is born again in a new body."
"If you believe or are open-minded to the notion that you have lived a life before or might be
coming back to live another life on Earth, please, clap your hands together."
The majority of the audience responded with clapping. It was practically guaranteed, whether
or not the crowd truly believed or not. No one wants to admit that they might not have an
open mind. No one wants their dates or mates to think that they aren't open-minded. Some of
them clapped simply because Jessika asked them to and it was part of the show.
"For those who haven't been exposed to the idea of reincarnation before," Jessika began, "the
earliest records of a belief in reincarnation come from Asian sub-continent of India, by people
following the religion of Jain Dharma, between eight hundred and nine hundred years before
the common era. So, some people have been talking about reincarnation for near three
thousand years, maybe literally?"
"Hey, Bitch, whassup? Didn't see you in my last life."
"What? You came back as a dog in your last life?" Jessika incredulously asked her imaginary
friend that was on stage with her. She quickly began an apology, "Okay, I'm sorry I called you
'bitch'. Honestly, I didn't see you then and I didn't know. I said that I was sorry, okay?"
The conversation looked like it was over when Jessika turned her back to the invisible person,
but then she glanced backwards for the final word, "Bitch."
Facing directly out from the stage, she went on. "But, seriously, no matter how many lives you
live, you should try to be a decent person for two reasons. Reason number one is because
decency will help you live with others and live with yourself. Reason number two is because
KARMA is the Real BITCH."
"KARMA, that justice beyond the laws of mankind and life itself that balances right and wrong,
kindness and cruelty, immediacy and delayed gratification. The justice of karma might not
catch up to someone in their lifetime, but it will catch up to them before their next one. So, if
you ever see someone who fucks up everything and fucks over everyone in life, well let's just
say that there are a lot worse things than a dog to come back as in another life."
"I hate to use this as an example, but it's the big bad boogey-man of recent history that
everybody knows about. How many times do you suppose that Adolph Hitler has come back as
a cockroach since he offed himself and Eva back in April of nineteen forty-five? How many
times does he deserve to come back as a cockroach? Six million or so? Always hatching in a
garbage bin behind a synagogue. Him and his Nazi cronies recalling what they did and where
they are now… and then along comes a human, a reincarnated concentration camp victim, who
recognizes him, with the anti-bug spray." Jessika bent down with her knees and musically
voiced, "'Oh, Adolf. I've got something for you…, and your friends. I'm sorry it's not Zyklon B,
but don't worry.' PSSSSSSSSS!"
Standing up, she continued, "Oooh, justice can be gruesome! But that's justice."
Shifting gears, Jessika then said, "On the other hand, that kind of justice can be a burden on
your spirit and soul. It can make it hard to move onto a next life. So, maybe when someone
has wronged you, if at all possible, forgive them. Forgive them even if they don't deserve it.
Let the law, or God, or Karma or whatever take its course. Show mercy if you can. That's
charity. That's grace. Crazy talk, right? But don't let their poison live inside your head."
Jessika gave the audience a big smile and exclaimed, "Shit! Maybe this is some kind of
Revival!?!?"
Thoughtfully, Jessika mused, "In the future, if I get to come back to life as a human, let me tell
you what I'm hoping technology gets us: Better deodorants and antiperspirants. It's not that
they don't work. It's not that they don't last. They last too long." She continued more
plaintively, "I can feel them on me the next day and the day after and the day after. Even
worse, I can't get it off of me! Water! Soap! Sandpaper! Steel Wool! It's not coming off!
When I put on an antiperspirant on a Monday and I can't wash it off on Tuesday and
Wednesday, I am freaked out. I could put glue in my armpits and I could wash it out the next
day, but not these modern antiperspirants!"
"It starts like this," she said in a calmer tone, "I get sucked in by the antiperspirant advertising,
like how I get sucked in when my girlfriends tell me how much fun I'm going to have going out
drinking with them. So then I give it the sniff test, like when I test taste the house signature
cocktail at the club and say to myself, 'not bad'. Then I commit to wearing it and it's like, 'Hey,
that guy looks sexy' but I'm saying that through the booze goggles of too many cocktails. Come
the morning, I wake up and I feel it under my arms." Dismay and horror start to grow in
Jessika's voice as she continues, "It's like I went home with that imaginary guy and woke up
next to a hideous demon in a garbage dump of an apartment. I run to the shower, like I'm
trying to escape Hell. I get in the shower and I wash and I wash and I wash and the
antiperspirant doesn't come off and I feel so fucking dirty and no matter how much I wash I
can't get clean!!!" She violently shakes her head from side to side and screams an animal-like
scream of pain into the mic, "Noooooooooooo!!!!!!!!"
Jessika takes some deep breaths into the mic, calming herself down, and she says, "That said,
the soap and perfume companies are very happy to have me as a customer."
"What else do I want to see happen in the future?" Jessika asked herself in front of the crowd.
She answered her own question and continued, "Just little things: better kosher coffee, better
tasting meat substitutes and truly painless dentistry. If you ask me about the really big
breakthoughs, then I'm not so sure…. Inexpensive Limb Regeneration? Revivable Cryogenics?
Interstellar Travel? Those could all be wonderful things. Other than the cost to develop it, I
think that inexpensive limb regeneration would be something that humans wouldn't find a way
to screw up. I could be wrong. Revivable Cryogenics seems a safe thing. There could be a big
technology and culture shock if you've been in frozen sleep for a long time. Interstellar Travel?
That could be the survival or the end of the human race. There could be advanced
extraterrestrials way out there in the stars that would be willing to teach us humans, those that
are inclined to learn from them, how to live in peace and harmony with the other creatures of
the universe. Then there could be advanced extraterrestrials out there that think we're pretty
tasty."
"For example, now," the little red-headed comedienne went on, "here could be, translated into
human, a typical extraterrestrial restaurant conversation:
'(Deep Voice) What looks good to you, Sweet Heart?
(Light Voice) I'm not sure. The pale meat? The dark meat?
(Deep Voice) The atheist can be kind of vanilla. I think I'm going to have some soul food.
(Light Voice) Oh, Honey, I know soul food is tasty but sometimes it's hard to digest. How about
Chinese?'
(Deep Voice) 'I don't want Chinese. I'll just be hungry again in thirty minutes.'"
Jessika continued, like a side-thought, "If human eating extraterrestrials find some of our
people in cryogenic chambers, you know what they're going to say, don't you?" She paused a
bit to let the crowd consider the answer and then exclaimed like a happy child, "'Popsicles!'"
Then she asked, "Did you see the popsicles at the concession stand?"
Jessika languidly stalked her audience, strolling on the stage with the mic and said, "Of course,
before a person can reincarnate, there's that little matter of having to die. Cryogenics is close
but there's no transmigration of the soul, just a long long long cold cold cold nap. I'm pretty
sure I don't want to have all my memories and sense of self put into a virtual reality or an
artificial body either. Death in VR or an artificial body is just an electromagnetic pulse or an off
switch away. Oh, sure, life is precarious, too. I still like my meat suit and something of a self-
programming ability."
"So, dying", Jessika continued, "seems like such a bummer. Maybe the end of the story, or at
least the chapter that was this life? Have you ever heard of 'The Darwin Awards'? It was
something I heard of a long time ago. Darwin Award winners are generally people who have
taken themselves out of the gene pool by making a fatal mistake in a relatively safe set of
circumstances, sometimes spectacularly. Two examples you shouldn't repeat: one, disposing
of flammable and potentially explosive liquids in an outhouse or latrine and then throwing a hot
cigarette butt down into the hole…", she paused briefly as the crowd laughed at that thought,
"and two, throwing yourself at a big plate glass window in a skyscraper to demonstrate to
others that they won't accidentally trip into it and fall to their doom." The second example was
a little sad, but there were still laughs because she'd prepared them for it. "That said, if you're
the one dying, an accidental and quick death doesn't sound like a bad way to go. Sure, you may
have a tombstone proclaiming to the cemetery visitors that you killed yourself doing something
incredibly stupid, but at least your dying was fairly quick and you've become an example to
others of something not to do."
In a tone of conspiracy, Jessica shared, "Now, if you ever want to guarantee yourself a quick
death, spoiler alert for any opera people out there so cover your ears for a few seconds…." She
paused a bit before saying, "Become a character in an opera and sing something like, 'Even if it
costs me my life, I'll do the heroic thing' or, 'My friend would never kill me.'" She smiled and
then motioned for any people covering their ears that it was now safe. Likely any people here
that were into opera knew exactly what she was going to say, but it was polite to offer them an
out. "It works almost every fuckin' time and if nothing else you'll be dead before the final
curtain drops."
