Last week on The Blissful Idiot:
“Even though this could’ve easily been about everyone boarding a magical sing-along train, the filthiest conduction of them all was the strange electricity in the air. For ‘The Conductor’ was a straw that stirs the drink kind of exercise, if you will. It wasn’t just any ole straw, but a real crazy fucker kid’s straw…Though leading this was like water off a duck’s filthy back for the Fein, the poor bastard directing the second round would have to summon quite a bit of bravery juices on the spot. It was most definitely a leap out of what we’d been doing, right across enemy lines. All I knew was – there’s no way in hell I was going to be that guy…”
Matthew A. Cremer reporting = 0 )
Oh…hi there. Soooooooo – where were we? Right! While the sweaty workshop continued to weave its web, I pondered aplenty whether this was the true epicenter of madness within the entire festival. Perhaps the actual breeding ground for the new, “advanced species” I’d been hearing strange murmurs about. That’s right, you hot shot intellectual gurus over at the swanky hospitality tent – eat your filthy heart out! Oh boy, the Bermuda triangle of fear was starting to come on pretty golly heck strong now! No amount of protective spandex body armor was going to save me. Not even my darling panty scarf could shield me anymore. Maybe it was time to make like gangbusters and get the hell outta here while I still could. Because there’s no way I was gonna let the Fein take my soul on an insanity parade through this god forsaken Tipi! Soooooooooo, on that note, I’m gonna make like Carmen SanDiego and scram right quick before shit gets too fer-real-io. Yeah, that’ll really show everyone! I’ll go tell the whole world my harrowing tale about this absurd sing-along witchcraft happening. I’ll come back with the National Guard and a tank full of Fruit Roll-ups. We’ll really fuck some shit up while hopped up on variety fun packs out the wazoo!
So enough chit-chit already – let’s do this. You and me, we’re gonna make like banditos outta this brothel. Yes, yes…I know you’re sitting at home picking your butt and not physically stuck with me in this filthy Tipi sweat lodge. I’m aware of a few spatial “limitations” with this covert operation. But damn it, I need a Thelma to go along with my Louise! Look, I’ll even let you play Thelma, so that way when I do something really stupid, you can yell at me, “Geeeeez Louise!” C’mon, it’s super duper fun as fuck, I promise. Don’t be such a big pansy-ass! So when you I say “GO,” we’re doin’ this thang. Ok, ready…1…2…3…No goddamnit foo-ey – I never said to leave on “3,” but to leave on “GO.” You are not helping my situation. Good lord, it’s not that fucking hard people! Ok, ok, ok, everyone calm down before I get my panty scarf in a bind. Son of a bitch, where’s a Fruit Roll-up when I need one? Okaaaaay, speaking of, how about this time we leave on the word “FUN PACK?” Will that make it easier, ya big Nancy? Dang it, I’m starting to reconsider this entire Thelma & Louise arrangement we got goin’ on here. Alright…ready this time? Okaaaaaaaaay…1…2…3…FUN..! No, no, no, no, NO!!!! You were supposed to wait until I said “PACK!” Damn it, why you gotta be a premature ejaculator and blow the entire operation on “FUN?” Ok, you know what, eff it! I will just leave on my own. You heard right – I’m taking Thelma back and I’ll just have to be both of those wild and crazy banshees at once. Yes, yes…I can be Thelma AND Louise all in one sitting. Trust me, it’s some duality of wo-man kinda shit. You’re not here at the highly evolved Gratifly superhuman conference with me – so you just wouldn’t understand. Geeeez Louise, looks like I’ll just have to drive a Lamborghini over the Grand stupid-ass Canyon holding hands with myself. Happy?
So anyways, as much as I wanted to make a hot run for the border, something was holding me back. But what could it be? Hmmm…can’t quite put my finger on this one. I bet some reluctant pansy-ass has something to do with it. However, maybe it was something else altogether. Perhaps my shoelaces were undone and I was too lazy to bend over and throw them at somebody? Or maybe Wrestlemania was finally getting ready to break loose! Ooo-ooo, I call dibs on Koko B. Ware! Or maybe there was a devious, primal force lurking in the shadows. Because just as I was about to nut it up and finally make my big jail break from this reach-around conducting jamboree, I sensed a presence. And it wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill weirdo festival presence either. With any luck, maybe it was only a harmless summer breeze passing through with a delicate touch of Palo Santo fumes. Maybe even a subtle twist of mango-lime nut sweat. But no, this wasn’t a fruit-infused Appalachian taint-teaser passing through the Tipi whatsoever! Ohhhhhhh no! This was the kind of thing you hear about in scary ole spooky bedtime stories or one of those meddling, fuckhead afterschool specials. Good lord, I hope we at least get a snack time break!
