Read Online Fuckness by Andersen Prunty - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andersen Prunty
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looked like nothin but a buncha arms n legs.”
“ I don’t know. It’s just what I felt like doing.”
“ A good way to hurt yourself.”
I was happy she left quickly so I could get back to the song and working out my routine. During my DeHaven phase, I entertained dreamy thoughts about being some kind of backup dancer for him but it was like I had to get that poster to find out he was real. It became nearly an obsession to find out how real he was. What did he look like? What did he sound like when he talked? What did he do when he wasn’t on tour? Getting the poster was like a small window into Bobby DeHaven’s world. Scoring the poster turned out to be a real hassle too.
Luckily, almost right after I heard the guy on the radio say Bobby DeHaven had a totally free fan club and then give the address, we got this assignment in school where we were supposed to write a business-type letter to some important person like a congressman or the President or some King Blob like that. And they gave us stamps and envelopes and all kinds of ideas of who to write to. I, of course, took that opportunity to write a gushing letter to Bobby DeHaven, telling him about what a big fan I was and how I was really glad he had a club and all. The letter was something like five pages long but my writing was pretty big. I hoped he had time to read it. I’m pretty sure I put something in there about my routine. About how, if he was ever in the area, I could show him. I was a little more naïve at the time. I figured he would at least sign the poster or something.
A few weeks later I got the poster in the mail. I unrolled it and was a little bit disappointed to find out that Bobby DeHaven didn’t look exactly the way I expected him to, but I grew to like the way he looked. And I started imagining that person on the poster singing all those songs on the radio. There was something kind of disappointing about it, though. Like now, when I heard the music I just thought of the picture.
In the picture he was at the microphone, singing. A number of band members stood behind him but they were just a blur. I couldn’t make out if he had any dancers back there or not. He had his eyes closed and looked soulful as shit. I could tell he wore some make-up on his eyelids. The way he kept his hair reminded me of some of the haircuts the kids at school were getting. Except Bobby DeHaven’s looked so much better. It looked like the real thing and all those haircuts on all those blobs at school were just imitations. Bobby DeHaven probably didn’t even have to get his hair styled like that. It was blond and flowed down to his shoulders in the back but the sides and top were cut short and feathered. He looked like an exotic bird. His voice was really deep so I was surprised to see how thin he was. It was like his voice came from that huge Adam’s apple. He was almost as thin as me and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He didn’t have any of the coarse chest hair like Racecar, or like the hair that covered Bucky Swarth’s stomach under that assortment of striped shirts. In the picture, he had on a pair of tight black pants that I almost didn’t even notice because the background was almost completely black too, but I could see enough to tell his hips were almost womanly. He looked just like this pale floating head and body.
That Bobby DeHaven had it made, I thought. He could write his songs and sing them for a million people. I was sure he had all the girls he ever wanted and I pictured him just going down into the crowd and saying, “Yeah, that one looks good,” and the girl would just go with him because he was gorgeous and they could tell by his songs what a sensitive person he was. The other person they played on the radio all the time was a woman named Pinky Lopez and I imagined Bobby DeHaven fucking her all the time, like whenever they played the same city or some fuckness like that. But I knew Bobby DeHaven probably didn’t fuck people, he
“ I don’t know. It’s just what I felt like doing.”
“ A good way to hurt yourself.”
I was happy she left quickly so I could get back to the song and working out my routine. During my DeHaven phase, I entertained dreamy thoughts about being some kind of backup dancer for him but it was like I had to get that poster to find out he was real. It became nearly an obsession to find out how real he was. What did he look like? What did he sound like when he talked? What did he do when he wasn’t on tour? Getting the poster was like a small window into Bobby DeHaven’s world. Scoring the poster turned out to be a real hassle too.
Luckily, almost right after I heard the guy on the radio say Bobby DeHaven had a totally free fan club and then give the address, we got this assignment in school where we were supposed to write a business-type letter to some important person like a congressman or the President or some King Blob like that. And they gave us stamps and envelopes and all kinds of ideas of who to write to. I, of course, took that opportunity to write a gushing letter to Bobby DeHaven, telling him about what a big fan I was and how I was really glad he had a club and all. The letter was something like five pages long but my writing was pretty big. I hoped he had time to read it. I’m pretty sure I put something in there about my routine. About how, if he was ever in the area, I could show him. I was a little more naïve at the time. I figured he would at least sign the poster or something.
A few weeks later I got the poster in the mail. I unrolled it and was a little bit disappointed to find out that Bobby DeHaven didn’t look exactly the way I expected him to, but I grew to like the way he looked. And I started imagining that person on the poster singing all those songs on the radio. There was something kind of disappointing about it, though. Like now, when I heard the music I just thought of the picture.
In the picture he was at the microphone, singing. A number of band members stood behind him but they were just a blur. I couldn’t make out if he had any dancers back there or not. He had his eyes closed and looked soulful as shit. I could tell he wore some make-up on his eyelids. The way he kept his hair reminded me of some of the haircuts the kids at school were getting. Except Bobby DeHaven’s looked so much better. It looked like the real thing and all those haircuts on all those blobs at school were just imitations. Bobby DeHaven probably didn’t even have to get his hair styled like that. It was blond and flowed down to his shoulders in the back but the sides and top were cut short and feathered. He looked like an exotic bird. His voice was really deep so I was surprised to see how thin he was. It was like his voice came from that huge Adam’s apple. He was almost as thin as me and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He didn’t have any of the coarse chest hair like Racecar, or like the hair that covered Bucky Swarth’s stomach under that assortment of striped shirts. In the picture, he had on a pair of tight black pants that I almost didn’t even notice because the background was almost completely black too, but I could see enough to tell his hips were almost womanly. He looked just like this pale floating head and body.
That Bobby DeHaven had it made, I thought. He could write his songs and sing them for a million people. I was sure he had all the girls he ever wanted and I pictured him just going down into the crowd and saying, “Yeah, that one looks good,” and the girl would just go with him because he was gorgeous and they could tell by his songs what a sensitive person he was. The other person they played on the radio all the time was a woman named Pinky Lopez and I imagined Bobby DeHaven fucking her all the time, like whenever they played the same city or some fuckness like that. But I knew Bobby DeHaven probably didn’t fuck people, he
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