Then the little red headed comedienne's voice became more 'personal' as she went on, "I hope
that some fatal accident punches my ticket before I need hip and knee replacements along with
a twenty pill a day prescription habit. If I'm that old and you kill me by accident, I'm cool, but if
you're playing a live action version of Grand Theft Otto, I might decide to fucking haunt you."
"Yeah, well, I don't really know. Maybe I'll just get on with my death. I'm not going to have to
worry about the so called, 'five stages of dying', because unless time gets rea-l-ly sl-o-o-w, I'm
just not going to have the time for the typical five stages of dying: denial, anger, bargaining,
depression and acceptance." Jessika put the mic back onto the stand, freeing both of her hands
before continuing. "When my quality of life is in the toilet, I want just one stage of dying:" She
quickly brought her arms level with her shoulder and her hands splayed open above her
forearms that were raised straight up, shouting, "SURPRISE!"
Sam watched from the wings of the stage and was proud of her lover. The audience was
happily along for the ride and Jessika was their gondolier. The 'Surprise!' line got a great
response and the laughter and applause filled the theatre. She'd watched Jessica develop this
year's act and never really got tired of watching how it flowed. She could make an audience of
fourteen hundred people want to be her friend by being intimate with them all at the same
time. Sam saw how Jessika could stimulate people's imaginations with hypothetical scenarios
and how she could turn a sense of personal injury over anti-perspirant into deafening howls of
laughter. Even dying didn't sound so bad and was a little more fun when Jessika was talking
about it.
Jessika made it look easy, thought Sam. Audiences didn't realize that creating and rehearsing a
show was certainly not easy. Very few people would ever realize how many comics of the late
twentieth and early twenty-first centuries Jessika had studied. Some of those comics were
improvisational geniuses, but most of them worked and sweated over their craft. Weeks of
brainstorming, writing and editing. Weeks of figuring out what methods succeeded with some
routines and which methods bombed dismally with routines that were quite similar. Jessika
worked very, very, hard. She worked so hard that all the audience ever saw was the love and
joy. Sam loved Jessika for the work she did and for the joy she freely gave out.
Back on the stage, Jessika took back the microphone into her hands.
"For the sake of argument," Jessika began anew, "imagine I'm dead. You can imagine to be
dead, too, if you like, but you don't have to be. You can follow me on the 'spirit camera', where
maybe it will be like on an old game show where people get kicked off the show each week. If
there isn't a production team, then figure I have a 'point-of-view' or ghostly body-cam. What
would my audience see?"
After giving the crowd a moment to ponder her words, she returned to the monologue, "Now,
remember, this is my" and she stressed the, 'MY', "'Born Again' show. If your spiritual beliefs
are hard and fast on a final afterlife or the denial of an afterlife, just shut up and enjoy the
show! Got it? Okay."
She went on, conversationally, "Remembering Karma…, and I hope Karma knows I didn't mean
it when I called her a 'bitch', just that she's tough, Karma's your appointment right when you
arrive…, unless there's a big-ass fuckin' line. I think there might be a line. You're going to reach
into your ghost body and find your ticket. Remember Adolf? He's got a black speed pass for
skipping the line and back to being a cockroach.
I hear that there are some Buddhists, the Lamas, that have like a golden speed pass. Those guys
get a new life as a human almost immediately, and they get their old jobs as Lamas back, too.
Wow, talk about your job security, right?"
There were lots of smiles in the audience. A good job could be hard to come by, in this life or a
next one.
"I'd get a job in the afterlife, sort of like an 'assistant karma', which would be like I'd direct the
foot traffic. I'd direct you to the 'Back To Life' lines that you qualified for. There would
certainly be a return to life as a human line and there would be a return to life as an animal line.
There could be a plant, fruit and vegetable line too. That line would be for all those people who
when they got pissed continually said, 'Eat me!'"
'Oh, my' thought Jessika. 'That line worked better than I imagined', as the theater echoed with
laughter.
"I'd get this job, if I can, because I'd like to earn some favorable extra-credit points with Karma
and be reincarnated with some options and upgrades. Fortunately, for me, my boss, the big 'K'
thinks hiring me would be good for the general spiritual morale. I might even do some shows
for the spirits waiting in the lines. I'm a comedienne and storyteller. It's what I do, okay?
Maybe, if I recognized you in the line and I liked you, I might give you some of my extra-credit
points."
"What am I going to do with all my points? What would you do with your points?" Jessika
asked, rhetorically. "What do you suppose the massive point items for a next life could be? As
I look out at you all from the stage, I have to imagine that the high demand items are big fuckin'
dicks and multiple orgasm pussies! Am I right?!?!"
The laughter shook the Globe, and Jessika drank it all in.
When the laughter eased a bit, Jessika went back on track. "Fuck, yeah! I'd spend some points
there, too. That's one of the reasons I'd get a job between lives. If you know 'human nature' at
all, I think you'll agree that I'm probably correct in my theory about point-spending. Maybe
some of you have higher and loftier goals for a next life, like, 'I want to cure diseases or bring
about world peace.' Say 'Hi' to the Buddhist Lamas for me because you might as well become a
monk. You ain't getting laid!" She paused and then said, "At least not a whole lot."
Jessika strolled upon the stage. "Not being tired of comedy," she mused, "after spending some
of my points on my body and mind and willpower, some important memories from the last life,
I'd be looking to be born again into a society with a good sense of humor. It would also have to
be among a people that appreciated both men and women fairly evenly. I have to hope that
such places and people will still be around on that future Earth." She paused and then said, "If
not, I'm going to check out being a life form somewhere in the stars, like Alpha-Centauri!"
Once again, 'matter-of-factly', she continued, "So, now we come to the point where you get to
be born again. Some babies leaving the womb are ejected like fighter pilots from wounded jet
planes. Some babies struggle a bit to get into the world. Sometimes doctors have to help them
leave the mother's body. Congratulations, you've made it back. Did you read your new body's
owner's manual? At the start, or re-start, you are going to have very little in the voluntary
motion department. You're going to be pissing and pooping on autopilot for some time. You're
going to make little baby noises and you're going to be able to cry. On the plus side, you're
going to instinctively be sucking titty. Enjoy that while it lasts!"
Making an aside, Jessika said, "On a personal note, I love having my titties sucked. I've even
thought about trying to induce lactation with dietary means and a breast pump, so I can give
something back for the pleasure I get from a good sucking. I just can't find a strapless
maternity bra that I like to go with this dress." With her free arm and hand, she made a motion
to draw attention to her clothing from her feet to just above her bust. "Isn't being a slave to
fashion a bitch?!?!"
She went back to her main subject when the chuckles for the aside eased. She asked the
audience, "What's going to be different in this new, born again, life from your previous life?
Did you make any plans for a new life on Earth before your last death? Did you get any bonus
points in your last life? Did you get any bonus points between your last death and your
reincarnation?" She raised her voice in mock anger, "Were you even ready for a new life,
slacker?!?!" After a pause Jessika calmly came back with, "Like anything you do today,
remember the 'six P's': 'Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance.' Or, in this case,
'Person-hood'. It's like saving up the cash and credit to buy that flat in the city or a cottage in
the countryside. It's the right thing to do."
"Imagining that you had a plan for your born again life," Jessika went on, "you can get a good
start going in your chosen direction as a child. If you've got the chops, the talent, your new
parents will likely support your efforts, well…, maybe not so likely if your chosen field is
something like drug-dealer, hit-man or prostitute. Let's stick to less criminal and more socially
acceptable careers, yes? Fine."
"So, you're a child prodigy…. Now, what?" asked Jessika.
Then she told the crowd, "Now, you do the same as nearly every other person, except certain
Lamas: You learn (or re-learn) your lessons, get back into the rat-race and start to make
something of yourself! 'Why?' you ask, 'Aren't I supposed to be a prodigy?' I'll tell you why.
It's because people have been fucking. They've been making new people, that's why. Some of
these new people may be experienced souls, like you. Some of these new people are
absolutely enjoying human life for the first time and their souls and spirits are stoked. So,
either be an inspiring leader to them or get the fuck out of their way, your choice. I don't know
why you thought your new life was going to be easy. Then you say, 'Isn't childhood supposed
to be fun?' and I answer, sure, enjoy it while it lasts! Because puberty is just around the
corner."
"Puberty, like it does with everybody, is going to give you a hormonal, 'Wham! Bam! Thank
you, Ma'am!' Even if you're a Lama, I imagine, but I don't think they talk about it. I don't mean
to pick on the Lamas, but if anyone knows about reincarnation, they're the ones to ask. Right?
