We all think about weird things that we don’t have to think about, right?
At a dinner party the other night, my friend revealed that she thinks constantly about where she’d choose to be, if there were a choice, in a human centipede: front, middle, or back.
In case you don’t know, there’s a movie called Human Centipede, about a mad German scientist who captures lost tourists in his house in the Black Forest, keeps them in the basement, lops off their arms and legs to the elbow and kneecap, and sews them, in a group, mouth-to-anus. So they form a centipede. Really, a sextapede, because there are only 3 people. So, six legs.
The real hook here is the mouth-to-anus part.
The front person gets fed food, the person behind him is fed what he ate. And so on. This is the aspect my friend gives so much thought. Where are you in the literal food chain?
We all thought she was crazy not to just pick front, and she kept shouting – this was after we all had many drinks – “YOU DON’T GET GOOD FOOD IN THE FRONT! IT’S NOT IL BUCO!” (Il Buco is one of our favorite Italian restaurants. Now, their food is forever linked in my mind with a mouth-to-anus situation, but I’ll never turn down a plate of spaghetti, so it’s not an issue)
Whatever you’re fed up front, it’s still a no-brainer. Even if it’s black forest cake, which is the biggest waste of calories in the food kingdom, and an even worse PR nightmare for German tourism than this movie. Why does anyone put cherry filling in anything? Haven’t we learned?
Back to Human Centipede positioning:
Sure, there’s a guilt factor if someone is sutured to your butt and eating your waste. But you get to have your mouth in the clear! So completely worth the guilt.
I don’t spend any brain power on a question like this, because it’s not even a question. Front, front, front.
That’s all there is to say.
I do spend a lot of time thinking about hypotheticals, though.
One that I consider practically every day is:
If I walked out of my apartment building naked, would the doorman stop me?
And if so, how would he stop me? Would he point out, “Laura, you’re naked”? Would he chase after me and throw his jacket over me? Or would he assume I’m doing one of those catcalling videos (SHE WALKED FOR TWENTY NYC BLOCKS NAKED. HERE’S WHAT THOSE MISOGYNIST ANIMALS SAID) and not want to interfere?
Would he just let me leave and walk to the coffee shop in the buff because he doesn’t want any legal issues? The doormen’s union is pretty powerful, so he probably doesn’t have to worry.
Does he worry?
Does he think about what he’d do if a tenant walked out naked?
Do the guys at O Cafe on the corner worry about what they’ll do if I come in and order my iced coffee filled all the way to the top with ice, room for milk, all while standing there with zero clothes on? If I handed back the coffee and asked for a little more room for milk, please, would they say, “you’re naked”? Or just carefully pour out some coffee and hand it back to me while avoiding eye contact?
Do they think about this?
And, do they think about where they’d be in the human centipede?
I haven’t even seen the movie, by the way. I heard that it’s a letdown after the trailer, which I’ve watched a million times. While naked, of course.
Now you.
What hypotheticals do you spend time thinking about?
Have you seen Human Centipede?
Do you think black forest cake should even be legal?
TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS
If you’re going to talk about The Human Centipede you have to put a warning. I accidentally saw the trailer for that movie and it gave me nightmares (and daymares) for weeks after. I’m serious…
Oh, sorry! You’re right. TRIGGER WARNING! Next time, promise. Because there will be a next time.
Well, this is really sad, but I spend way too much time thinking about the second coming which I don’t even believe in but I like to think about “what if” because it’s an interesting dilemma and it keeps me from being too happy all of the time. First of all, I’m pretty damn sure that I’m not going to be taken up with the true believers if for no other reason than for my use of profanity. But if I’m not with the goody goodies, then that leaves me with the baddie baddies and I don’t really see myself cozying up to Satan either. That means that I’m apparently going to be left behind to fight a losing battle against overwhelming odds and no reinforcements on the way. So I fantasize that there’s another god out there who is nicer than the one who wants to damn me to the fiery pits of hell for all eternity and doesn’t mind if I need a few millennia to figure stuff out. Hell, what’s a few millennia in the face of eternity. This god lives in another universe far far away from the goody two shoes and the bad to the bone baddies and he/she arrives just in the nick of time to save me from either of the other hells I was facing. I don’t know why I like to think about this but it keeps me from banging my head against the wall whenever I hear or read some particularly absurd theological rhetoric. Hmmm, upon reflection this probably wasn’t the quirky, light hearted response you were hoping for, but you started with the human centipede so you can’t really throw stones my way.
Sam, you may not choose to be with me in that scenario, but you will be. Because you just described EXACTLY who/where I want to be in the case of world destruction/second coming. That’s my kind of god and at least there will be two people going to that place. Wherever the hell it is. (And I really hope that he/she likes the language of a pirate over a princess, or I guess I won’t be with you.)
I’ve never seen that movie. And out of a strong desire of not wanting to be deeply disturbed, I think I’ll avoid it. Like the plague.
But…with that said. I really enjoy a good shit.
So the back of the centipede it is.
I think you’ll really enjoy the back of the centipede, Lane! You’re right, any other position would make you too poo-shy.
I like your enthusiasm of my choice of wanting to be the back end.
Totally with you on Black Forest cake. Cherries in desserts – unless it’s a very tart tart – are ick!
I often have naked dreams. No one ever notices. I wonder what that means?
The cherries – such a crime against good dessert. Nothing quality is made with that filling. Ever.
You need to populate your naked dreams with more appreciative people.
I worry about what I do without realizing it when I have my headphones on in a coffeeshop. I think you know what I mean. How can you ever be sure what you do once you’re in the zone and you can only hear work-mode techno mix? What if I am THAT lady?
Randle, my headphones always make me THAT lady! I develop a dissociated personality that I have no control over. I can’t hear her, so. When my music is loud, I yell “fuck you, asshole” at a lot of cars.
My first job out of college, I worked as a production assistant on a tv show. One of my ultra VIP duties was to take lunch orders for about 50 people. Standing around while the higher ups perused the menu. I played a little game in my head “what’s the most inappropriate thing I could possibly do?” The list was infinite but it included: strongly overt sexual gestures, breaking in to song, berating people, screaming & rocking in fetal position. To be clear, I never did any of things; they simply entertained me.
Nell, that’s my favorite game ever.
In those situations, I often fight the urge to bark. I really do.
I also fantasize about making an obscene flicking gesture with my tongue. Like the old pervert who once stood outside Woolworth’s on 79th with his face pressed against the window while Beth Y and I were in there looking at albums. He kept doing that tongue thing at us, while we shrieked.
Now I want to do that all the time. Not to kids, though.