Alien Night Club - Show 31?
Alien Night Club <the transcripts>
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Show 31! Show 31! Good evening and welcome to Show 31. You know what that means. Actually you probably don't because it's an obscure Earth reference. It means 31 flavors.
Insert Ferris Bueller quote here.
We'll circle back to that.
Welcome to the one-and-only Alien Night Club. I am your pseudo-trepid, non-adjectival host, Captain Blank. It’s lovely to see you here. Thank you for coming.
Do you know that expression? To circle back to something? I first heard it about eight years ago, maybe. People began using it in a work setting at their office when talking about a project or a deal or something. They'd say, We'll circle back to that. Or they'd use it as a less slimy way of saying they'll contact you in the future to see if you're ready to buy their crap then.
I think it comes from the 1800s when people were slowly moving from the east coast to the west coast and they were traveling via horse and wagon. If you had to turn around for some reason, you'd circle back, so to speak. Because a wagon has a pretty crappy turning radius. If you can do a u-turn in your car without having to do a 3-point turn, your car has a really good turning radius.
People back then — eight years ago, not Pioneer days — were using the word Verticals a lot, too. Everyone was talking about verticals. And how it pertained to business structure and operations. I never really used it myself because I didn’t work in that world. I tried it, hated it, and opted out years ago.
Point being that there are always new words entering the cultural lexicon. New words, new phrases, cheesedick new slang words. Like Fire. That's fire. Oh, really? Should we grab a fire extinguisher?
It seems cool and right when you're young and desperate for new ways to define the world and your place in it. But when you get older and you've seen this pattern three or four or 50 fucking times, it just seems stupid. And you find yourself somewhat disinterested. The ingroup outgroup dynamics aren't as important anymore. Probably because you've defined and established your ingroup, your tribe – that's another buzzword: tribe – and you're simply not that interested. Repeat that process over 20 30 40 50 years and the next thing you know, you're out of touch with society and can't operate any of the technology. And then you're one of those people who walks around saying the world is going to hell in a handbasket.
But it's not.
That's the thing to remember if you're young and exciting and enthralled with the latest music and entertainment and zeitgeist lexicon.
Don't let your perception of your own failures embitter you and lead to your withdrawing from the culture. I think that's what happens to a lot of people. It's very easy to get stuck in the past. Watching the same shows. Listening to the same music. Living in that comfort bubble. And missing out on all the cool new stuff because it's being created by people younger than you who can't possibly know anything about the world.
Which is why it's important to understand that younger people are self-actualized adults capable of cool stuff, often stuff that you're not capable of.
And that's okay.
And the opposite is true. And young people would do well to understand and remember that, too.
We need not be an expert in everything. That's impossible. So pick 1 or 2 things and take pride in being an expert in them.
And by the way, when you disinfect your toilet or bathroom counter or kitchen counters or whatever, spray the cleaner, start a timer on your phone for 10 minutes, and when the timer goes off, come back and wipe everything down. It should be mostly sterile by then.
Do what you've gotta do to get out of your head. Weed, exercise, yoga, meditation, weed, sex, weed, sex, weed. Whatever you like to do to get calm, centered, relaxed, productive, and happy. Do it. Get out of your head. I do. I'm in my head too much. And it's not a very nice place to be. I don't like it in there. It's a very dark place to be. A lot of fear. A lot of negativity. A lot of voices saying fucked up shit. Stuff that is very not helpful.
Why do you think Kurt Cobain was a heroin addict? His voices were so bad that he had severe stomach pain. All the time. And nothing worked. Until one day when he had heroin injected into him. And he felt great. His head was quiet. Stomach pain gone. Of course he continued using it. If the only thing on Earth between me and debilitating stomach pain is heroin, you know what I'm doing.
I am not suggesting or endorsing heroin, for any dumb-asses who think I am.
Here’s a question: How do people in the adult film industry or sex workers in general do what they do?