I doubt anything is going to happen, but I have to ask, are there any former Lamas in the
audience tonight?" With her free hand, Jessika pretended to shield her eyes from the light
while she scanned the audience for a Lama or two. "Maybe you decided you needed to get
more in touch with the normal people, so you could do a better job the next time you're a
Lama? No former Lamas here tonight? No?" Sounding very disappointed, she intoned, "What
a bummer!" and let her free hand come back down to her side.
"So," said Jessika, getting back to her narrative, "If you had a plan for your born again life, your
three big big hurdles in carrying out your plan are childhood, adolescence and early adulthood.
These are the times in your new life where you decide if your plans were worth the time you
spent making them, remembering them, pursuing them, and be tempted to abandon them."
"Temptation, I know it well," she confided. "I just had an opportunity to get my pussy licked
right before coming out on stage, tonight, but I chose you people." Some people applauded
and then Jessika rejoined, "That's it? I turn down sex for you people and only three people
appreciate it?!?! I'm starting to think that I made the wrong choice!"
The Globe then thundered with applause. It was a good crowd.
"Choices," she said, "there are always choices to make. Choices like in Shakespeare's 'Hamlet'."
Jessica put the mic back into the stand. Then she posed and went excessively 'classical' in the
'teapot acting' style, her left hand at her hip like a handle and her right arm raised like the
spout, and intoned, "'To be…, or not to be? That is the question!'" Maintaining the pose she
smiled and continued, "Perfume…, or antiperspirant? Soul food…, or Chinese? Pussy…, or
Dick?" At this she grabbed the mic in the stand and let her other hand fall back to her side,
saying, "Of course, those last two go together, don't they?" The audience laughed and Jessika
laughed with them.
"In spite of all the work and going through life's tough times. If I'm given some choices, I
believe that I could be happy in a new life." She smiled at everyone. "I'd like to get in touch
with some people from another life. I'd make myself easy to find, I think. Hopefully, no one I
knew would want to kill me, right?" With her free hand, Jessika made a 'knife hand' and held it
to her own throat, saying in an altered voice, "'Okay, Rabbitt, this is for that fuckin' joke you
told, in your other life, last century!'" Then she pantomimed cutting her own throat and went,
"K-k-k-kack!"
"Earlier," she began again, "I was asking if there were any former Lamas in the audience. I
really wasn't expecting any, but I was still a little disappointed. Given that this is London and
the United Kingdom, I think this next call out has a little bit better chance of success." Now was
the time for her to test her beliefs. Jessika took a deep breath before saying, "If there's anyone
here tonight who's wearing a kilt, would you come up to the stage?"
The Globe held it's breath, but it didn't have to hold it for very long because a tall, late twenty-
something, fair skinned and dark-haired man stood up near the middle of 'the yard'. The crowd
stilled briefly in wonder and then applauded as the tall man in kilt and jacket excused himself
while moving across the row where he'd sat and toward the nearest aisle. 'What was Jessika
Rabbitt up to now?' wondered the Globe.
From the theatre wings, Sam Peterson heard the applause. Watching the tall stranger
approach the stage, her mouth silently opened and stayed that way for a bit. The expression on
her face was one-third amazement, one-third pain and one-third joy. At first, Sam was having
trouble processing what was happening. It was impossible, but a man that Sam had never met
in all her years as Jessika's lover and manager was coming onto the stage, just like Jessika had
said he would. Sam became a believer. The tall brunette woman was in no hurry to leave her
current life, but maybe Jessika would promise to be with Sam in their next lives?
On the stage, Jessica indicated a spot about a meter away from the mic stand where she
wanted the man to stand. "Oh, my!" Jessika shared with the audience, "Isn't he a handsome
one! Yes?" A pause and then a twist on a very old joke, "Is that a caber under that kilt or do
you think he's just happy to see me?"
The handsome man comfortably stood, in spite of the tiny gibe at his expense, smiling and self-
confident. 'Caber, indeed!' he thought to himself and resisted the urge to voice a snappy
comeback.
Microphone in hand, Jessika clicked it off and walked over to the man in the kilt. He bent down
so the two could exchange whispers, off mic, so the rest of the audience wouldn't hear.
"Hello, Anne," she said, holding back little tears of joy.
He answered with, "Hello, Toby," and a smile.
"Can I have a peek?" she asked him. To which he grinned and nodded.
Jessika clicked the mic back on and stepped in close to him. With one hand she reached for his
muscular chest, feeling it through his shirt "Mmmm," she hummed. She traced her hand down
over his abdomen and wasn't surprised to feel a 'six-pack' there. She turned and faced the
audience, putting the backside of her red sequined dress to his kilted front, swaying a little,
almost like a lap-dance. Then she gave an expression of surprise and lifting the mic to her lips
announced with a laugh, "Oh, my! It IS a caber!"
The crowd crowed at this and Jessika walked around behind the man. She lifted up the back of
his kilt and saw tattoo on the cheek of his bum. If she'd been only ninety-nine percent sure that
this man was Anne, the blue cupcake tattoo erased any remaining doubt. She let the back of
the kilt down to cover his bum cheeks and gave it a nice pat.
Jessika put on her biggest smile and addressed the crowd, "London! You're the best audience a
girl could ever have! Thank you!" The Globe audience applauded loudly in appreciation. They
had smirked and laughed and howled, having be thoroughly entertained. The little redheaded
comedienne took her bows, before saying, "I wish you all safe travel home! Me and this big guy
are going to be getting re-acquainted." Then she extended her right hand, the one holding the
mic, and turned it parallel to the floor before letting it fall. There was nothing left to be said.
Jessika Rabbitt embraced her man and then he lifted her like a husband carrying a bride across
the threshold. That was how they left the stage that night. She was an incurable romantic in
her previous life and it had carried over into this one.
Epilogue:
Jessika Rabbit never ever asked for another kilt wearing volunteer from the audience.
However, in some later performances, there were audience members claiming to be former
Lamas.
When the tour was over, Jessika retired from performing to write plays for broadcast and the
stage. Sam finally got her MBA degree and it hangs in one of the bathrooms of the home she
built with Jessika and Anne, in Scotland. The trio have four children.
How the world had changed since her previous lifetime, when she was a man named
'Toby'.
Jessika Rabbitt didn't look much like the 'toon woman' that was in the now ancient two
dimensional classic twentieth century film. They were both pretty and fair-skinned, but Jessica
was tall while Jessika was a quite petite one hundred fifty centimeters. Jessica had a
statuesque figure and a bosom that could stop traffic at a Gran Prix, where Jessika had a
runner's body with maybe just a tiny little extra in the bust and booty. They both had red hair,
but Jessika's hair wasn't quite as red or perfect. However, while the girls were quite different
anatomically, in the theatre dressing room, Jessika was quite happy with how the signature
ensemble, consisting of a red sequined strapless dress that accented her cleavage, a low back,
sweetheart neckline and high thigh slit looked on her and how it made her feel. Along with the
matching red stilettos, elegant purple opera gloves, gold stud earrings and make-up, looking in
the full-length mirror, she felt like an atomic home-wrecker and heart-breaker. A line from an
old song crept into her mind, 'I en-joy be-ing a girl!'
There was a knock on her dressing room door, accompanied by a woman's voice saying through
the door, "Jessika, it's Sam. Can I come in?"
Jessika said, "Come on in!" It wouldn't have mattered if Jessika were dressed or not. Sam had
seen her without so much as a thread on her, since before they gotten their B.A. degrees three
years ago. Sam had even proposed to Jessika three times since then, too. Each time Jessika
tried to let her down easy. Reminding her back then when the girls first started being lovers
that Jessika told Sam that she, Jessika, had made a promise. It hurt a little to say 'no' to her
lover.
Sam, looking like a model in a high-end charcoal gray skirt suit, gushed, "Oh, Jess, you lo…"
Jessika stopped her and told her for the whatever-hundredth time, "Sam, I call you Sam
because that's what you want. We've talked about this. It's not that it's overly familiar, we're
lovers, but you know it's about my identity. You can call me 'Jess' behind my back and talking
to others when I'm not around." That admonishment would last for at least a day, maybe up to
a week.
Sam Peterson had been on a scholastic track for an M.B.A. degree and met Jessika just after the
redhead had legally changed her name to Jessika Rabbitt. Sam had a thing for little redheads.
