The F Plus - 61: Any Cling You Want (You Got It)

Episode Date: October 20, 2011

We've been doing The F Plus podcast for a couple years now, so it's actually kind of an oversight on our part that we've never read stories about Roy Orbison. Or, more specifically, stories about Roy Orbison being completely wrapped up in clingfilm. Honestly, I can't imagine how we've avoided the subject for so long. This week, The F Plus finally experiences the greatest pleasure man has ever known.

I got plenty of money. I got plenty of money. Goddamn cock whores. Hey, guys. Fucking read something already. Except you poor dicks are cool. Hey there, this is the F Plus Podcast. Terrible things right with enthusiasm.

My name's Lemon. And I'm John. And Lemon, what are we reading this week? Oh, I figured we would do an episode on Roy Orbison being completely wrapped up in cling film. Oh yeah, okay, sure, let's do it. Yeah, that makes sense. Let's go to the readers. Every time I look into

the loving eye In the room tonight we have Portex. I am completely wrapped in cling film. Kumquat Zap. We are all completely wrapped in cling film. Victor Laszlo. Victor Laszlo is completely wrapped in cling film.

Yay, Victor. Boots Rangier. Boots Rangier, completely wrapped in cling film. John. Pretty woman, wrapped completely in cling film. And Lemon. I am completely wrapped in... Oh, wait, no, I'm not. John. Pretty woman. Wrapped completely in cling film. Pretty. And Lemon. I am completely wrapped in... Oh, wait, no, I'm not.

Shit. Anything you want, you got it. Anything you need, you got it. Anything at all, you got it. Baby. I'm Phil. All right. Do you want to tell us about Uli's record borson thing?

Left crimson? Yeah. Sight? Yeah. I don't know why this is located, but the URL for Ulrich Harbusta's website, the URL is michaelkelly.artofeurope.com slash carl.htm. Yeah, all those things just scream Roy Orbison and Klingfeld. By Ulrich Harbusta. All right, let me introduce you.

Hello, and welcome to my homepage. My name is Urik Harbusta, and I like to write stories about Roy Orbison being wrapped up in cling film. If you have written any stories about Roy being completely wrapped up in cling film, which I'm sure you've written at least two. Just let me check my archives. I mean, statistically, everyone's written at least one. Anyway, please send them to me, and I may put them up on the site.

If you have a site with stories about other pop stars being wrapped up in cling film, mail me and we can exchange links. Do you have any news? Any new updates? Oh yes! Yes, there's a joyous new development! I have published a

Roy in cling film novel! Click here to find out more! See it live at F plus 3. That's gonna be the theme. Click here to find out more! See it live at F plus 3. Yeah, no shit. That's gonna be the theme. There's a couple little bits. I'm not going to give you all of the news that I have had since March of 2007,

but I will give you selected news. For example, this is from November of 2008. I have just added an all-new feature, an interactive Orbison in Klingfilm adventure game! See below at once! I can hear you clicking! I'm clapping. It was everyone in the world clicking. What?

Okay. I'm claiming Roy in ClinkFilm story one. Oh, fine. Which is orb1.html. Okay. Bootsrangia, please read my first story! We're all tied up in Oli's basement. We're forced to read these.

You read my story! Oh, God. It always starts the same way. I'm in the garden airing my terrapin Jedha when he walks past the gate. That mysterious man in black. What? Hello, Roy, I say. What are you doing

in Dusseldorf? Attending to certain matters, he replies. Oh, I say. He apprises Jedha's lines with a keen eye. That is a well-groomed terrapin, he says. Her name is... Turtle. That's right.

Terrapin's a turtle. So he's airing a turtle? Uh, yes. You got to. Her name is Jedha, I say. Perhaps you would like to come inside. Very well, he says. Roy Orbison walks inside my house and sits down on my couch.

No, Roy Orbison! This isn't going to end well for you! Get out of here, Roy Orbison! Get out! We talk urbanely of various issues of the day. Presently, I say, perhaps you would like to see my cling film? No! Run! Run, Roy! Uh-oh. Uh-oh. By all means. I cannot see his eyes through his trademark dark glasses,

and I have no idea if he's being merely polite, or if he generally has an interest in cling film. I bring it from the kitchen. All rolls of it. I have a surprising amount of cling film, I say with a nervous laugh. Roy merely nods. I estimate I must have nearly a kilometer in the kitchen alone. As much as that, he says in surprise, so. No, that made it sound like it was a question.

