Your Worst Nightmare
Through the velvet darkness
Of the blackest night
Burning bright
There’s a guiding star
No matter what…
Or who
You are.
—From The Rocky Horror Picture Show’s “Over at the Frankenstein Place”
Patient: Doctor, I had the most awful dream last night. It was very vivid, very disturbing.
Doctor: Yes? Please tell what you remember.
Patient: Well, when it began, I was sitting in the balcony of a Vaudeville theater. There were two old men, very ill tempered, and extremely short in stature sitting directly in front of me.
Doctor: Interesting… Go on.
Patient: The curtain rose, and on the stage were a pig and a frog.
Doctor: A pig and a frog?
Patient: Yes, and they were arguing … but it wasn’t a real pig or frog, you see. They were larger than life. The pig was obviously female. She had on a dress, a wig, a tiara, and big fake eyelashes. The frog was mocking her.
Doctor: Do you remember what the frog said?
Patient: No, but the two old men in front of me started to heckle them.
Doctor: Ah.
Patient: I started to feel very claustrophobic. I began to sweat, so I stood up to leave, to get some fresh air, but my feet felt like they each weighed a ton. When I looked down, I saw I was wearing a very odd pair of shoes. They were black and white patent leather, with huge, thick soles and enormous heels.
Doctor: What was your emotional response to the shoes?
Patient: I remember thinking, Why, in God’s name, am I wearing these hideous things? But the odd part was…
Doctor: Yes?
Patient: Well, they were really comfortable.
Doctor. Interesting.
Patient: And then the scene shifted. I was in a huge room.
Doctor: Can you describe it for me?
Patient: It was crowded, there were hundreds of people. It was a ballroom. Bodies everywhere, all crushed together. And the place seemed to be throbbing—almost as if it were a living thing. There was this deafening “thump, thump, thump” noise—like a heartbeat. It was pounding in my head, making me dizzy, and there were lights flashing. Then I saw a half-naked woman—at least I think it was a woman—ride by on a horse.
Doctor: Do you recall anything else?
Patient: Liza Minnelli. She was asking me who did my hair. Do you think that’s significant, Doctor?
Doctor: Liza Minnelli? No … but perhaps your hairstyle. What was your hair like in the dream?
Patient: Pretty awful. Parted down the middle, with a lot of feathery layers. Not at all flattering.
Doctor: Do you remember anything else?
Patient: Yes, I realized that what I was hearing wasn’t a heartbeat, it was music—some kind of loud, awful, inanely vapid music. But I couldn’t help myself. I was dancing to it!
Doctor: I see.
Patient: My dress was glued to my body. I recall that the fabric was clingy and stretchy, but it didn’t breathe. There was a funky aroma emanating from my armpits, and then, suddenly, the music stopped. I was so relieved.
Doctor: Was that the end of the dream?
Patient: I wish it were, but no.
Doctor: Go on.
Patient: Well, the music had stopped and I was sitting down. Air was rushing past, which was a blessing, because my dress smelled pretty rank. I realized I was moving. I turned to my left and saw that I was in a car—a Mustang convertible. The driver was a very beautiful woman, but she had on a peculiar outfit. It was red, white and blue, and looked like a bathing suit, except that it was made of satin, so you wouldn’t ever be able to swim in it. She was wearing a tiara.
Doctor: Another tiara? Go on.
Patient: And she had something hanging from her belt. A silver lasso, I think. Anyway, she was saying something about her name being Diana, but that wasn’t who she really was.
Doctor: She had a secret identity?
Patient: Yes, and she was just about to reveal the truth, when a song came on the radio, and she said, “Shhh! Oh, this is my favorite! We have to listen to it.”
Doctor: Can you tell me about the song?
Patient: Oh, Doctor, it was awful. It made me want to retch. I started to feel ill. It was redundant, derivative. There was the sound of a clock ticking, machine guns…and these truly dreadful, saccharine lyrics… “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah…” Something…What was it? Something died. It was just horrible. And then I woke up. What do you think it means, Doctor? … Doctor?
Doctor: Chicago. It was Chicago that died.
Patient: Yes, that’s right! But how did you know?
Doctor: I’m sorry, my dear, but your time is up. And besides, you aren’t really awake.
Patient: You mean, I’m still dreaming?
Doctor: No, my dear, I’m afraid it’s much worse than that.
Patient: No! Please, God, no! You don’t mean…
Doctor: Ah, but I do. (Laughing maniacally) It’s a ’70s flashback!
(Sings) She’s a brick…house
Mighty mighty, just lettin’ it all hang out
She’s a brick…house
The lady’s stacked and that’s a fact,
Ain’t holding nothin’ back.
She’s a brick…house
She’s the one, the only one,
Who’s built like a Amazon
We’re together everybody knows,
And here’s how the story goes.
She knows she got everything
A woman needs to get a man, yeah.
How can she use, the things she use
36-24-36, what a winning hand!
The clothes she wears, the sexy ways,
Make an old man wish for younger days
She knows she’s built and knows how to please
Sure enough to knock a man to his knees
Shake it down, shake it down now
Shake it down, shake it down now
Shake it down, shake it down now
—“Brick House,” The Commodores (1977)
Of the blackest night
Burning bright
There’s a guiding star
No matter what…
Or who
You are.