Is it desperation? Lack of ability to do anything else? Or is it pragmatism bordering on genius? Are they all there because they hated their 9 to 5 grind and couldn’t live that life anymore and they’ve always loved sex so they said, Screw it! and got into that industry?
I’ve heard that the guys who get into it have to do it with other guys first. And then try to work their way up, so to speak. Because there are too many guys who want that job, to be in that industry, and not as many women.
Why is that? Fear of being perceived negatively?
Which means people in that industry really don’t give a crap.
So that’s the how and why of getting into it. Once you’re there, what’s that like? Sometimes – a lot of the time? – you have to have sex with someone you inherently don’t care for all that much because you take one look at them and you know immediately that in normal life you would never date this person or have sex with this person. Unless maybe you were both super desperate and horny and wasted and or drunk. Maybe then. Maybe.
But now that it’s your job, you gotta do it. You haff to. And you’re being recorded so you also haff to do whatever you can to make it look good. You are there to play a role and to create a product. Your role is Sex God. Hopefully that’s how you perceive yourself. It’s better than Desperate and Pathetic Douche.
Do a lot of guys get into porn because it’s the only way they can get laid?
Or because they have a big dick?
How many people get into it because they have major approval issues with their parents or because their parents were cruel so doing porn is going to be the ultimate middle finger to show them that you don’t care what they think and no matter what they say you’re going to do what you want to do? In this case, that is having sex on camera. People with cruel parents may be so desperate for love that they have sex quickly and easily. Because that’s the only way they can seem to get it.
But what about when two adult film actors really, really like each other? And they’re super horny for each other. So much so that in their mind they’re kind of thinking, God, I wish I could marry this person…and it wouldn’t be a complete shit show; it would finally be true love, trust, and commitment. And happy times. Especially that: happy times. Like the best sex you’ve ever had with a person you think is gorgeous but also cool and fun and sexy and FUNNY and just a tiny bit dorky here and there to make them even more endearing.
Are there any porn stars who got married and went on to make the best porno movies ever made? Because they’re just SO real and GENUINE and TRUE and RAW. And when you watch it, it’s pretty much the sexiest, most exciting thing you’ve ever seen. And you actually feel kind of bad for watching it. Because you feel like you’re intruding. Something special is happening between these two people and you’re eavesdropping. Or eyesdropping, meaning watching something you know you shouldn’t be.
Some of the best makeup artists in the world work in that industry. The results they’re able to achieve are stunning. Hair and makeup, both. The secret to good makeup is to get the result you want while making it APPEAR subtle. And perhaps even more importantly: making your face the same color as your neck. And your shoulders and arms if they’re exposed or visible. If you have fair skin, your face shouldn’t be orange. Use a lighter foundation. Or put some self-tanner on so your body and face are a better match. Unless you like being pale-skinned.
Is there such thing as albino porn? Is that a category on most adult film sites? If not, maybe it should be. So all the albinos can get together and get naked and feel like the person they’re with is like them and looks like them and understands the persecution and the weird looks and comments and all of that shit that makes going out in public uncomfortable.
Maybe there should be an albino dating site. And an albino-friendly club with music and drinks and weed and dancing and pool and video games and FOOD; really good food. And really good weed.
Actually, those things should be the foundation of any club. I haven’t been to many clubs and of the ones I’ve been to, some were cool, like the ones in Hollywood, and some were just so-so. I’ve been to some cool clubs that are big and have multiple rooms and several different bars. One had a main bar that was a giant U-shape so people could congregate all around it. And then to one side was the dance room. It had a lot of flashing red and green and pink and blue pastel lights and another bar. The bartender – guy – may or may not have rubbed an ice cube on the back of my neck.
Have you seen Four Emily? It’s a New Brat Pack story about L.A. nightlife and it stars Margot Robbie, Jaime Pressly, Emma Mackey, and Samara Weaving. And the kicker is that they all sort of share a resemblance. And they concoct a plan to get revenge on this douchebag guy. He’s a bit of pussy hound and is the self-proclaimed King of the One-Night Stand. And he’s so fuckin stupid that he doesn’t know the difference between a one-night stand and one nightstand. He also has only one nightstand in his Hollywood apartment. Which, he argues, is how many he needs because it’s his apartment and his bed and he only needs one.