For her part, Jessika liked her lovers tall and the olive-skinned brunette was more than qualified
in that department. Where the woman had nearly shaved the part of her head, about the
temples and above the ear was also enticingly edgy. She was something of a partier, easy to be
with for the most part, a little over-protective and tender. After they got their B.A.s, Jessika
persuaded Sam 'take a sabbatical' to be Jessika's manager.
It was a good team.
"Sorry, Jessika," apologized Sam. Then her lover said with wicked smile and a bit more sweet
talk than earlier intended when she first came in the room, "You look so fuckin' hot I want to
take you here and now!"
Jessika smiled back, "Flatterer, not that I don't love it and you." Then she embraced Sam, her
little arms holding the taller woman's butt and her head nestled under her chin. Sam
responded by holding Jessika close and about the shoulders.
Jessika knew that Sam was worried about tonight. After last year's tour, Jessika was going on
with her plan. Jessika had given Sam a general outline of it, on how Jessika would meet
someone from another life and why she had changed her name…. Had Jessika been totally fair
to Sam? She thought about historic arranged marriages, some future queen's romance with a
stable boy ended because someone they'd never met was coming to claim her seemed terribly
tragic. The lovers' knew that it would end one day, but that knowledge didn't mean that there
wouldn't be grieving.
Still, Jessika did believe it was love between them. Jessika would have done anything Sam
asked of her, except break the promise she had made in her last life. Jessika released her
embrace and Sam did likewise.
"You're crazy, you know?" said the manager to the comedienne. A little quiver was in her
voice.
"That doesn't matter," the little comedienne answered the manager with a big, bright smile,
and hoping that Sam wouldn't make things more difficult, "as long as it's fuckin' funny."
Sam recovered and said, "I'm sure it will be". Jess had said that this person from her past life
was really great, but refused to give hardly any more details, even if Sam got her drunk. Jess
also said that maybe there'd be a three-way marriage, but Sam wasn't sure if she, or this other
person from another life, could share Jessika with someone else.
Jessika asked Sam, "How does the house look?"
"Your fan club bought about half of the seats a week before the general public and the rest of
the seats were sold within hours, when everyone else had the opportunity," answered Sam,
genuinely smiling now. "So, it's just going to be you and fourteen hundred of your closest
friends."
Jessika smiled back. Fourteen hundred wasn't a huge number in terms of what the newer and
more modern theaters (and stadiums) could seat. This was really close to the maximum
number of people that she felt comfortable performing for. Bigger crowds meant more money,
but it also meant that many people would have to sit farther away and would be viewing
Jessika like a person looking down on a small insect, an ant.
The Globe Theatre, in London, England was the fourth creation of that theater, the third
which was burned down during the Great Covid Plague Panic of the Twenty-twenties. It was
located on the same grounds as the third Globe and both of those were only a couple of
hundred meters from the original Globe, made famous as the theatre that premiered the works
of poet and playwright William Shakespeare.
Along with history, the stage and seating at the Globe was perfect for a crowd to actually see a
performer, without the use of video screens. The stage was located at one end of 'the Yard', a
nearly circular area on the theatre floor. There were three levels of galleries that encircled two-
hundred seventy degrees of the yard and facing the stage.
Earlier in the day, Jessika and Sam had gone over the last lighting and sound check for tonight's
performance. Jessika, while craving the attention and approval of the audience like the
majority of performers, was not a spotlight in a darkened room/theatre kind of person. Truth
be told, bright lights made her nervous and uncomfortable. When she was with an audience,
she wanted to communicate with them and not just parrot her stories to them. That meant
that she had to be able to see them as well as they saw her. Which also meant that she wanted
to be illuminated only slightly more than the audience.
As far as sound went, if Jessika had wanted, she might have forgone having the mike at all. She
could be loud enough on her own, like the actors of long ago that had trod on a stage like this,
but the microphone and a mic stand were tools and props for her. She could choose to whisper
or rage through the microphone. On a stage, the mic and stand could be used to represent
personal closeness. She could express her feelings by how she held them, how close she held
them and her body language as she spoke through them. By expressing herself in these ways,
the audience understood that she wanted them to at least feel like they were having some
strange relationship with her, distant but still personal. She couldn't do those things as well
with a headset mic.
The stage was set, in more ways than one.
But if Jessika thought that Sam had let go of Sam's fears of losing the little red-head, then
Jessika was wrong. Her manager asked with some desperation, "Jessika, even if this guy came
back after his last life to come be with you, what if something happened to him in the years
since he was born?"
Jessika had not been stabbed with a knife in her previous life. It might have happened in a life
before that one, but she had no reason to want to remember a life where it had happened.
Still, she recalled how it felt. There wasn't a real knife in her guts in this life, but somehow it
felt like there was.
The comedienne briefly quaked in her shoes and looked down. She fought to keep her self-
control and to keep from herself from crying. She then looked up at Sam. Jessika's once impish
face had paled and was now like gray stone. But that image was short-lived. Her eyes became
hot and the color rushed back into her skin.
A passion gripped Jessika and with her fists shoved down to her sides she shouted back at Sam,
"Do you honestly think that thought hasn't crossed my mind?!?! Sam! I don't want to think
about that! I can't think about that! Not now!" Then she regained her sense of self and
continued, "I…, I have to go on stage. I…, I can't let the fans see me break down."
Time seemed to momentarily stop for both women.
Sam felt ashamed. The taller woman knew enough to not fuck with the little comedienne's
feelings before a show, but she'd just done it. During the scripting of the show, Sam had seen
Jessika strive at putting her heart and soul into this year's show. She began to see how much
Jessika really believed that Jessika had lived another, previous lifetime, as a man. At first Sam
thought that it was an elaborate roleplay, designed to let Jessika access some of the
comedienne's seemingly boundless creativity. Sam then began to fear two things. The first
fear was that her lover was losing her mind, like so many other tragic comics of the past. The
second fear was that Jessika wasn't crazy. Sam wasn't sure which she feared more.
Jessika broke the silence and time began to flow again. "The show must go on," she said, her
voice returning to it's usual and conversational pitch and tempo. It had taken some effort, but
she was once more her own mistress.
Sam was crying on the inside. If all of Jessika's notions were just silly dreams, then Sam would
be there to help Jessika pick up the broken pieces. If things went the way Jessika believed they
would, Sam didn't know what she would do. Maybe she could share Jessika with someone else,
if they were good enough for the little redhead, maybe?
The house lights briefly dimmed. Two minutes to show time. Mustering her own willpower,
Sam smiled at the woman she loved and said, "Break a leg.
Jessika had practiced and memorized the steps to the stage from the wings. Therefore, when
the theatre went completely dark, she knew exactly where she would be when the house lights
came back up. On cue, it happened. During the darkness, the house went almost silent, except
for a few hurried whispers. When the lights came back on, she was there as if she'd appeared
out of thin air. Also, appearing behind her was a huge banner-picture of 'Jessica Rabbit', the
'toon woman'. The lighting that she allowed sparkled off the red sequined dress. There was a
momentary, 'ooh', followed by enthusiastic applause.
A huge smile adorned her face as she greeted the audience, "Hello, London!" she happily
exclaimed into the microphone and joyful clapping returned her greeting.
She motioned for the attendees to let her speak and the crowd quieted.
"Welcome to my 'Born Again' tour!" Jessika began, pulling the mic from the stand. "If there is
anyone here who's an evangelical type person, or a person who believes in one life and one
afterlife, and you thought this was going to be a prayer meeting or a Revival…, this ain't going
to be a prayer meeting or a fuckin' Revival. I am an entertainer and I entertain a LOT of strange
ideas. I am a raconteur, a storyteller, and I'm going to talk about 'what ifs' and blur the lines
between reality and fantasy. Some of the things I'm going to tell you are true and some things
are going to be lies. Don't worry about it. Most of the people here know this…, the rest of you
have been warned. Don't take me too seriously and we're going to have a great night!"
"So, why is this thing I'm doing called, 'The Born Again Tour'? It's because I'm some of the
things that I'm going to talk a bit about involve 'reincarnation'. Reincarnation is the belief that
your 'spirit', or your 'soul', the thing that turns a collection of elements and chemicals into a
living being doesn't always go on to a final resting place or just disappears after death, but that
it sometimes comes back to the world and is born again in a new body."
"If you believe or are open-minded to the notion that you have lived a life before or might be
coming back to live another life on Earth, please, clap your hands together."
The majority of the audience responded with clapping. It was practically guaranteed, whether
or not the crowd truly believed or not. No one wants to admit that they might not have an
open mind. No one wants their dates or mates to think that they aren't open-minded. Some of
them clapped simply because Jessika asked them to and it was part of the show.