—From The Rocky Horror Picture Show’s “Over at the Frankenstein Place”
Patient: Doctor, I had the most awful dream last night. It was very vivid, very disturbing.
Doctor: Yes? Please tell what you remember.
Patient: Well, when it began, I was sitting in the balcony of a Vaudeville theater. There were two old men, very ill tempered, and extremely short in stature sitting directly in front of me.
Doctor: Interesting… Go on.
Patient: The curtain rose, and on the stage were a pig and a frog.
Doctor: A pig and a frog?
Patient: Yes, and they were arguing … but it wasn’t a real pig or frog, you see. They were larger than life. The pig was obviously female. She had on a dress, a wig, a tiara, and big fake eyelashes. The frog was mocking her.
Doctor: Do you remember what the frog said?
Patient: No, but the two old men in front of me started to heckle them.
Doctor: Ah.
Patient: I started to feel very claustrophobic. I began to sweat, so I stood up to leave, to get some fresh air, but my feet felt like they each weighed a ton. When I looked down, I saw I was wearing a very odd pair of shoes. They were black and white patent leather, with huge, thick soles and enormous heels.
Doctor: What was your emotional response to the shoes?
Patient: I remember thinking, Why, in God’s name, am I wearing these hideous things? But the odd part was…
Doctor: Yes?
Patient: Well, they were really comfortable.
Doctor. Interesting.
Patient: And then the scene shifted. I was in a huge room.
Doctor: Can you describe it for me?
Patient: It was crowded, there were hundreds of people. It was a ballroom. Bodies everywhere, all crushed together. And the place seemed to be throbbing—almost as if it were a living thing. There was this deafening “thump, thump, thump” noise—like a heartbeat. It was pounding in my head, making me dizzy, and there were lights flashing. Then I saw a half-naked woman—at least I think it was a woman—ride by on a horse.
Doctor: Do you recall anything else?
Patient: Liza Minnelli. She was asking me who did my hair. Do you think that’s significant, Doctor?
Doctor: Liza Minnelli? No … but perhaps your hairstyle. What was your hair like in the dream?
Patient: Pretty awful. Parted down the middle, with a lot of feathery layers. Not at all flattering.
Doctor: Do you remember anything else?
Patient: Yes, I realized that what I was hearing wasn’t a heartbeat, it was music—some kind of loud, awful, inanely vapid music. But I couldn’t help myself. I was dancing to it!
Doctor: I see.
Patient: My dress was glued to my body. I recall that the fabric was clingy and stretchy, but it didn’t breathe. There was a funky aroma emanating from my armpits, and then, suddenly, the music stopped. I was so relieved.
Doctor: Was that the end of the dream?
Patient: I wish it were, but no.
Doctor: Go on.
Patient: Well, the music had stopped and I was sitting down. Air was rushing past, which was a blessing, because my dress smelled pretty rank. I realized I was moving. I turned to my left and saw that I was in a car—a Mustang convertible. The driver was a very beautiful woman, but she had on a peculiar outfit. It was red, white and blue, and looked like a bathing suit, except that it was made of satin, so you wouldn’t ever be able to swim in it. She was wearing a tiara.
Doctor: Another tiara? Go on.
Patient: And she had something hanging from her belt. A silver lasso, I think. Anyway, she was saying something about her name being Diana, but that wasn’t who she really was.
Doctor: She had a secret identity?
Patient: Yes, and she was just about to reveal the truth, when a song came on the radio, and she said, “Shhh! Oh, this is my favorite! We have to listen to it.”
Doctor: Can you tell me about the song?
Patient: Oh, Doctor, it was awful. It made me want to retch. I started to feel ill. It was redundant, derivative. There was the sound of a clock ticking, machine guns…and these truly dreadful, saccharine lyrics… “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah…” Something…What was it? Something died. It was just horrible. And then I woke up. What do you think it means, Doctor? … Doctor?
Doctor: Chicago. It was Chicago that died.
Patient: Yes, that’s right! But how did you know?
Doctor: I’m sorry, my dear, but your time is up. And besides, you aren’t really awake.
Patient: You mean, I’m still dreaming?
Doctor: No, my dear, I’m afraid it’s much worse than that.
Patient: No! Please, God, no! You don’t mean…
Doctor: Ah, but I do. (Laughing maniacally) It’s a ’70s flashback!
(Sings) She’s a brick…house
Mighty mighty, just lettin’ it all hang out
She’s a brick…house
The lady’s stacked and that’s a fact,
Ain’t holding nothin’ back.
She’s a brick…house
She’s the one, the only one,
Who’s built like a Amazon
We’re together everybody knows,
And here’s how the story goes.
She knows she got everything
A woman needs to get a man, yeah.
How can she use, the things she use
36-24-36, what a winning hand!
The clothes she wears, the sexy ways,
Make an old man wish for younger days
She knows she’s built and knows how to please
Sure enough to knock a man to his knees
Shake it down, shake it down now
Shake it down, shake it down now
Shake it down, shake it down now
—“Brick House,” The Commodores (1977)
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