So get this – appearing out of nowhere, a mysterious woman came and stood just a few very short feet away from yours truly. But this wasn’t just any ole wo-man. From the corner of my eye, she was brandishing some unconventional, rather scantily clandestine attire indeed. Maybe it was a Tina Turner Thunderdome get-up? Or perhaps ole girl had been sniffing some of that glue? Just what the hell was going on here anyways? Upon much further glance this lady was no jungle warrior queen of any kind. Holy gosh heck, no – she sure was not. Oh myyyyyyy…were those…were those…were those what I think they were? That’s right, you heard it here first! They were none other than – partially covered areolas! No good XXX-rated afterschool special! This untamed pirate mistress was…was missing her top garment al-to-gether!!!!! Oh Jesus, why would she do such a ghastly deed? How, how fiendishly uncivilized and just downright naughty!
But just when you thought this South Carolina nipple convention couldn’t get any more nipply, things got pretty goddamn hairy. And I’m not talking your run-of-the-mill festival hairy either. Because right as this shameless Thunderdome woman undeniably stepped into my clear line of vision, it became reeeeeeadily obvious this wasn’t just a free-boob-a-thon anymore. Not even a spring break bikini telethon! Indeed, this crazy wanderer banshee had taken it upon herself to remove ALLLLLLLL OF HER CLOTHING GARMENTS!!!! Was it just me or had this ever been a family friendly event?! And here I’d slightly stepped out of my friggin’ comfort zone! Geeez Louise Gratifly, you could’ve at least put up a street sign or warned us in the festival brochure or something. That would’ve come in super duper handy right about now. Because this fairy woman was rocking out the full frontal, look what I found, no-holds-barred ‘70’s pornography star bush nudity. In fact, I think it might have winked at me (yes, as in Mrs. Bush). Shhhhh…don’t you dare go tell anyone! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!
Sweet Richard Roberts – woooooooooooo; such despicable filth poo! You know, come to think of it, I guess our group-hug of a vocal reach-around assembly had attracted this glaringly naked specter into the fruity mix. Apparently all of that “being open and supportive and shit” ballyhoo sent out quite the twisted cosmic invitation for any weird son of a bitch under the sun to golly heck join in with the gang. I mean, sure, up until now there had been a steady stream of curious passerby’s that wandered up to get a little dabbley-doo of the fun zone sauce. And it was only a matter of time before they got called out to join in, because you couldn’t just stand there like a big dummy thinking “Well doesn’t that look fun.” This wasn’t one of them petting zoos! Even if we were inside of a fake Indian gift shop, there still was no rope, plexi-glass or electric fence separating the onlookers from the exhibition. The Tipi was your fucking oyster, people. And as dirty as I feel saying this, it was a gradually expanding, kooky collaboration welcome to anyone and everyone who wanted to get in on it. And when I say “anyone and everyone,” I mean – everyone and anyone. However, all bets were off now. Who knows if we were gonna have to re-invent the wheel on this shit. Because it was right at that moment the group’s still evolving, unified lack of a precious lil comfort zone and ability to adapt to just about anything together was sure gonna get put to the ultimate test. A test you probably won’t find in any freaking public school curriculum. And yes, because they’d surely find a way to fuck it up, ya big silly!
While thoroughly trying to wrap my head around the situation (also failing mightily in the singing department I might add), everyone else began to recognize our newest “addition.” Although well within the throes of the exercise, if everyone’s jaws weren’t already preoccupied – they’d probably be hitting the ground like a bunch of North Tulsa dominos. Domino, muthafucka! It didn’t even matter where everyone’s level of engagement was at that point. An unspoken, yet very palpable wave of not-so-mild shock rippled its way through our circle nonetheless. There must’ve been at least a few peeps in the circle who weren’t quite sure anymore what the sam-hell they’d signed up for. Yes, your eyes aren’t deceiving you –we now had a naked person in the Tipi!!!!