Point being that they start messing with him. One of them hits on him – or, technically, flirts a little and then waits for him to hit on her, which he does, because, again, he’s a douche and needs to be taught a lesson, otherwise this isn’t funny.
Her name is Emily, by the way. Every time he and Emily see each other and go on a date, it’s a different girl. But because they all look similar, he can never seem to tell them apart. He thinks he’s dating Emily. One person. Not four people.
With the right hair, makeup, wardrobe, lighting, dialect, those four women make themselves up to look like the same person.
Which is super creepy.
Imagine all four of them sitting around in their gorgeous pad overlooking Sunset Plaza, and they’re getting high and drinking champagne, but usually only on Thursdays, because, you know, Champagne Thursdays. The rest of the time they’re enjoying a really good Italian red table wine, the kind that comes in the 1.5-liter bottles with the brown woven grass leaf things on the bottom.
Point being that they sit and compare notes about their date with the douchebag, what they did, where they went, where they ate, who they ate with, met, bumped into, who called, who texted, what he wore, what she wore, et cetera, so they can all do their best to stay in sync.
And the best part is them discussing what it’s like to have sex with him. At first, it’s a lot of laughing and titillation and explaining how it happened. Which is weird at first because they each have sex with him once but in his mind he’s had sex with her – Emily – four times.
And then they begin the cycle over again. And because each woman is a unique person, with her own tastes, et cetera, each of them has a different reaction to being with him and being naked with him and having sex with him and seeing his penis and having it in her mouth and what his body smells like and tastes like. And what it’s like to sit in a bubble bath and talk with him for hours, which is his favorite thing to do. And they agree immediately that this is a total love flex; that he’s merely doing it to try to impress her or because he assumes she will enjoy it because obviously all women enjoy a good bubble bath.
But they soon begin to have problems. Each woman begins holding back. Because she feels like he said something or did something or shared something that was just for her. And it’s private and sacred now. And the fun has gone out of sharing it with the other ladies.
And, pretty soon, each time one of them is with him, they find him talking about or referring to something that happened with one of the other girls. And each of them has a unique reaction to it. Some get angry, some feel left out, some feel sad, some feel guilty.
And the great derailment of the American male comes to an end. The nightly meetings stop. Their friendship falls apart. None of them wants this to continue. Each of them is privately falling in love with him. But is scared to admit it or say it out loud. And they each want to confess. But they also don’t want to hurt him.
Here’s the elevator pitch:
Four friends conspire to ruin a misogynistic pig by taking turns dating him while pretending to be the same woman. But the pig proves to be less of a dick than they thought. The game becomes a lot less fun when each woman begins to realize privately that she is falling in love with him.
Anyway, they create a list of activities to make him do. And they’re a bit piqued when he rises to the challenge and not only agrees to do them but seems to actually enjoy them, and is always making sure that they are enjoying themselves. Always with a kiss on the cheek, a bite on the neck, and a squeeze of the rump. Which they all agree makes them instantly wet every time he does it.
But…they have to remind themselves that he’s not using the same move on four different women. Which would make him a TRUE piece of shit.
Rather, he’s using one move on one woman. And they realize through discussing this that they each confessed to him during bubble bath sex talk that they each have a certain move that they like: one likes a kiss on the cheek; another likes a bite on the neck, still another likes a squeeze on the butt, and the 4th and final likes….
We don’t know yet. Because she hasn’t told him yet. Nor will she tell them, the other ladies. Because she’s afraid to admit it.
But they pester her until, eventually, she relents; she confesses her deepest darkest fantasy: to fuck his brains out with a strap-on.
