Shrink Wrapped: Frank E. Bittinger Edition

Say hello to Frank. Don’t worry. He usually doesn’t bite hard.

frankFrank is our newest member, and he’s fitting in quite well, except for that thing he does with his—never mind. Check out his most recent publication Rhayven House to get an idea of the sort of shit that rolls around his head.

We were a little nervous about digging around in there, by the way, but here goes…

Have you ever peed in the woods? Pooped? Why would you poop in the woods?

I have peed in the woods on a number of occasions. It harkens back to the pioneering spirit in all of us; however, I have never pooped in the woods. I have no explanation for this. Perhaps because whipping out one’s wiener to unleash a stream of urine is far simpler than shoving one’s pants down and squatting to void one’s bowels. And then there is also the possibility of there not being any toilet paper available in the woods and should one run the risk of using various leaves to wipe, then one runs the risk of getting poison ivy or some such on one’s asshole. And I cannot imagine how that would be pleasant in any form or fashion.

*One time, on a road trip when I was young and stupid, I peed in the woods, fell over, because I may have been drunk, and got poison ivy all over my lady bits. It’s not pleasant at all. NOT. AT. ALL. *

 How would you explain spray cheese to an alien?

Why the hell would you ask me a question about an alien? Dude, it’s like you don’t know about my overwhelming fear of being abducted in the wee hours of the morning by the goddamned Grays! What the hell?! Try to be a little more sensitive to others.

*We knew about this fear, and we told you, it’s never going to be resolved until you face it. PS: You’re scheduled for a probe at noon. Use the enema we gave you. Trust me. *

Have you ever heard people talking to you or about you when no one was present? Are you medicated?

Not only have I heard people talking to me or about me when no one else was present, but I have held entire conversations with these voices and together we can perform “Hallelujah” better than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir!

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*Note to self: Start drugging Frank’s food and drinks. Heavily. *

You’re walking down the street and see a single shoe on the sidewalk. What happened to the other shoe?

You might not believe the serendipity of you asking me this question. This just happened to me. It was a size 7 shoe with a red sole, so you know it was one of those fancy brands. I was minding my own business, just out hoping someone would fondle me without my permission, and I happened upon this mysterious shoe.  As I stood there pondering the questions of why the shoe was there, what is my place in the universe, and did the new pants I had on showcase my package as nicely as I thought they did, wouldn’t you know it?! This hot cop came to retrieve the shoe. See, it was part of a suspicious death scene and it had been left behind. Along with the one leg. What happened to the other shoe, you ask? It was picked up and taken with the other evidence at the scene to be processed. At least that’s my understanding of the situation. I really wasn’t paying too much attention to the words coming out of his month. Instead, I was just standing there having a fantasy about him.

*I bet he had a British accent. Sigh. *

And now for the sex stuff:

Have you ever paid for sex? Been paid? Do you think it’s fair to charge someone for sex? Please, explain your answer in as much detail as necessary.

I have never paid for sex. And I have never been paid for sex. I’ve always utilized a barter system, and I find that works the best in these situations. I couldn’t imagine charging someone for sex when you can utilize and exchange of goods for services. Think of the tax consequences of paying for or getting paid for sex. I mean, I can understand the write-offs you could list on your long form, but if you do it the way our ancestors would have and trade, you will totally discover bartering is the way to go. I mean, that’s what this country was built on, and that’s also why we built all those forts–so people could barter. You’d know all about this if you had only paid attention in history class or watched the History Channel once in a while.

*Personally, I’d rather be paid for sex. No trade. Cash. Up front. Thank you very much. *

Not that we need to dig any further, but we’re here now, so tell us what you see in this picture:

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The ink blot gave me palpitations. Or, it would have if I wasn’t missing my hollow, muscular pump…and by that, I’m not referring to Christian.

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No, it brought to mind my intense and overwhelming fear of alien abduction. Not by the Reptilians, because I’ve always been fond of reptiles and iguanas in particular, but rather by those goddamned sneaky-ass Grays. See, late at night I watch marathons of all these alien shows where victims of abduction and visitation explain how they get woken up from a sound sleep by some alien, no pun intended, noise. When they look at the clock, it’s almost always 3 AM, and then they look around their bedroom and come ultimately face to face with the Grays. So now just imagine how I feel when I get woken up by a noise I can’t explain. I sit up in the darkness and wonder what it was. Then I look over at the clock on my bedside table–on the left of the bed because only heathens keep their clock on the bedside table on the right–and see it reads 3 AM. And then I get totally terrified and close my eyes real tight and refuse to look around the room because I know all the key factors are in place and the goddamned Grays are lurking in my room to seize this opportunity to abduct me. That’s what the ink blot reminds me of.

Well then. *gets the jacket ready* Why don’t you go with Katrina to that nice, dark room over there. (Katrina, is the generator ready?) She’s going to put those nice stickers with the festive wires on your head. Yes, Christian finds those VERY hot. Go on.

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