At least it’s not the c-word…

30 Nov

Today, as we gracefully transition from A Week for the Therapists, we look at the dirtiest-sounding book from 1925 ever. (Big Ups to my fellow Perfectly Awful Girl Michelle Giorlando of Dee-troit for sending this gem, gleaned from a yard sale.) It’s so dirty, I giggle like a pre-pubescent every time I look at the cover and whisper the title to myself like some incantation designed to get a boy to ask to me out (yeah, no luck there). And every time I look at it I can only think, “well, at least they didn’t use the c-word.” Today, Untintentionally Funny Books presents…

By "c-word" you knew I meant "cat," right?

So this title is either a Jenna Jameson release or France’s entry for Cannes this year. The best is that it’s MY pert pussies, instead of a boring old “the.” Makes it sexier somehow. In library school, we are taught that in children’s books, animals are often substituted for humans to broach difficult subjects in order to make them more accessible/safe/palatable for young readers. I have a few ideas as to what “difficult subjects” this book uses to animals to explore:

  • The exciting beginning of a free and decadant threesome, which will eventually go down in a fire of jealousy, bitterness and ennui, especially when…
  • the females discover the male piece in this feline lust pie has been sleeping with his male groomer on the side.
  • The incenstuous sexual relationships of Lord Byron.
  • An introduction to “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” for young readers (French version of the book).

First loves

I was thinking of doing this as a podcast, so that you could get the full effect of emphasized reading, but you’ll have to do it on your own. “Take Care Pussies, You Must Not Fall.” Good advice when dealing with a menage a trois.

He's a dirty boy

(Read this one in fake German accent.) He doesn’t want to be washed; he wants to keep the musky scent of his lovers on his spent and satiated fur. And he likes his Mommy!

We are different species, it will never work. Go back to your Pussies. (giggle)

This is where it gets all S&M-y, which kinda lost me. Why can’t his lovers tie him to a tree and peck at him? Or does he have one of those Madonna/Whore complexes and needs them to be pure? But in a dirty, threesome way in which they can all have sex, but he can’t bring out the the whips and handcuffs? See, this book is a filthy examination of immorality, repression and power.

Now he's the sadist.

Yeah, especially since he was the bird’s pet just a page ago. Plus, where did his clothes go? One minute he’s dressed in Little Lord Fauntleroy’s finest, the next he’s streaking across the meadow with his new Slave. He’s more confused than I am!

It's all about to go downhill from here

So now he wants to explore outdoor pursuits? Satiated from his base and unnatural experiences with a bird and a mouse, he now returns to his two lovers in the hopes that he can be satisfied with a normal sexual experience. Of course, “normal” being a threesome. But, whatever, it’s all relative. They are so gay and lighthearted. But like all D.H. Lawrence novels about sex in the outdoors, this does not bode well for any of them.

I told ya so!

The rain symbolizes the downpour of sadness in their hearts as they begin to realize the truth about each other and the “purity” of their free love. There is no such purity, especially since he can’t even fess up to his rodent S&M proclivities, and their love is slowly washed away and eroded, like the earth during a rainstorm, revealing the muddy nature of the earth, much like the true muddy nature of their relationship. The rain does not clean them of their impurities and wash then anew, no, it reveals the damning storm which is their “love.” Plus, it’s ruining his fetching velvet suit.

Another day, another dollar

Naked, shivering, and disillusioned, the Pussy returns to his mother’s comforting bosom. There he can retreat into Freudian comfort, settling into a state of arrested emotional and sexual development (but not the kick-ass show, the state in which men of a certain age don’t know how to do laundry and still don’t understand the basics of female anatomy.) His experience has left him bereft and drained, pondering his own existence as a Man, his complex relationships with women and his Mother, and what will truly satisfy his Body and Soul. It’s all so Anais Nin/Henry Miller.


One Response to “At least it’s not the c-word…”

  1. Mol December 3, 2009 at 12:25 am #

    What a freaking amazing find! Lizzard, I had to reread this a few times! Wish you were here with me!

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