Time Traveling Concert Goers Serve Their Own Selfish Rock Purposes

I had a dream last night where my good friend, HLP*, and I were transported back to various times in history. What an amazing opportunity! We could have saved the Kennedy brothers from being assassinated, stopped the world wars that cost the world so many lives, and maybe even smacked the AIDS monkey in the head with a crowbar.** But instead the first thing that occurred to us that we could do for the good of mankind went something like this, "Holy shit! We can travel through time seeing all kinds of legendary rock bands!"

HLP and I were discussing what shows we had been to during out time travels. One of us saw Black Sabbath with Ozzy Osbourne in the 1970's, and on another night in the 1970's we saw Blue Oyster Cult. Seeing B.O.C. is not that exciting of an opportunity, but that is all we could find playing that night. And they didn't even play "Don't Fear the Reaper!" Now that I think about it, HLP and I could have been yelling out for them to play that song when it hadn't even been written yet. Trippy, right?

We found our potential Holy Grail when we skimmed through the newspaper to to see that Jimi Hendrix was playing that night! This must be what the Ziggy of our rock and roll "Quantum Leap" has been wanting us to see. It was all so clear now! The only problem was that it was sold out. First we tried to sneak through the front door, but the doorman busted us and kicked us to the curb. We then found a way to get in through the back door. This led us to the backstage area, but from there there was no way to get to where we could see the stage. We decided to hide behind some folding tables where we could hear the show perfectly and see Jimi playing from time to time when he walked by a door with a window on it. 

At one point Jimi happened to glance through the window and looked right at me. I didn't know what else to do, so I just smiled and waved. Mr. Hendrix stopped playing at this point and said, "Hold on a minute. We got a couple white boys*** back here." I thought for sure our goose (or geese) was cooked, but he asked the crowd if we should be let into the show. The crowd responded with an uproarious applause, and we came out and saluted the crowd to a standing ovation. HLP and I found some seats, but people kept arriving and kicking us out (we had no tickets, if you'll recall). Some seats that I sat in I had to leave even before anyone got there because my knees were hitting the head of the person in front of me. I found it odd at the time that some seats had more leg room than others, but maybe it was like that in the early 1970's. I'll never know because I can't really time travel.

Sometimes you just find that perfect Google Image.

With all the time I spent worrying if I would be thrown out, if a ticket-holding patron would arrive to take my seat, or if my knees would graze somebody's ear and piss them off, I realized that I wasn't paying much attention to why I was there: Jimi. Fucking. Hendrix. I will say that dream-time-traveling Kenneth was impressed with his playing, but Jimi didn't play one single, solitary song I had ever heard before.  

So, what does it all mean? Are the rock gods inside my insane brain trying to tell me something?

- Maybe I should just enjoy the moment more and not worry so much about little details?

- Perhaps it's a telling story about how I'm too overly concerned with rock music?

- Help me out, Seven Readers. Maybe there is a hidden meaning that I'm missing?

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*This acronym stands for Heterosexual Life Partner. He has been a good buddy of mine since junior high, all through this blog's inception, and right up until now. We text one another just about every day about sports and music, so I would say life partner still applies.

**I'm sorry if any animal lovers are offended by this. Believe me when I say that it wouldn't be easy because I find monkeys so adorable. But I would hypothetically smash that little guy's infected nose right into the back of his disease-ridden skull for the good of mankind. But he would get a pass if Zeppelin or someone else awesome was playing that night.

***We weren't the least bit offended when he said "white boys" because he delivered it with no malice at all, and in fact, a great deal of warmth. Dream Jimi was extremely kind and gracious. He was everything I imagined him to be, but I just wish he played some songs that I knew! I mean, I have heard his whole catalog, so from what reservoir was he digging through for that night's deep cuts? I'll have to ask Dream Jimi if I ever have the pleasure of meeting him again, and while I'm at it I'll thank him for letting me and my "white boy" friend into the show.

Dear Doctor Part One

I asked readers to send me their problems, preferably sexual ones, and I found this very interesting quandary in my inbox.  Warning: The nature of this letter is a little graphic, and my response, while I believe to be sound advice, is also a little explicit. 

Dear Doctor,

My boyfriend likes to do vaginal "fisting" with me, which is putting his entire hand up inside my pussy. We both reach another state of consciousness when he does this, so we really enjoy it. He uses a latex glove and lubricant so his hand will fit all the way up my c-word* without a lot of struggling. But after he does this, I notice his latex glove has blood on it when he takes his hand out of my pussy. And my c-word** is sore for a good week after fisting. Is it safe for him to fist my pussy even though there's blood and pain when he's done? We don't want to give up fisting because we get such a high off of it, however, it concerns me that he could be damaging my pussy.

Sincerely,

Anonymous

*Only she really used the "c-word."
**And again here.    
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Dear Two Pickets to Fisttburgh,

This certainly is problem.  On the one hand, you have bleeding, tearing, and possibly damage to your vagina that could last a lifetime.  On the other side, the two of you are somehow achieving an altered state of consciousness through your fisting love, and this is simply too important a discovery to quit now.  You mentioned that you are sore for a week after, so perhaps the two of you can experiment with achieving nirvana on earth just once a week.  

It's possible, however unlikely, that the union of his fist and your cooter have created a flux capacitor.  Now it's just a matter of fisting while traveling at 88 miles an hour, and then maybe you could do what I thought until now was impossible: fisting time travel!  I know, this sounds dangerous, so I do advise that you have a friend do the driving for the two of you.  As for the lubricants and latex gloves that you mentioned, I think those will make the experience less organic, so better leave those at home when you embark on your time travel journey.  Good luck, and on behalf of all my readers and anyone who supports the sciences, we thank you.

P.S. Try not to change anything in the past when you travel through time, as this can have disastrous affects upon the future.  For example, the very sight of the two of you fisting away like that in any time period is pretty memorable and possibly traumatic to people in just about any time period, so you might want to pick a remote location to when you attempt fisting time travel.