(Full disclosure time: Not to get too far off the inside scoop trail here, but the previous summer a pal of mine – whose identity I’ll keep secret – was a security volunteer at something called “Rootwire.” Ok, ok, so this Gratifly business wasn’t entirely my first filthy-ass “exposure” to these Transgression meet-and-greets. That’s our saucy little secret. Don’t you dare go fucking tell anyone! = 0 ) Ok, ok, so where was I? Anyways, in my pal’s security debrief meeting (no one was debriefed of their briefs at any point), they were given a paper with “security” guidelines to follow. Among them was how to deal with “the naked guy” – a timeless dilemma indeed. In the description it said (and I shit you not) – “when faced with this situation, proceed cautiously, as the naked guy spooks easily.” And just why might “the naked guy” spook so easily you ask? Well, probably because he/she ingested something funny that inspired him/her to take his/her clothes off and run around jolly-ass naked in the middle of a Willy Wonka festival – that’s why, ya silly! Otherwise, I would imagine it takes A LOT to go all-in on the naked time. Not that I would know anything about that…)
Equipped with this knowledge or lack thereof, I absolutely CANNOT make any sudden movements or hand gestures. JUST ACT NORMAL AND MAYBE SHE WILL GO AWAY. God, I sure hoped so – Mrs. Bush kept making eyes at me. Noooo, I do NOT want to go out for ice cream sandwiches with you! And although I was pretty gosh darn familiar with what this “acting normal” stuff entailed from my experience in swell ole society, I figured I could at least act like I was acting the part. I mean, if she was in fact “on” anything, at least this tiny tidbit of information gave me a smidge-a-roo of a heads up. To be honest, I couldn’t be 110% sure either way whether anything of a psychotropic nature was involved. What the hell kind of word is “psychotropic” anyways? Nevertheless, I will say this – that girl was happy as all get out. And the radiation she was giving off felt pretty “Aw shucks” genuine instead of some spooky haunted house, drug-induced be-bop nonsense. Maybe I’m going out on yet another dirty investigative limb here, but her and “The Source” just might’ve been secret pen pal lovers (Oooooooo, how scandalous!). Even though the only thing she had on were decorative flower thingies covering most of her nippy-poo’s, you would’ve never been able to tell by the way she carried herself. There wasn’t the slightest hint of self-consciousness when it came to the Naked girl. Not one darn hint. If only she had a platform to further display this total disregard for giving a shit. If only we could take this absurdity to the next level. Ask…and you shall receive.
As our group wrapped up the first phase of the filthy exercise (while still attempting to figure out what the hell had just happened) there was enough time to take it up a notch or forty. “Who would like to try being the Conductor?” asked the Fein. Oh shit! The moment of truth was upon us (what I like to call the “M.O.T.” for slang). Everyone started to look around the circle pretty anxiously – assholes probably puckered right up – wondering who would be that guy. Ohhhhh, the anticipation! Alas, there would be no need for such prolonged speculation. What felt like an eternity was probably more like 3.2 seconds in for realz time. But then…a certain somebody stepped forward before anyone else could even entertain the chilling thought. “May…I…try?” And with those…three…words – time may have just stood still. In fact, the Earth’s rotation paused briefly to absorb the magnitude. Wait…what? Was this really happening? Wowwie motherfuckin’ Zowwie – was it ever! Indeed, the once supremely unfathomable had just reigned hot and heavy blows of steamy truth sauce down upon this sing-along session of ours. For just when you thought it was safe to step foot in a Tipi – the Naked girl had spoken. Oooooooooo-Ahhhhhhhhhhh-Ohhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!! But was this really even happening? Maybe she was an undercover secret door greeter? Perhaps a walking pixie-eyed fairy portal? Or maybe she was a hologram being projected by techno-pranksters over at the Gazebo? As brilliant as that would’ve been, it still was no match for the audacity of this living, breathing being before us. Although just a seemingly random, casual passerby and although she had only been gracing this group for about a whopping 5 minutes – it was go time. That’s right, the Naked girl just went all-in, bitches.
The Fein: Did you see the beginning of what we were doing?
Naked girl: Noooooooo! But I figured it out! Each little corner had their own part of the song! Hee-hee!