Roy Orbison is unimpressed with your cling film. So, that would imply there's a question mark. He just says so. Just a statement. As much as that, he said in surprise, so. Aaron. Mind you, people do not realize how much is on each roll.

I bet that with a single roll alone, I could wrap you up entirely. Prove it, fucker! Yeah, this is the cling wrap fetish equivalent of, you know, smoothly putting your arm around the shoulder at the movie's end. I bet I could wrap you up. I don't know if I could,

but I bet I could. I gotta say, that's a pretty slick move. Yeah, I know. It's pretty good. Point to cling film roll. Oh, dear! My underwear has fallen off. Use the good wrap. That shows that you have value. You add value when you wrap them in the cling film. Demonstrate your cling film.

Roy Orbison sits impassively like a monochrome Buddha. My palms are sweaty. That's the best haiku ever. Roy Orbison is pale, but he's not gray. He turned ghostly white at the sight of this creepy German coming up to him with clink film. Moving on. I will take that bet, says Roy. I'm sure you will.

If you succeed, I will give that bet, says Roy. I'm sure you will. If you succeed, I will give you tickets to my new concert. If you fail, I will take Jedha as a lesson to you not to speak boastfully. That does sound like Roy Orbison's kind of cadence. And word choice. He steals the turtles of the braggarts.

Dude, the dude's a turtle hustler. I mean, he just goes around doing this. If you cannot wrap me in cling film, I will take your turtle. I'm Roy Orbison, and I have no problem with this. I nod. So then, if you will please to stand. Roy stands. Commence.

I start at the ankles and work up. I'm like a spider, binding him in my gossamer web. I do it tight with several layers. Soon, Roy Orbison stands before me, completely wrapped in clingfilm. I'm having second feelings about this. The pleasure is unexampled. You are completely

wrapped in clingfilm, I say. That needs to be much more German, that sentence. You are completely wrapped in cling film! I like my delivery, fuck you. Alright, fine. You in the dirt, says Roy, muffled. No one raped me.

Not for several hours. Oh. I may need to breathe in that time. I'm just saying. I like how laid back he is about it. Just, ah, okay, gotcha. Don't worry about it. I sit and admire my handiwork for a long time.

So as not to make the ordeal unpleasant for him, we make small talk on topical subjects. Roy somewhat muffled. At some point, I must leave him to attend to Jetta's needs. When I return, I find that he has hopped out of my house, still wrapped in king film. He escaped! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, no, no, no, no.

The loss leaves me broken and pitiful. He never calls me. He sends no tickets. What? The police come and reprimand me. Jedha is taken away. Although I get her back after a complicated legal process. Oh man. He kept that tension for almost a sentence. I have definitely found

my new Halloween costume. The F plus Halloween party is going to be awesome. There is only one thing that can console me. A certain dream, a certain vision. It always starts the same way. Oh my god, he's in an infinite time loop of dreams of wrapping up Roy Orbison in cling wrap. Copyright Uli. Alright.

John, I would like to cast you as Roy Orbison. wrap. Copyright Uli. Alright. Alright. John, I would like to cast you as Roy Orbison. Alright. Victor, you are Roy Orbison's tour manager, and I guess I will play the part of myself. Mr. Uli Faschenshaken. I'll be Jedda the turtle. I don't think that's his name. Does the turtle

actually say things? No. She hasn't yet come out of her shell. All right, let's go. Oh, my God. All right, here we go. Okay, story number two. In this fantasy, I am driving along the autobahn between Kuhn and Aitjen. A large Vinnebago has pulled to the side of the road ahead.

An anxious-looking man flags me down. This could be trouble, I say to Jetta. It is certainly a regular. Jetta says nothing. Little do I know what is in store. Can you help me? Says the man. I am Roy Orbison's tour manager.

Also, I say in polite surprise, I have already read the legend, Roy Orbison tour bus on the side of the vehicle. The legend of Roy Orbison. I am the manager of the bus. I read that whole thing. I get out of the car. What seems to be the problem?

He leads me down the back of the van. Roy has succumbed to a heart attack and is clinically dead. He explains, indicating a certain well-known man in black sprawled on the floor of the vehicle, because apparently Johnny Cash is there, too. Along with Roy Orbison.