"For those who haven't been exposed to the idea of reincarnation before," Jessika began, "the
earliest records of a belief in reincarnation come from Asian sub-continent of India, by people
following the religion of Jain Dharma, between eight hundred and nine hundred years before
the common era. So, some people have been talking about reincarnation for near three
thousand years, maybe literally?"
"Hey, Bitch, whassup? Didn't see you in my last life."
"What? You came back as a dog in your last life?" Jessika incredulously asked her imaginary
friend that was on stage with her. She quickly began an apology, "Okay, I'm sorry I called you
'bitch'. Honestly, I didn't see you then and I didn't know. I said that I was sorry, okay?"
The conversation looked like it was over when Jessika turned her back to the invisible person,
but then she glanced backwards for the final word, "Bitch."
Facing directly out from the stage, she went on. "But, seriously, no matter how many lives you
live, you should try to be a decent person for two reasons. Reason number one is because
decency will help you live with others and live with yourself. Reason number two is because
KARMA is the Real BITCH."
"KARMA, that justice beyond the laws of mankind and life itself that balances right and wrong,
kindness and cruelty, immediacy and delayed gratification. The justice of karma might not
catch up to someone in their lifetime, but it will catch up to them before their next one. So, if
you ever see someone who fucks up everything and fucks over everyone in life, well let's just
say that there are a lot worse things than a dog to come back as in another life."
"I hate to use this as an example, but it's the big bad boogey-man of recent history that
everybody knows about. How many times do you suppose that Adolph Hitler has come back as
a cockroach since he offed himself and Eva back in April of nineteen forty-five? How many
times does he deserve to come back as a cockroach? Six million or so? Always hatching in a
garbage bin behind a synagogue. Him and his Nazi cronies recalling what they did and where
they are now… and then along comes a human, a reincarnated concentration camp victim, who
recognizes him, with the anti-bug spray." Jessika bent down with her knees and musically
voiced, "'Oh, Adolf. I've got something for you…, and your friends. I'm sorry it's not Zyklon B,
but don't worry.' PSSSSSSSSS!"
Standing up, she continued, "Oooh, justice can be gruesome! But that's justice."
Shifting gears, Jessika then said, "On the other hand, that kind of justice can be a burden on
your spirit and soul. It can make it hard to move onto a next life. So, maybe when someone
has wronged you, if at all possible, forgive them. Forgive them even if they don't deserve it.
Let the law, or God, or Karma or whatever take its course. Show mercy if you can. That's
charity. That's grace. Crazy talk, right? But don't let their poison live inside your head."
Jessika gave the audience a big smile and exclaimed, "Shit! Maybe this is some kind of
Revival!?!?"
Thoughtfully, Jessika mused, "In the future, if I get to come back to life as a human, let me tell
you what I'm hoping technology gets us: Better deodorants and antiperspirants. It's not that
they don't work. It's not that they don't last. They last too long." She continued more
plaintively, "I can feel them on me the next day and the day after and the day after. Even
worse, I can't get it off of me! Water! Soap! Sandpaper! Steel Wool! It's not coming off!
When I put on an antiperspirant on a Monday and I can't wash it off on Tuesday and
Wednesday, I am freaked out. I could put glue in my armpits and I could wash it out the next
day, but not these modern antiperspirants!"
"It starts like this," she said in a calmer tone, "I get sucked in by the antiperspirant advertising,
like how I get sucked in when my girlfriends tell me how much fun I'm going to have going out
drinking with them. So then I give it the sniff test, like when I test taste the house signature
cocktail at the club and say to myself, 'not bad'. Then I commit to wearing it and it's like, 'Hey,
that guy looks sexy' but I'm saying that through the booze goggles of too many cocktails. Come
the morning, I wake up and I feel it under my arms." Dismay and horror start to grow in
Jessika's voice as she continues, "It's like I went home with that imaginary guy and woke up
next to a hideous demon in a garbage dump of an apartment. I run to the shower, like I'm
trying to escape Hell. I get in the shower and I wash and I wash and I wash and the
antiperspirant doesn't come off and I feel so fucking dirty and no matter how much I wash I
can't get clean!!!" She violently shakes her head from side to side and screams an animal-like
scream of pain into the mic, "Noooooooooooo!!!!!!!!"
Jessika takes some deep breaths into the mic, calming herself down, and she says, "That said,
the soap and perfume companies are very happy to have me as a customer."
"What else do I want to see happen in the future?" Jessika asked herself in front of the crowd.
She answered her own question and continued, "Just little things: better kosher coffee, better
tasting meat substitutes and truly painless dentistry. If you ask me about the really big
breakthoughs, then I'm not so sure…. Inexpensive Limb Regeneration? Revivable Cryogenics?
Interstellar Travel? Those could all be wonderful things. Other than the cost to develop it, I
think that inexpensive limb regeneration would be something that humans wouldn't find a way
to screw up. I could be wrong. Revivable Cryogenics seems a safe thing. There could be a big
technology and culture shock if you've been in frozen sleep for a long time. Interstellar Travel?
That could be the survival or the end of the human race. There could be advanced
extraterrestrials way out there in the stars that would be willing to teach us humans, those that
are inclined to learn from them, how to live in peace and harmony with the other creatures of
the universe. Then there could be advanced extraterrestrials out there that think we're pretty
tasty."
"For example, now," the little red-headed comedienne went on, "here could be, translated into
human, a typical extraterrestrial restaurant conversation:
'(Deep Voice) What looks good to you, Sweet Heart?
(Light Voice) I'm not sure. The pale meat? The dark meat?
(Deep Voice) The atheist can be kind of vanilla. I think I'm going to have some soul food.
(Light Voice) Oh, Honey, I know soul food is tasty but sometimes it's hard to digest. How about
Chinese?'
(Deep Voice) 'I don't want Chinese. I'll just be hungry again in thirty minutes.'"
Jessika continued, like a side-thought, "If human eating extraterrestrials find some of our
people in cryogenic chambers, you know what they're going to say, don't you?" She paused a
bit to let the crowd consider the answer and then exclaimed like a happy child, "'Popsicles!'"
Then she asked, "Did you see the popsicles at the concession stand?"
Jessika languidly stalked her audience, strolling on the stage with the mic and said, "Of course,
before a person can reincarnate, there's that little matter of having to die. Cryogenics is close
but there's no transmigration of the soul, just a long long long cold cold cold nap. I'm pretty
sure I don't want to have all my memories and sense of self put into a virtual reality or an
artificial body either. Death in VR or an artificial body is just an electromagnetic pulse or an off
switch away. Oh, sure, life is precarious, too. I still like my meat suit and something of a self-
programming ability."
"So, dying", Jessika continued, "seems like such a bummer. Maybe the end of the story, or at
least the chapter that was this life? Have you ever heard of 'The Darwin Awards'? It was
something I heard of a long time ago. Darwin Award winners are generally people who have
taken themselves out of the gene pool by making a fatal mistake in a relatively safe set of
circumstances, sometimes spectacularly. Two examples you shouldn't repeat: one, disposing
of flammable and potentially explosive liquids in an outhouse or latrine and then throwing a hot
cigarette butt down into the hole…", she paused briefly as the crowd laughed at that thought,
"and two, throwing yourself at a big plate glass window in a skyscraper to demonstrate to
others that they won't accidentally trip into it and fall to their doom." The second example was
a little sad, but there were still laughs because she'd prepared them for it. "That said, if you're
the one dying, an accidental and quick death doesn't sound like a bad way to go. Sure, you may
have a tombstone proclaiming to the cemetery visitors that you killed yourself doing something
incredibly stupid, but at least your dying was fairly quick and you've become an example to
others of something not to do."
In a tone of conspiracy, Jessica shared, "Now, if you ever want to guarantee yourself a quick
death, spoiler alert for any opera people out there so cover your ears for a few seconds…." She
paused a bit before saying, "Become a character in an opera and sing something like, 'Even if it
costs me my life, I'll do the heroic thing' or, 'My friend would never kill me.'" She smiled and
then motioned for any people covering their ears that it was now safe. Likely any people here
that were into opera knew exactly what she was going to say, but it was polite to offer them an
out. "It works almost every fuckin' time and if nothing else you'll be dead before the final
curtain drops."
Then the little red headed comedienne's voice became more 'personal' as she went on, "I hope
that some fatal accident punches my ticket before I need hip and knee replacements along with
a twenty pill a day prescription habit. If I'm that old and you kill me by accident, I'm cool, but if
you're playing a live action version of Grand Theft Otto, I might decide to fucking haunt you."