And the other girls recoil in shock, horror, embarrassment, et cetera. They have mixed reactions. First, they don’t even know if he’ll go along with it. Second, two of the girls REFUSE to ever do that – EVER! – and so demand that she not tell him that that’s what she likes. Because if she does, and he’s into it – and he probably will be because, by all appearances, he’s a sweet, amazing, loving guy who actually cares about her happiness — dick — that means they’ll ALL haff to do it at some point. Especially if he LIKES it and begins asking for it. And she’ll have to be all, Not tonight, dear; I have a headache.
So she agrees not to tell him.
But then one night in the bubble bath, they’re going at it and she gets overwhelmed by what a nice butt he has and she starts fingering him while he’s standing before her. And they look at each other like, Is this okay? And he gives her the nod. And then his dick gets harder and he climaxes in, like, 30 seconds. And this is a guy who actively boasts about being able to delay orgasm and ejaculation literally for hours.
So it becomes apparent that he’s into it.
And the next night, he confesses to Emily that he loved it. And that he’s always wanted to try that but was always afraid to ask. But now that they both know, would she like to do it again?
But here’s the thing: He’s not on a date with the girl he was with the night before; he’s not with the Emily that fingered him; he’s with one of the other girls; the one who hates anal.
And so the girl who hates anal is now forced to make a choice: To do anal or not to do anal. That is the question.
And then she gets to the house where they’re all staying and she walks in and they’re all there in the great room rolling joints and drinking Italian table wine and she slams the door and says, Emily, is there something you’d like to tell us?
And Emily is like, No.
And Emily stomps over and goes, Smell my fingers!
And Emily smells it and nods.
And the other Emily’s go, What, what?!
And Emily lets them smell her finger and they’re like, What is it, what is it?
And one of them says, A burrito? Did you have Mexican? Did you COOK Mexican? Were you chopping onions?
And Emily goes, No! I had to stick my fingers up his butt! A lot! Repeatedly. Really fast.
And Emily goes, For how long?
And Emily goes, Not that long. Only like 30 seconds. He came really fast.
And the original Emily who started this whole thing goes, Yeah, he really likes it.
And the angry Emily is like, Fine. You know what? If you’re going to make me stick my fingers up his burrito butt, I’m going to make you do something even more disgusting.
And back-door Emily is like, Like what?
And anti-back door Emily is like, I dunno yet. Maybe I’ll make you go for a long, hot, sweaty run and then you’ll have to suck dirty, stinky toes in the car.
And back-door Emily goes, If I haff to do it, you haff to do it, too. You haff to do it first.
And anti-back door Emily goes, Well…. Okay, maybe you’re right. And I’m not doing that. It’s even worse than sticking my finger up there. I’ll puke for sure. But next time, I’m telling him I changed my mind and don’t want to do that anymore.
And back door Emily is like, But you can’t! I made a big speech about how I liked it and most guys won’t let you do it because they’re afraid it means they’re gay. And now we know that he really likes it, too, because he told you. So we haff to keep doing it.
And another Emily who hasn’t had burrito finger — should that be the title? Burrito Finger? — yet goes, She’s right. If we all go in there saying, Do this, do that. Fuck me in the ass. No, I hate it in the ass. Let’s do it in the back seat of the car. No, wait, I changed my mind, I don’t want to get busted naked in the back seat by the cops again, this poor guy is going to become a paranoid schizophrenic.
And they all realize this is probably true.
So they make a list of stuff they like. Quote unquote they.
One Week Later….
Anti-back door Emily comes in, slams the door, throws a strap-on harness and big anatomically-correct cyberskin rubber dildo at back door Emily and shouts, Is there something you want to tell us?!
And back door Emily is like, What is this?
And anti-back door Emily goes, It’s a two-month anniversary gift, Emily. He gave it to me tonight, Emily. He made me use it on him, EMILY. First in the bubble bath and then in the bedroom and then all over the house. I felt like Jennifer Aniston pegging Jason Bateman in Horrible Bosses. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.
And one of the Emily’s goes, A two-month anniversary gift? That is so sweet.
And anti-back door Emily goes, No, it’s not! We agreed on a list of fetishes. 50 Shades of Grey strap-on sex was NOT on the list! I’m texting him right now and I’m telling him you want to go running in the canyon tomorrow and then eat his ass in the back seat immediately afterwards.