So, I say. Are you perchance a doctor? No! I studied at a catering college for some years, but was forced to leave for reasons I prefer not to disclose. Ack! Then I am at a loss at what to do. Thanks, Kathy. Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Roy Orbison's tour manager yells out,

ach. Like a German guy. Ach. There's one thing we might try. I say with elaborate nonchalance. Elaborate.

If we were to wrap him in cling film, this would prevent corruption setting in until we can get him to the hospital. Corruption? That's a medical term. Did you become a demon or something?

It is certainly worth a try, but I have no cling film. Fortunately, I have several rolls in the car! I go to my roll car and retrieve it before he can stop me. The tour manager looks anxiously over my shoulder as I set to work. I must work undisturbed, I tell him. He nods and gives me privacy. Now, it is just me and Roy Orbison and the cling film. Even though I'm dead, I'm still creeped out.

I start from the ankles and work up to the trademark dark glasses wrapping slowly and carefully. Soon, Roy Orbison is completely wrapped in cling film. He is like a big black beetle wrapped in a silvery cocoon.

Satisfaction is unparalleled by anything in my previous existence. I have never... I have never known ecstasy like this moment. Just telling their kids when they're born. That was the second happiest moment of my life.

The first happiest was wrapping Roy Orbison in cling film. Well, sure, we understand. He is completely wrapped in cling film! I call to the manager. I will accompany him as you drive to the hospital. Four hours later, Roy Orbison sits up in the hospital and smiles at me. I hear I owe you my life. He says,

Please accept these concert tickets. I bow politely. There needs to be air guitar right there. I bow politely. There's something you perhaps should know. While you were in a coma, I was forced to wrap you entirely in cling film. Quick thinking.

You did not mind. Roy's expression is unreadable. I wasn't aware of it. But was there the slightest twinkle behind those dark glasses? There wasn't. Oh. Okay. Well, that was a

fun game. Of course, I reflect as I return to the Payson Jetta that there can be no question of him enjoying it, for he was dead at the time! Or was he? I just love the idea, like, what, is he thinking like Roy Orbison faked his death?

His death here so he could be wrapped in cling film? Alright, when you pass this guy, he'll probably have cling film and want to wrap it around me. I'll act dead. You invite him over and act none it around me. I'll act dead. You invite him over and act none the wiser. I like how there's not even a passing explanation as to how this managed to help save his life. No.

I wrap him in cling film. Four hours later, he's in the hospital talking to me. You keep the corruption from getting in. You do that all the time in the ER, yes, Victor? Yeah, you keep the corruption out. Can I mention that I just realized, looking through these stories, that Uli here has a catchphrase? Does he? Yes. Is it so?

No. Each story contains a sentence, He is completely wrapped in cling film! Alright, there's number three. It begins innocently enough in the pet shop. I am seeking worms for Jetta. Hello there, says a vaulting tenor voice behind me. We meet again.

I turn and take in the black clothes and trademark dark glasses. Could you wash these for me, please? I bow and smile. Mr. Roy Orbison, I presume. What brings you to our little emporium? I was passing through town on my way to a rock star conference in Essen when I decided to get some deworming powder for my dog. Is that a song title?

Why didn't you get it on the way back? It's an emergency. Maybe he brought his dog with him. Hold on, Rockstars. I need to go to the pet store for my dog's worms. Hey, that's a two-hour session on the second day of the Rockstar conference. Ah, how ironic. Your dog has worms and my Jetta eats worms.

I decide to risk a little joke. Perhaps we should bring the two of them together. But Roy does not laugh. The eyes behind the dark shades express no mirth. What are you saying? Are you saying your terrapin should eat worms out of my dog's ass? That's what I'm saying. I'm saying it.

He snarled. I'm thinking it. It is all going wrong. My palms sweat. I wish to die. I try to wake up. I blush and mumble apologies. Fortunately, just then a distraction arrives.

Two criminals burst in waving shotguns. Oh no. This is a robbery! They yell. You two are hostages! Make them tie each other up! Says the lead robber. Ah, I have forgotten the rope!

Says his cohort. Also, chocolate is fattening. Why do I bring you with me? You comic foil in a robbery movie. I happen to have a roll of cling film with me. I offer diffidently. Perhaps that would serve. Who carries cling film with them?