Oh sweet Jesus, she’d already figured it out! We’re totally fucked now! Damn it, quick everyone, pack the Tipi into its artsy-fartsy travel bag and let’s get the hell outta here while we still could! Quick! Quick! Hurry! Because there was no effing way we were gonna hand the god forsaken Conductor keys over to this naked-time necromancer! I mean, I mean…right? It’s like, who would want to do such a deranged silly, stupid, silly thing like that anyways? She’d surely derail the entire shim-sham sing-along operation in a filthy heartbeat! Probably rub her naked boobies all over it too!
But then…it came to me. Yessssss, it…came…to……………………………ME…
That’s right, while I was getting worked into a jimmies, willies and Stan Van Gundy’s cheese hot pocket with sprinkles on top tizzy, there was a voice which arose in my private sleuther head. A moment of clarity. An epiphany. The voice of reason, if you will. It was an unmistakable incantation of sorts, thoroughly shaking up my being to its core…
“We’re in the circle and we want to hear you…EVERYONE.”
Yes, yes and YES! Well aw-shucks golly gosh darnit poo! Dang it Fein, why must you be so goddamn loving and welcoming and shit? Can’t we just shush you up with some wooden workshop nickels or steaming nachos or whatever’s clever???? Always gotta be raisin’ the bar, that gal. But you know what? You’re goddamn right she was! The Fein was absolutely freaking spot-on with that juicy nugget of truth along with everything else she’d shared underneath the wild and wacky world of the Tipi. Indubitably, that’s correct-o-fucking-mundo, folks! C’mon now people – duhhhhhh.
So yeah, here’s the thing – the Naked girl deserved a shot at leading this madness just like the rest of us goofy-ass glue-sniffers! Other than struttin’ her stuff around in the sun, she was pretty much just like everyone else partaking in this sing-song jamboree. Especially considering how she definitely was not a spectator. Heck no – she most certainly was not. I mean, at least she had the courage, gumption and all-out freaky fearlessness to step up! In fact, I don’t know where she came from or where the golly heck she was going, but I’d imagine the universe put her smiling bare ass here for a reason. There – I said it. If this workshop was about getting out of your own filthy way and putting yourself out there, then this was of the highest order – gosh freakin’ darn it! And to think we’d been trying to coax simple fart noises out of our mouths at the beginning. Good Lord – what a difference 45 minutes makes! For if anyone still had any inhibition jizzim’s, surely they were gonna be gone for good right quick. It’s like, “How did I have any business being scared of anything right now?”
Just wait a minute though. Everyone freakin’ hold their hobbyhorses! For there was definitely more to this bizarre naked vocal experiment equation than met the eye. Because as much as I hated to admit, there could very well be a flip side waiting to rear its ugly head in a filthy-ass situation like this. And no, I’m not talking about every glue sniffer in this Tipi overzealously probing her nude body with organic Chiquita bananas. Indeed, I think it was safe to say we’d arrived at a “sink or swim” nexus of a moment in our time together. I mean, sure, pussyfooting around (no pun intended) was apparently a foreign concept to the Naked girl. For that I applauded her generously. Besides yours truly, I’d reckon there was plenty of quiet admiration to go around the Tipi. That along with astonishment, bewilderment, concern and practically anything else that involved a general sense of unease in the buffet line of emotions we were processing as a result of her presence. Ok, ok, we’ll throw some glee in there for shits and giggles while we’re at it. Nevertheless, this must’ve been quite the crystallizing moment for the circle, as it epitomized what the whole god forsaken festival was supposed to be about, I guess. Stupid trans-infomercial festival value system! You know, maybe this was an appropriate time to actually back up all that New-Agey superhuman mumbo jumbo from the future about accepting people unconditionally and stuffs. Whatever that means. Surely it posed a few intriguing dilemmas though, right? I mean, would the circle truly embrace this naked wayward traveler or would we turn our backs cuz it was too much to handle out of the freaking blue? Would we continue to make that leap together or collapse back into our shells? Would we let her take the reins on this fun train or would we fall right off the tracks? Would Mrs. Bush and I finally go get ice cream sandwiches? Geeez Louise, what is this, one of those fuckhead afterschool specials? Well freakin’ flippity fuck if I know! So on that note, you’re gonna just have to wait until next week to find out ya, big sillies!
JOIN US FOR NEXT WEEK’S BLISSFUL IDIOT EPISODE: “TRAIN COMIN’ ROUND THE BEND”