"Yeah, well, I don't really know. Maybe I'll just get on with my death. I'm not going to have to
worry about the so called, 'five stages of dying', because unless time gets rea-l-ly sl-o-o-w, I'm
just not going to have the time for the typical five stages of dying: denial, anger, bargaining,
depression and acceptance." Jessika put the mic back onto the stand, freeing both of her hands
before continuing. "When my quality of life is in the toilet, I want just one stage of dying:" She
quickly brought her arms level with her shoulder and her hands splayed open above her
forearms that were raised straight up, shouting, "SURPRISE!"
Sam watched from the wings of the stage and was proud of her lover. The audience was
happily along for the ride and Jessika was their gondolier. The 'Surprise!' line got a great
response and the laughter and applause filled the theatre. She'd watched Jessica develop this
year's act and never really got tired of watching how it flowed. She could make an audience of
fourteen hundred people want to be her friend by being intimate with them all at the same
time. Sam saw how Jessika could stimulate people's imaginations with hypothetical scenarios
and how she could turn a sense of personal injury over anti-perspirant into deafening howls of
laughter. Even dying didn't sound so bad and was a little more fun when Jessika was talking
about it.
Jessika made it look easy, thought Sam. Audiences didn't realize that creating and rehearsing a
show was certainly not easy. Very few people would ever realize how many comics of the late
twentieth and early twenty-first centuries Jessika had studied. Some of those comics were
improvisational geniuses, but most of them worked and sweated over their craft. Weeks of
brainstorming, writing and editing. Weeks of figuring out what methods succeeded with some
routines and which methods bombed dismally with routines that were quite similar. Jessika
worked very, very, hard. She worked so hard that all the audience ever saw was the love and
joy. Sam loved Jessika for the work she did and for the joy she freely gave out.
Back on the stage, Jessika took back the microphone into her hands.
"For the sake of argument," Jessika began anew, "imagine I'm dead. You can imagine to be
dead, too, if you like, but you don't have to be. You can follow me on the 'spirit camera', where
maybe it will be like on an old game show where people get kicked off the show each week. If
there isn't a production team, then figure I have a 'point-of-view' or ghostly body-cam. What
would my audience see?"
After giving the crowd a moment to ponder her words, she returned to the monologue, "Now,
remember, this is my" and she stressed the, 'MY', "'Born Again' show. If your spiritual beliefs
are hard and fast on a final afterlife or the denial of an afterlife, just shut up and enjoy the
show! Got it? Okay."
She went on, conversationally, "Remembering Karma…, and I hope Karma knows I didn't mean
it when I called her a 'bitch', just that she's tough, Karma's your appointment right when you
arrive…, unless there's a big-ass fuckin' line. I think there might be a line. You're going to reach
into your ghost body and find your ticket. Remember Adolf? He's got a black speed pass for
skipping the line and back to being a cockroach.
I hear that there are some Buddhists, the Lamas, that have like a golden speed pass. Those guys
get a new life as a human almost immediately, and they get their old jobs as Lamas back, too.
Wow, talk about your job security, right?"
There were lots of smiles in the audience. A good job could be hard to come by, in this life or a
next one.
"I'd get a job in the afterlife, sort of like an 'assistant karma', which would be like I'd direct the
foot traffic. I'd direct you to the 'Back To Life' lines that you qualified for. There would
certainly be a return to life as a human line and there would be a return to life as an animal line.
There could be a plant, fruit and vegetable line too. That line would be for all those people who
when they got pissed continually said, 'Eat me!'"
'Oh, my' thought Jessika. 'That line worked better than I imagined', as the theater echoed with
laughter.
"I'd get this job, if I can, because I'd like to earn some favorable extra-credit points with Karma
and be reincarnated with some options and upgrades. Fortunately, for me, my boss, the big 'K'
thinks hiring me would be good for the general spiritual morale. I might even do some shows
for the spirits waiting in the lines. I'm a comedienne and storyteller. It's what I do, okay?
Maybe, if I recognized you in the line and I liked you, I might give you some of my extra-credit
points."
"What am I going to do with all my points? What would you do with your points?" Jessika
asked, rhetorically. "What do you suppose the massive point items for a next life could be? As
I look out at you all from the stage, I have to imagine that the high demand items are big fuckin'
dicks and multiple orgasm pussies! Am I right?!?!"
The laughter shook the Globe, and Jessika drank it all in.
When the laughter eased a bit, Jessika went back on track. "Fuck, yeah! I'd spend some points
there, too. That's one of the reasons I'd get a job between lives. If you know 'human nature' at
all, I think you'll agree that I'm probably correct in my theory about point-spending. Maybe
some of you have higher and loftier goals for a next life, like, 'I want to cure diseases or bring
about world peace.' Say 'Hi' to the Buddhist Lamas for me because you might as well become a
monk. You ain't getting laid!" She paused and then said, "At least not a whole lot."
Jessika strolled upon the stage. "Not being tired of comedy," she mused, "after spending some
of my points on my body and mind and willpower, some important memories from the last life,
I'd be looking to be born again into a society with a good sense of humor. It would also have to
be among a people that appreciated both men and women fairly evenly. I have to hope that
such places and people will still be around on that future Earth." She paused and then said, "If
not, I'm going to check out being a life form somewhere in the stars, like Alpha-Centauri!"
Once again, 'matter-of-factly', she continued, "So, now we come to the point where you get to
be born again. Some babies leaving the womb are ejected like fighter pilots from wounded jet
planes. Some babies struggle a bit to get into the world. Sometimes doctors have to help them
leave the mother's body. Congratulations, you've made it back. Did you read your new body's
owner's manual? At the start, or re-start, you are going to have very little in the voluntary
motion department. You're going to be pissing and pooping on autopilot for some time. You're
going to make little baby noises and you're going to be able to cry. On the plus side, you're
going to instinctively be sucking titty. Enjoy that while it lasts!"
Making an aside, Jessika said, "On a personal note, I love having my titties sucked. I've even
thought about trying to induce lactation with dietary means and a breast pump, so I can give
something back for the pleasure I get from a good sucking. I just can't find a strapless
maternity bra that I like to go with this dress." With her free arm and hand, she made a motion
to draw attention to her clothing from her feet to just above her bust. "Isn't being a slave to
fashion a bitch?!?!"
She went back to her main subject when the chuckles for the aside eased. She asked the
audience, "What's going to be different in this new, born again, life from your previous life?
Did you make any plans for a new life on Earth before your last death? Did you get any bonus
points in your last life? Did you get any bonus points between your last death and your
reincarnation?" She raised her voice in mock anger, "Were you even ready for a new life,
slacker?!?!" After a pause Jessika calmly came back with, "Like anything you do today,
remember the 'six P's': 'Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance.' Or, in this case,
'Person-hood'. It's like saving up the cash and credit to buy that flat in the city or a cottage in
the countryside. It's the right thing to do."
"Imagining that you had a plan for your born again life," Jessika went on, "you can get a good
start going in your chosen direction as a child. If you've got the chops, the talent, your new
parents will likely support your efforts, well…, maybe not so likely if your chosen field is
something like drug-dealer, hit-man or prostitute. Let's stick to less criminal and more socially
acceptable careers, yes? Fine."
"So, you're a child prodigy…. Now, what?" asked Jessika.
Then she told the crowd, "Now, you do the same as nearly every other person, except certain
Lamas: You learn (or re-learn) your lessons, get back into the rat-race and start to make
something of yourself! 'Why?' you ask, 'Aren't I supposed to be a prodigy?' I'll tell you why.
It's because people have been fucking. They've been making new people, that's why. Some of
these new people may be experienced souls, like you. Some of these new people are
absolutely enjoying human life for the first time and their souls and spirits are stoked. So,
either be an inspiring leader to them or get the fuck out of their way, your choice. I don't know
why you thought your new life was going to be easy. Then you say, 'Isn't childhood supposed
to be fun?' and I answer, sure, enjoy it while it lasts! Because puberty is just around the
corner."
"Puberty, like it does with everybody, is going to give you a hormonal, 'Wham! Bam! Thank
you, Ma'am!' Even if you're a Lama, I imagine, but I don't think they talk about it. I don't mean
to pick on the Lamas, but if anyone knows about reincarnation, they're the ones to ask. Right?
I doubt anything is going to happen, but I have to ask, are there any former Lamas in the
audience tonight?" With her free hand, Jessika pretended to shield her eyes from the light
while she scanned the audience for a Lama or two. "Maybe you decided you needed to get
more in touch with the normal people, so you could do a better job the next time you're a
Lama? No former Lamas here tonight? No?" Sounding very disappointed, she intoned, "What
a bummer!" and let her free hand come back down to her side.