This guy does. That's such an interesting fantasy. What a such a elaborate way to get him in the cling film. This guy does. That's, that's, that's such an interesting fantasy. What a such elaborate way to get him in the cling film. Yeah, exactly. Like the first story, the first story is not believable. He's like, no, I could never wrap up Roy Orbison in cling film that way. I need a, I need

a more realistic story. No, no, the thing is, the first story is simply Roy Orbison goes over to his house and then says, wrap me in cling film, and now we have, we're in a pet store and robbers bust in and force me to wrap Roy Orbison goes over to his house and then says, wrap me in cling film. And now we're in a pet store and robbers bust in and force me to wrap Roy Orbison in cling film. Well, there's like a deworming powder shortage and they're trying to steal some.

That's true, yeah. Perhaps that will serve. It will have to. Wrap that man up in black in cling film at once or it will go badly for you! Very well. Trembling, I take out the cling film.

I am sorry, Roy. It looks like I have no choice. Do what you have to. I start at the feet and work my way up. I wrap him as tenderly as a mutter swaddling an infant. I marvel at the play of light on the miraculous translucence. Soon, Roy Orbison is entirely wrapped in cling film. I thank God that I was born to live this minute. The ecstasy he feels at this moment is so amazing.

As is his catchphrase. He is completely wrapped up in cling film. I report. Good, says the bandit. Now I want you to wrap the cling film around the two of you so that you are wrapped up with him. My mouth dry. I stand pressed against Roy, who is wrapped completely in cling film. In case you forgot.

In case you missed that part of the story Where he was wrapped up in cling film Awkwardly I passed the film Around both of our waists Several times That would be really hard How do you wrap yourself up?

He has undoubtedly practiced this so many times He's probably a pro at it So we assume that Roy Orbison is standing, right? Because he seems to start with the legs. He might be hanging upside down. So he presses his back up against Roy Orbison's back.

Oh, I bet he went front to front. You think? I think. That's a fair point. Until we are bound together by the miracle substance. Miracle substance of cling film? My synapses overload with joy.

See, I'm pretty sure that's about an orgasm right there. Yeah, yeah. We are both wrapped in cling film. I tell the robbers. It's all back. I am not completely wrapped, however, but there is more cling film in my briefcase if you would care to finish the job

Lemon I think that's your line what a rookie mistake I'll be with you in a moment hang on intermission I'm getting there he left part of his supply in the briefcase there's nothing else in the briefcase I'm getting there. He left part of his supply in the briefcase. There's nothing else in the briefcase, I'm sure.

No, that will do. It certainly will. It is an hour or more before the police come to release us. I say to Roy Orbison, It was nice to meet you again.

Wait, so this is a continuation of the first time? Roy Orbison just follows us through the room. Yeah, I didn't know there was a linear plot. Yeah, that's why Roy Orbison said we meet again at the beginning. Oh, you're right. Yeah, no, I thought this was episodic. You know what? Let me pull up the Roy Orbison cling film wiki.

Let's see where this is in the timeline. Let's make sure this one's canon. Is this a trope? Roy Orbison and cling film trope. Characters sticking together. This is an example. This trope was backstage at a Traveling Will Boys concert.

And Roy Orbison showed up. backstage at a traveling Will Boys concert. And Roy Orbison showed up. I'm not a philosophical man, says Roy thoughtfully, but it seems like we are bound together in some way. Yes! By cling film!

This time Roy does laugh! Never talk to me again awful I just like the super friend style like everyone's laughing at the very end closing shot alright should we do one more story

about Roy Orbison being wrapped up in cling film have you looked at the Christmas one yeah we gotta do the Christmas one. In this heartwarming seasonal tale, Roy is now my neighbor in Dusseldorf and often pops around in my house to borrow kitchen necessities. Oh, heartwarming. So are we going to learn

the true meaning of Christmas? The true meaning of Christmas is cling film! I'm sorry, Roy, I only have one thing in my kitchen. You can tell what all the presents are because they're all wrapped in cling film. Sadly, there's nothing to keep the leftovers fresh because it's all wrapped around Roy Orbison. Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue. Wrap your presents to your darling from you. It is Christmas Eve and Roy has popped around to enjoy a warming glass of Glowing!

Glue wine And help me affix Tencel to Jetta Aww, you put Tencel on the turtle. That's cute. I'm a turtle and I don't like this. Ah! Wait, I feel like I know a lot about Uli's, like, life. Yeah.

