from "Houndstooth Heaven"
Mar 11, 2001
With the renewal of interest in CSATFCWB in the last couple of years, people from all walks of life and from all corners of the globe are coming forward with their CS artifacts, reminiscences and paraphernalia. After Gieserís well-documented and harrowing hemorrhoid surgery, for example, Clark Schpiell inflatable donut-ring toilet cushions were sold at two CS shows in Beulah in early 1988. Sold at $3 each, these cushions would be worth nearly $5 in todayís dollars! And it is known that pieces of Little Jís left kidney, which had been torn out by Big J in one of their many drug-addled sibling spats, was swept up and whisked away by a janitor at Fort Mandan High School, who has yet to come forward. But while these major finds of CS lore are still out there waiting for the intrepid treasure-seeker or lucky flea-market browser to find, new and occasionally interesting tidbits are coming to our attention all the time.
This fragment was a piece of short erotic fiction penned by none other than Eck, whose smooth satiny voice and musical competence was at odds with the rest of the band. What few of his fans knew is that he was a prolific writer of a unique and innovative subgenre of erotica, in which all the women are wearing painstakingly-described early-20th century garments. Having had little luck publishing these ahead-of-his-time pieces in national magazines like Hustler, Penthouse, Oui, Cumstain, Anal Nuns and Slutsplit, he turned to regional publications. Dennis Longbottom, editor, publisher and founder of Prairie Pussy, received but refused to print the story "Houndstooth Heaven," from which the following is an excerpt. Note the allusions to fellow band members. Despite the fictionalization, some small degree of resemblance to the real band can be discerned.
So dim the lights and enjoy. But be careful! Thereís nothing worse than a sticky keyboard.
from "Houndstooth Heaven" :
"...It had been a long show. I was resting in the dressing room trying to unwind with a good book. The rest of the Fuzzy Crickets, especially Jameson and Kristoff, were popping pills and chasing them with Jack Danielsí and making the asses of themselves that they always do. Darvod was brushing his hair and adjusting his scrotum, which hung low in the even lower crotch of his Hammer-pants. Doctor N came staggering into the room with his penis sticking out through the fly of his pants and laughing in this high-pitched squeak, and so I decided Iíd had enough and went out into the hallway.
"Thatís when I saw her. She was standing by the drinking fountain, looking resplendent in her stunning Directoire suit, with its single-breasted cutaway jacket and four-gored, front-buttoned skirt.
"'Tonight's show was amazing, Eck,í she said, with a sweet, sexy voice that perfectly matched the elegance of her Copenhagen blue Neapolitan straw hat, her voice hinting at erotic possibilities suitably amplified by the hat's dented brim and black satin-draped crown, with the handsome rosette in front exquisitely shirred.
"I put a finger to my lips and bid her not speak. There was no need to speak. She was saying everything with her white Marie Antoinette collar of tucked lawn and Val lace, with just the bare eighth-inch visible of high-quality Gauze Lisle thread black hosiery. I knew that she was wearing my favorite, a Cambric petticoat with the sexually-charged Torchon lace insertion in Filet design with the four rows of lace separated by bands of lawn and headed by a cluster of Princess tucks. It made me hard just thinking that, one step beyond, there lay the fine drawers of combed Egyptian cotton with their fine ribbing and ruffles of Point de Paris lace.
"Let my drug-addled barbarous bandmates stick their members into a cadre of groupies clad in nothing more than appliqued 501 jeans and Metallica t-shirts. Tonight this beauty, with her French Kid belt and Marabout stole and black Bally high-heeled ankle-laced boots, would be completely, irrevocably, mine.
"Yes, she would be mine..."
This story, describing for eight pages the disrobing of the young lady, whose name, we eventually learn, is Ephraim (a character some scholars believe was modeled on Barry Goldwater), was rejected by the publisher because it did not include a description of labial piercing, which was a hallmark of the magazine at that time. It should be noted that Prairie Pussy changed ownership and is now being published under the title Dakota Tourism!