And back door Emily raises her eyebrows, pondering it….
And anti-back door Emily goes, Oh, stop it! Eating a guy’s ass is totally disgusting.
And back door Emily goes, If you hate it so much, why don’t you just retire?
And anti-back door Emily goes, Retire?
And back door Emily goes, Yes: retire. From the game. Just stop seeing him. He’ll never know.
Awkward silence as this sinks in.
And one of the other Emily’s goes, That’s true. Three of us could retire now and let the fourth keep seeing him and he’d never know.
More awkward silence as this, too, sinks in.
And one of the Emily’s goes, Jesus. We are horrible people.
Yet another awkward silence as this, again, too, sinks in.
And then Back Door Emily goes, Isn’t that what’s going to happen anyway? I mean, eventually? This can’t go on forever.
Fourth awkward silence, interrupted by Anti-back door Emily pouring a glass of wine, lighting up a massive joint, taking an insane drag off of it, blasting smoke out of her nostrils like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon, and saying, Whatever. I’m out.
And another Emily goes, Really? You’re out?
And Anti-back door Emily takes another huge hit and does that cool thing where you exhale weed and then inhale it again — the French Inhale or Frenching or the Irish Waterfall — and goes, Sure. Why not? Like Emily said, he’ll never know. You guys carry on. It’s fine. I won’t say anything. I’ll just sit back and watch.
And Back door Emily goes, You’re really out?
And Anti-back door Emily goes, No more burrito finger for me.
And one of the remaining Emily’s goes, And then there were three…
And it’s really dramatic as another silence descends.
Eventually they decide that Backdoor Emily is the one best-suited to him and the other two will both retire as well. And the two of them can run off and enjoy a lifetime of anal adventures.
And then the door opens and he bursts in carrying a bouquet of white roses – Backdoor Emily’s favorite – and an engagement ring and he shouts, Emily, I love you! Will you marry me?
And then he stops and looks around and realizes he’s looking at Four Emily’s. 1 2 3 4. Friggin FOUR of them. They’re dressed the same and everything. And in that moment, not even we can tell which one is his Emily.
And one of them goes, What’s that?
And he opens the ring box and shows a stunning diamond ring. He goes, It’s For Emily. Whichever one of you that is.
And Backdoor Emily is just about to get up from her seat and run to him when one of the other Emily’s gets up and runs to him, saying, It’s me!
And Backdoor Emily gets up and shouts, It’s me!
And he looks at the other two Emily’s and they both go, No, no, don’t worry, it’s definitely not me.
So he stands there looking back and forth at the two Emily’s, trying to figure out which one is his Emily.
Meanwhile, they’re arguing ferociously. Each insists that she is in fact the one true Emily.
And they each begin pouring their heart out to him, trying to convince him, citing all the things they did together and the things he said to them.
And just when it’s clear that Backdoor Emily – The One True Emily – has convinced him that she is the one he’s enjoyed being with most, he opens the front door and three identical versions of himself come walking in. And he explains that two of them are his brothers – triplets! – and the other is their cousin who looks freakishly similar to them. He tells them that they were on to them from the beginning so they decided to have some fun of their own. And this whole thing has been a complete joke all the way around.
So, lest they be unbearably egregious hypocrites, they each pair up by asking questions about what they did and where they went and what they ate and where they had sex.
So it actually turns out that they were all unknowingly working to be with the version of the other whom they most liked.
And it’s only Backdoor Emily who gets the ring. For now, anyway. The other six people all say, No, no, we’re not ready for that! And everyone laughs.
But then he confesses to Backdoor Emily that she opened up to him and shared her real self, so he felt safe to do the same. And because of that, he knows he loves her and is in love with her and always will be.
Like Dido sang, I’m in love…and always will be.
Dido rules.
And the guys’ four names are Rick, Bryce, and Blane.
Blane? Blane, his name is Blane?! That’s a major appliance, that’s not a name!