Alright. Ah! Says Roy suddenly. I find I have forgotten to obtain a Christmas present for my mother. Let's capitalize. Who is wintering at Baden. Baden? Baden. One's capitalize. Who is wintering at Baden. Baden?

Baden. One of those. I sip my glue wine carefully and remark, This will lead to familial tensions and unseasonal strife. It's like the seventh seal is this guy's life. All existence is meaningless. There is nothing but cling film. It is so... Says Roy.

You know, I say thoughtfully, it strikes me that the best gift a son Can give his mother is himself Ew Gross What you say has I'm wrapped up for you mother guess in what

You are now wrapped in clink What you say has a certain validity Yet how are we to dramatize this concept In such a way that my mother will not merely feel gypped out of a present? Wait a minute, I bet they have an idea. Perhaps if we were to wrap you in Christmas wrapping paper and convey you to Baden. Oh, this is a change-up. Also, says Roy, rising,

you will wrap me in Christmas wrapping paper and convey me to bed in it once. I find we have run out of wrapping paper and the shops have now closed. Oh, no. Logically, some substitute will have to be found. What could it possibly be? I have no idea.

At this point, do you need to be coy about it with Roy? He knows what's happening. Yeah, exactly! Shut up, guys. I want to find out what happens. Alright, alright. Yes, that is logical, but I cannot think what. Man. Oh, so Roy likes to play along. Yeah,

people are such cockteasers. Coy Orbison. Roy looks around the room, seeking that in which he may be wrapped. My mouth is dry. I tickle Jedda's paws idly and say, You know, I believe I may have some

cling film in the kitchen. I like that he says, maybe. I'm not sure. Wait, wait, wait. Hang on. Do turtles have paws? I think you can technically call them that.

That's what she got for Christmas. I guess maybe feet. I don't know. Then the situation is saved. You will wrap me in cling film and have me stowed beneath my mother's Christmas tree. She will be fucking horrified. On an airplane.

You know, if your mother's German, it's fine. If your mother's not German, it's going to come off as weird. I bow my ascent and make to the kitchen. But when I open the cupboard, I turn ashen and begin to quiver. For the cupboard is bare. Oh, no! Oh, shit! No!

The cling film has been used. All the rolls of it. Well, I'm actually... Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to wrap up Roy Orbison and cling film. In alarm, I return to the living room and open the other cling film cupboards. Perhaps there's more in the clingfilm

barn. But it is the same story. In case of emergency, break glass. Oh, what about the clingfilm panic room? Oh, God. I check the cash in my bedroom wardrobe, and again, there's none. I'm genuinely

wondering what's gonna happen. I ransack the entire house from top to bottom. I look for the emergency rolls I keep hidden in the toilet cistern and inside lampshades. What? Lampshades? Everywhere there's the same horrible dearth of cling film. My palms sweat.

I wish to die. I do not want to exist in a world without cling film. You really are spot on here with the Seventh Seal comparison. I can just picture the Grim Reaper popping up. All life is suffering without cling film. How did he? This is the classic end-of-the-first-act Christmas story. It's going to get better. How did he manage to run out?

You would think he would keep on top of that. Like, oh, I only have 75 rolls left. I need to go pick up 100 more. Yeah, you'd think by the time you were dipping into the toilet tank looking for your backup cling film, that would you, you know, I should go buy more. Well, it's a basic rule of movie foreshadowing is that if you don't see cling film in the first act, there will be a suicide in the third act. Can somebody draw a cartoon of the family circus with not using all the cling film? tune of the family circus with not using all the

cling film. If only we could find someone to do that. If only someone could do that. Okay, okay, what do we got here? Roy. I say. I find I was mistaken.

Due to an oversight, I have no cling film in the house oh no I will not be able to wrap you in it I am sorry this has never happened before no literally this has never happened before also

says Roy perhaps some brown parcel paper I would rather die than wrap you in brown parcel paper I am broken and pitiful some brown parcel paper? I would rather die than wrap you in brown parcel paper! I am broken and pitiful. Yes. Yes, you are. Yes. And then it happens. The seasonal miracle.

What? A cloud of soot billows from the fireplace and he comes down my chimney. That well-known man in red. Really? Hello, Santa! Oh my god! What are you doing in Dusseldorf?

Attending to the distribution of presents! Yay! Yay! I see Santa talks like Karl Marx. I am giving the means of production of presents back to the people. You have been good this year.