"So," said Jessika, getting back to her narrative, "If you had a plan for your born again life, your
three big big hurdles in carrying out your plan are childhood, adolescence and early adulthood.
These are the times in your new life where you decide if your plans were worth the time you
spent making them, remembering them, pursuing them, and be tempted to abandon them."
"Temptation, I know it well," she confided. "I just had an opportunity to get my pussy licked
right before coming out on stage, tonight, but I chose you people." Some people applauded
and then Jessika rejoined, "That's it? I turn down sex for you people and only three people
appreciate it?!?! I'm starting to think that I made the wrong choice!"
The Globe then thundered with applause. It was a good crowd.
"Choices," she said, "there are always choices to make. Choices like in Shakespeare's 'Hamlet'."
Jessica put the mic back into the stand. Then she posed and went excessively 'classical' in the
'teapot acting' style, her left hand at her hip like a handle and her right arm raised like the
spout, and intoned, "'To be…, or not to be? That is the question!'" Maintaining the pose she
smiled and continued, "Perfume…, or antiperspirant? Soul food…, or Chinese? Pussy…, or
Dick?" At this she grabbed the mic in the stand and let her other hand fall back to her side,
saying, "Of course, those last two go together, don't they?" The audience laughed and Jessika
laughed with them.
"In spite of all the work and going through life's tough times. If I'm given some choices, I
believe that I could be happy in a new life." She smiled at everyone. "I'd like to get in touch
with some people from another life. I'd make myself easy to find, I think. Hopefully, no one I
knew would want to kill me, right?" With her free hand, Jessika made a 'knife hand' and held it
to her own throat, saying in an altered voice, "'Okay, Rabbitt, this is for that fuckin' joke you
told, in your other life, last century!'" Then she pantomimed cutting her own throat and went,
"K-k-k-kack!"
"Earlier," she began again, "I was asking if there were any former Lamas in the audience. I
really wasn't expecting any, but I was still a little disappointed. Given that this is London and
the United Kingdom, I think this next call out has a little bit better chance of success." Now was
the time for her to test her beliefs. Jessika took a deep breath before saying, "If there's anyone
here tonight who's wearing a kilt, would you come up to the stage?"
The Globe held it's breath, but it didn't have to hold it for very long because a tall, late twenty-
something, fair skinned and dark-haired man stood up near the middle of 'the yard'. The crowd
stilled briefly in wonder and then applauded as the tall man in kilt and jacket excused himself
while moving across the row where he'd sat and toward the nearest aisle. 'What was Jessika
Rabbitt up to now?' wondered the Globe.
From the theatre wings, Sam Peterson heard the applause. Watching the tall stranger
approach the stage, her mouth silently opened and stayed that way for a bit. The expression on
her face was one-third amazement, one-third pain and one-third joy. At first, Sam was having
trouble processing what was happening. It was impossible, but a man that Sam had never met
in all her years as Jessika's lover and manager was coming onto the stage, just like Jessika had
said he would. Sam became a believer. The tall brunette woman was in no hurry to leave her
current life, but maybe Jessika would promise to be with Sam in their next lives?
On the stage, Jessica indicated a spot about a meter away from the mic stand where she
wanted the man to stand. "Oh, my!" Jessika shared with the audience, "Isn't he a handsome
one! Yes?" A pause and then a twist on a very old joke, "Is that a caber under that kilt or do
you think he's just happy to see me?"
The handsome man comfortably stood, in spite of the tiny gibe at his expense, smiling and self-
confident. 'Caber, indeed!' he thought to himself and resisted the urge to voice a snappy
comeback.
Microphone in hand, Jessika clicked it off and walked over to the man in the kilt. He bent down
so the two could exchange whispers, off mic, so the rest of the audience wouldn't hear.
"Hello, Anne," she said, holding back little tears of joy.
He answered with, "Hello, Toby," and a smile.
"Can I have a peek?" she asked him. To which he grinned and nodded.
Jessika clicked the mic back on and stepped in close to him. With one hand she reached for his
muscular chest, feeling it through his shirt "Mmmm," she hummed. She traced her hand down
over his abdomen and wasn't surprised to feel a 'six-pack' there. She turned and faced the
audience, putting the backside of her red sequined dress to his kilted front, swaying a little,
almost like a lap-dance. Then she gave an expression of surprise and lifting the mic to her lips
announced with a laugh, "Oh, my! It IS a caber!"
The crowd crowed at this and Jessika walked around behind the man. She lifted up the back of
his kilt and saw tattoo on the cheek of his bum. If she'd been only ninety-nine percent sure that
this man was Anne, the blue cupcake tattoo erased any remaining doubt. She let the back of
the kilt down to cover his bum cheeks and gave it a nice pat.
Jessika put on her biggest smile and addressed the crowd, "London! You're the best audience a
girl could ever have! Thank you!" The Globe audience applauded loudly in appreciation. They
had smirked and laughed and howled, having be thoroughly entertained. The little redheaded
comedienne took her bows, before saying, "I wish you all safe travel home! Me and this big guy
are going to be getting re-acquainted." Then she extended her right hand, the one holding the
mic, and turned it parallel to the floor before letting it fall. There was nothing left to be said.
Jessika Rabbitt embraced her man and then he lifted her like a husband carrying a bride across
the threshold. That was how they left the stage that night. She was an incurable romantic in
her previous life and it had carried over into this one.
Epilogue:
Jessika Rabbit never ever asked for another kilt wearing volunteer from the audience.
However, in some later performances, there were audience members claiming to be former
Lamas.
When the tour was over, Jessika retired from performing to write plays for broadcast and the
stage. Sam finally got her MBA degree and it hangs in one of the bathrooms of the home she
built with Jessika and Anne, in Scotland. The trio have four children.
THE ALIEN IMPLANT
I'm glad that there's a roof over our heads. It makes me feel "safe". I'll continue to feel safe as long as the rest of the room doesn't go pitch black and I'm not surrounded in a circle of light.
I've been working with my hypnotherapist, trying to make sense of the bits of memory that I've been repressing. At a young age, I was abducted by extraterrestrials. I think I was too young at the time to for them to "probe" me. God, I hope I never recover that memory, if it happened! But they did do something to me. They gave me an implant. Now I have an extra beat in the rhythm of my heart.
The military knew about this, but they let me join anyway. Now there's a sobering thought!
But not all doctors are in on these secrets. Examples? My new General Practitioner and my Cardiologist.
I'm having a check up with the doctor and he listens to my heart… and he says, "Mr. B, you have an extra beat in your heart. Do you know what that is?"
My subconscious would not be stopped and I blurted out the truth, "It's the alien implant."
The doctor did a double take and went, "Wha???"
He sent me to a cardiologist. This cardiologist actually worked on a robot that was sent back in time from the future, The Gover-nator, Arnold Schwarzenegger. You'd think that the cardiologist would have been in on the secret.
After listening to my heart, he said, "Mr. B, you have an extra beat in your heart. Do you know what that is?"
I said, "It's the alien implant."
The cardiologist also did a double-take and went, "Wha???"
So, I guess the Men In Black were too busy to mind wipe me, my doctor and my cardiologist, because I got scheduled for an angiogram, in a hospital, so the doctors could study my heart.
After signing what seem to be a ton of papers promising not to sue the doctors and the hospital, I made my peace with My Creator, whoever My Creator was.
I was efficiently prepped for the angiogram. I lay down on the gurney and they wheel me into a darkened operating room with one big lamp. The doctors and the nurses were all shadowy. It seemed so familiar, Déjà vu! I was sedated and soon unconscious.
The next thing I know, I'm feeling like I've been punched in the chest by a t-800 model 101 (chest thump). Arnold? Is that you?
My cardiologist has just hit me with the defibrillator, 3000 volts (chest thump). Three times! My heart had started going crazy in my chest, SUPPOSEDLY in reaction to a coloring dye that's used in angiograms.
On my back I hear my cardiologist "Mr. B, can you hear me?!?!"
I open my eyes and see my cardiologist, still masked. He's doing his impression of a snap-queen-slash-windshield wiper and watching my eyes.
"Mr. B! Mr. B! Are you okay?" he asks me.
'Am I okay' he wants to know. Am I okay?
I look at him and say, "You pissed off the alien implant, didn't you?"
I'm glad that there's a roof over our heads. It makes me feel "safe". I'll continue to feel safe as long as the rest of the room doesn't go pitch black and I'm not surrounded in a circle of light.