That’s a Pretty In Pink quote for you. Jon Cryer. Jon Cryer in his creepers versus Andrew McCarthy in his suit. Creepers are the shoes Jon Cryer wore in that movie. Not the best John Hughes film in my opinion but also a very good one. I think you’ve gotta say Ferris Bueller or the Breakfast Club. Or 16 Candles. Or Weird Science. Although we must also mention Vacation – which he wrote and Harold Ramis directed – as well as Planes, Trains, and Automobiles and Mr. Mom. I never cared for Home Alone or the more kid-focused movies.
Anyway, bubble bath loverboy’s name is Gage. And everyone calls him El Dorito. Because he just landed the role in the new Doritos campaign. His parents named him Gage – with dubious spelling – because his mom’s favorite movie was Pet Cemetery. And the little boy in that movie was named Gage.
We haven’t talked about ice cream yet. I wanted to make a joke about Baskin-Robbins ice cream because their mantra was 31 flavors and this is Show 31. Allegedly. The joke goes, My best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw Ferris pass out at 31 Flavors last night; I guess it’s pretty serious.
And then the teacher calling roll, Ben Stein, goes, Thank you, Simone.
Can someone please make a rainshower shower head that is variable so I can decrease the amount of water that comes out? It needs to be able to be decreased so the hot water lasts longer.
Just use the handle, dummy.
Also, in the Four Emily movie, the Emily's each have a copy of the real Emily's ID. Because one day Anti-back door Emily gets pulled over. And she’s with Gage at the time. Uh-oh. Law enforcement is asking for your ID, Emily. And your actual ID says Theresa Sanders. So she hands her license, which is actually Emily’s license, to the nice CHP officer and prays to God that he buys it. Which, thankfully, he does.
And each time one of them goes out with Gage she has to borrow Emily's car. Which means Emily isn’t able to drive anywhere. Otherwise they'd need four identical cars, to go along with their four matching wardrobes, et cetera.
If epigenetics is true, why don't all children of alcoholics become alcoholics? Some do but not all.
Any time you see a really good movie and you ask someone if they've seen it and they say, I read the book, and you're a tad disappointed and feel a tad stupid or uneducated, here's the thing: for as great as the movie is, the book is better. It's almost always better. Sometimes a movie is so good that it eclipses the book but not very often. Fight Club was like that for me. I need to read it again to be sure. Chuck Palahniuk's other books are so good and I saw Fight Club before I read it. So I'm biased.
Point being that if you don't read much, maybe rethink that. Because books are usually better. The thing is though that you have to put the time in. It takes longer to read a book but you get more out of the process. So it requires more effort but you get more out of it.
Have you heard A Nothing Little Nobody from Nowhere? For those of you who can relate, here's a song. It should maybe be called A Something Big Somebody from Somewhere. But it’s not. SV?
SV: Thank you, Captain. Ladies and gentlemen, coming to the stage, here now for your listening pleasure, please make some noise for the hardest-working band this side of Alpha Centauri. It’s The Hot Fudge Sundaes!
{musical interlude}
Thank you, gentlemen! That was beautiful, haunting, and sad yet rockish. And melodic. I’m going to have that song in my head all night and probably all day tomorrow as well. Earhole cream…engage!
It's not that the Muse does not talk to the untalented. She does. Because she talks to everyone. Rather, it is that talent alone does not yield results. Talent followed up with work, effort, persistence, determination, and or the sheer courage to get off your ass and do something is what creates that thing we see and call genius or talent or brilliance.
With the advent of AI that can create art, music, video, are we witnessing the dehumanization of humanity? All the abilities we hold so dear, so divinely human and perhaps corollarily humanly divine being pushed aside by clever code run by more and faster processors?
So, is the A.I. itself the ultimate work of art?
The last one humans will ever make?
Probably not.
Humans are tenacious that way.
Unless the A.I. makes sure of it.
That’s our show!
Thank you!
Goodnight!
Remember to tip your waitress!
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