Jenny Lewis Sings about Mr. BH's "Big Guns."

Flashback. Sunday evening. I’m at the 9:30 Club to check out Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins. The Blow opened. Vietnam followed. Then came Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins. It was all age show. It was warm. I was in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. She sings “The Big Guns.” It’s about me, naturally. My new fitness regime, Mr. Banana Hammock’s SuperFreak Workout for Juiced-Up Psychos has got my guns blown up like balloons. Really big guns indeed. I can still feel the pump. I can still feel the burn.

I point wink with a trigger finger at Jenny and she returns the gesture. Without thinking, I begin a pose routine to impress Jenny: Front Double Biceps, Front Lat Spread, Side Chest, Back Double Biceps, and signature Back Lat Spread. She is impressed with my physique and mien -- muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, endurance, mental focus, dignity, flair, humility. The over 21-set in attendance are also impressed. Unfortunately, so are members of the dangerous Tween Syndicate who are also in attendance. Mr. Banana Hammock is about female attention, don’t get me wrong. What Mr. Banana Hammock isn’t about, though, is jailbait.

So I am left to defend myself with the Heiwa discipline of the ancient and deadly art of Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. Regular Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate requires us to vanquish our foes with extreme prejudice. Golden-cock-stands-on-one-leg-Dhandia and needle-at-sea-bottom-Araalam mudra followed with a HamsaPaksham mudra. You know. Stuff like that. Probably too much power for the Tweens. The Heiwa discipline requires of me that I do no harm while I subdue my foe. This is the tack I must take. So in a flurry that to most would appear like a big blurry mass, and at the same time taking great care, I am able to subdue the Tween Syndicate without harming them or touching them in any way improper.

Tired, I retreat to Busboys and Poets where I order a Complete Creatine Effervescent Power and scotch and a panda sausage pizza while numerous sycophants approach and as me to sign their breasts with a Mr. Sharpie. I, of course, oblige.

Me you ask? Girl bands. Eating endangered animals in sausage form on pizzas. Signing breasts. Experiencing man on woman sensuality with the legally-aged members of the female persuasion. That is what I am about. And if you want me to sign your breasts, let me know. I’ve got a new blue Mr. Sharpie.