I've been working with my hypnotherapist, trying to make sense of the bits of memory that I've been repressing. At a young age, I was abducted by extraterrestrials. I think I was too young at the time to for them to "probe" me. God, I hope I never recover that memory, if it happened! But they did do something to me. They gave me an implant. Now I have an extra beat in the rhythm of my heart.
The military knew about this, but they let me join anyway. Now there's a sobering thought!
But not all doctors are in on these secrets. Examples? My new General Practitioner and my Cardiologist.
I'm having a check up with the doctor and he listens to my heart… and he says, "Mr. B, you have an extra beat in your heart. Do you know what that is?"
My subconscious would not be stopped and I blurted out the truth, "It's the alien implant."
The doctor did a double take and went, "Wha???"
He sent me to a cardiologist. This cardiologist actually worked on a robot that was sent back in time from the future, The Gover-nator, Arnold Schwarzenegger. You'd think that the cardiologist would have been in on the secret.
After listening to my heart, he said, "Mr. B, you have an extra beat in your heart. Do you know what that is?"
I said, "It's the alien implant."
The cardiologist also did a double-take and went, "Wha???"
So, I guess the Men In Black were too busy to mind wipe me, my doctor and my cardiologist, because I got scheduled for an angiogram, in a hospital, so the doctors could study my heart.
After signing what seem to be a ton of papers promising not to sue the doctors and the hospital, I made my peace with My Creator, whoever My Creator was.
I was efficiently prepped for the angiogram. I lay down on the gurney and they wheel me into a darkened operating room with one big lamp. The doctors and the nurses were all shadowy. It seemed so familiar, Déjà vu! I was sedated and soon unconscious.
The next thing I know, I'm feeling like I've been punched in the chest by a t-800 model 101 (chest thump). Arnold? Is that you?
My cardiologist has just hit me with the defibrillator, 3000 volts (chest thump). Three times! My heart had started going crazy in my chest, SUPPOSEDLY in reaction to a coloring dye that's used in angiograms.
On my back I hear my cardiologist "Mr. B, can you hear me?!?!"
I open my eyes and see my cardiologist, still masked. He's doing his impression of a snap-queen-slash-windshield wiper and watching my eyes.
"Mr. B! Mr. B! Are you okay?" he asks me.
'Am I okay' he wants to know. Am I okay?
I look at him and say, "You pissed off the alien implant, didn't you?"
Adopted
My parents adopted me days after I was born. Therefore, I was what you call a "bottle baby". That also means that I don't think that I'll ever get enough titty in my life.
My G-cup girlfriend was a little surprised to hear that confession, like as if G-cups aren't enough. I love her titties, she should know by the amount time I spend there. I had to tell her it's because I was denied the female breast so very early and for so very long. She understands me now. She's the sweetest and craziest woman I've ever met. I'm willing to bet money that she'd try to make milk if she thought I wanted that. Does anyone else have a woman like that? I am a freakin' lucky man.
I was lucky in my adoption, I got raised in a solid, middle-class situation. I never went hungry. Can you tell? I actually got trained to eat. My place at the dinner table was with my back against a wall with my mom and older adopted sister blocking my escape and mom telling me I couldn't leave the table until I'd finished my supper. (Shout at the sky) "THANKS, MOM! ARE YOU EFFING HAPPY?!?"
But the worst thing that they ever did to me was when I was about eight years old, they told me that I was adopted. WHAT THE FREAK?!?!
I'm told that parents lie to their kids all of the time, until the kids are old enough to figure things out for themselves and join in on some of those lying traditions. Would it have killed them save that tidbit of info for their dying breaths? I could have waited to be at the reading of their last will and testament and have heard it then. But no, they thought that I had to hear this at eight years old! I was effed! Some people would say that I'd have been angry with them. No, I'd be proud! I could then say that unlike the leaker at the Supreme Court or Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, who gave nuclear bomb secrets to the commie Russians, that my parents knew how to keep a secret!
Is it understandable that I have trust issues? Is it reasonable that I have abandonment issues? Is it any wonder that I have "mommy" issues? I had to have a make-believe mommy so that I could have an Oedipus Complex. That's a freaky psychological thing, invented by one of the early psychiatrists. But on the plus side, my make-believe mom was "smokin' hot"!
My fantasy mom was on the cover of every skin magazine in the liquor store. She was a shape-changer. She could be blonde or brunette or red haired. She could even be Black or Asian. Hell, she was even the Swedish Bikini Team, all of them at once.
Some would logically say they were all too young and a whole team can't all be mother to one boy. Well, I told you, I HAVE ISSUES, GODDAMNIT! YEAH!
I was in recurring loop of anger and un-ending teenage angst that I fought to suppress well into my forties. I found some peace and let it go. Then my half-sister found me. I should have been happy, but I had just finally buried the memories and hurt. Now it was back like a freakin' undead monster. Eventually, I dealt with it and I did get happy about it. Then, DNA technology reveals she's NOT my half-sister and I have a brand-new half-sister who's living in the state of Colorado. (Shout at the sky) THAT'S REALLY FUNNY, GOD! THANK YOU FOR THAT! Still, on the plus side, NOW, the odds of the situation being a computer error are tiny.
My "new" DNA-related half-sister and a cousin tell me that I'm a lot like my birth mom. That means I'm not likely to become more rational or sane. It's genetic. They both point fingers at each other, telling me that the other one is crazy. But I've got them beat in that department. I'm the crazy one that airs our dirty family laundry on stage!
My parents adopted me days after I was born. Therefore, I was what you call a "bottle baby". That also means that I don't think that I'll ever get enough titty in my life.
My G-cup girlfriend was a little surprised to hear that confession, like as if G-cups aren't enough. I love her titties, she should know by the amount time I spend there. I had to tell her it's because I was denied the female breast so very early and for so very long. She understands me now. She's the sweetest and craziest woman I've ever met. I'm willing to bet money that she'd try to make milk if she thought I wanted that. Does anyone else have a woman like that? I am a freakin' lucky man.
I was lucky in my adoption, I got raised in a solid, middle-class situation. I never went hungry. Can you tell? I actually got trained to eat. My place at the dinner table was with my back against a wall with my mom and older adopted sister blocking my escape and mom telling me I couldn't leave the table until I'd finished my supper. (Shout at the sky) "THANKS, MOM! ARE YOU EFFING HAPPY?!?"
But the worst thing that they ever did to me was when I was about eight years old, they told me that I was adopted. WHAT THE FREAK?!?!
I'm told that parents lie to their kids all of the time, until the kids are old enough to figure things out for themselves and join in on some of those lying traditions. Would it have killed them save that tidbit of info for their dying breaths? I could have waited to be at the reading of their last will and testament and have heard it then. But no, they thought that I had to hear this at eight years old! I was effed! Some people would say that I'd have been angry with them. No, I'd be proud! I could then say that unlike the leaker at the Supreme Court or Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, who gave nuclear bomb secrets to the commie Russians, that my parents knew how to keep a secret!
Is it understandable that I have trust issues? Is it reasonable that I have abandonment issues? Is it any wonder that I have "mommy" issues? I had to have a make-believe mommy so that I could have an Oedipus Complex. That's a freaky psychological thing, invented by one of the early psychiatrists. But on the plus side, my make-believe mom was "smokin' hot"!
My fantasy mom was on the cover of every skin magazine in the liquor store. She was a shape-changer. She could be blonde or brunette or red haired. She could even be Black or Asian. Hell, she was even the Swedish Bikini Team, all of them at once.
Some would logically say they were all too young and a whole team can't all be mother to one boy. Well, I told you, I HAVE ISSUES, GODDAMNIT! YEAH!
I was in recurring loop of anger and un-ending teenage angst that I fought to suppress well into my forties. I found some peace and let it go. Then my half-sister found me. I should have been happy, but I had just finally buried the memories and hurt. Now it was back like a freakin' undead monster. Eventually, I dealt with it and I did get happy about it. Then, DNA technology reveals she's NOT my half-sister and I have a brand-new half-sister who's living in the state of Colorado. (Shout at the sky) THAT'S REALLY FUNNY, GOD! THANK YOU FOR THAT! Still, on the plus side, NOW, the odds of the situation being a computer error are tiny.
My "new" DNA-related half-sister and a cousin tell me that I'm a lot like my birth mom. That means I'm not likely to become more rational or sane. It's genetic. They both point fingers at each other, telling me that the other one is crazy. But I've got them beat in that department. I'm the crazy one that airs our dirty family laundry on stage!
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