He continues. You have been orderly and polite and have kept your shoes neatly arranged. That is the final metric. In cling film. I bow courteously. Good behavior is its on-reborn. Oh, now he's just kissing Dutch. Nevertheless,

I intend to give you a present. May I inquire what? Oh, boy. Okay, wait. Hang on. Let's take a guess. Easy bake oven. I think he gets an easy bake oven. Roy Orbison. No, he. Hang on. Let's take a guess. Easy Bake Oven. I think he gets an Easy Bake Oven. Roy Orbison. No, he's already got Roy Orbison.

Bling H2O. Aluminum Foil. Gamer's Hip Clip. Can't guess, Cone? I think Boots is right. I think it's actually Aluminum Foil. That's a good guess. Santa Claus opens his sack, revealing dozens of silvery tubes. It is many rolls of cling film! Oh!

I had no idea! I wondered how they were going to get out of this. Capital. Says Roy. Now you may commence. Trembling with anticipation, I take a roll from Santa's sack. I start at the feet and work my way up. I work with the craft and dexterity of an expert shopkeeper wrapping a purchase.

Soon, Roy Orbison is completely wrapped in cling film. Finally. I am filled with peace on earth and goodwill to all men. Oh, where is he going? As a seasonal touch, I drape him with tinsel. Oh, that's nice. Wait, wait, wait. Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes.

He is completely wrapped in cling film. Yay! I say to Santa. Hold on, Santa. Santa, give your trademark line now. All right, mate. Give your trademark line. Catchphrase.

Ho! Says Santa, stroking his trademark white beard. So this is how it is. Is it that you like to wrap him as a present to the world? Who can plumb the mysteries of the human heart? Who indeed? I confess to being envious of him. I confess to being envious of him.

In my long life, I have wrapped many gifts, and yet, ironically, I have never been wrapped. That's not what I heard he means. Oh, dear. Oh, no. Oh, no. I think Santa just politely said, that's fucked up, man.

No, no, no. No. I think Santa just said he's a little bit aroused. Yes. Santa, what do you got to say about this? No, that's not what's happening. That is what's happening. That's not going to happen, right? Perhaps I might oblige.

I have many rolls left. Comments, says Santa. Oh, God. Twice in one story. Yes. I start from his boots and work my way up. It takes a good half a roll to encompass his jolly

round belly alone. Soon, Father Christmas is completely wrapped in cling film. Oh, I'm having second thoughts. It is not quite so good as wrapping Roy, but it is enjoyable nonetheless, and is certainly a feather

in my cap. Both Father Christmas and Roy Orbison are completely wrapped in cling film! I say to Jetta, I place Santa next to Roy and stand in between them. With some difficulty I wrap all three of us up together as best I can. We enjoy a quiet but satisfying yuletide until people from the social services come to raise us. Dusseldorf actually has a government office that takes care of that sort of thing. God bless us, one and all. Yay! Oh my fucking god. Okay, you said there's one in the perspective

of the Kling rap? There is. There is. Oh my god. It's from the... Yeah, hang on. I clicked on it specifically because it said, this is from a strange point of view, and I was like, what the fuck could be strange to this guy? Okay, uh, John, you wanna take, uh, you wanna take this?

Sure. Here's another of the tales in Roy and Kling films that other people have sent me. This is a most unusual tale, for it is written from an unexpected point of view. The author may be deranged, and yet, I enjoyed the story very much, and it caused me to muse for many minutes. Uli! It begins innocently enough. I sit in the trunk of a car, waiting. Darkness surrounds my body.

I don't know why or how I came to be here. Limbless, movement is impossible, but I am aware that my purpose will be fulfilled with or without my consent. Oh dear. I sense muffled voices coming from outside the car. One voice higher, more excited than the other. Unable to make out the meaning of the conversation,

I amuse myself by tightening myself along my hard cardboard center. Tight. Now loose. Tight again. Loosen. Tighter. Harder still.

Now quickly loose. Oh my god. The trunk suddenly opens, and I am bathed in sunlight. My silky translucence both passes and reflects the sun as it covers my long, thick cylindrical form. Wow. I sense the ecstatic pleasure of the hand that touches my perfect body. Is the pleasure from the cool, smooth touch? No.

Something else arouses this man. And then I know. Suddenly I know why I am here. The man in black. His body cries out to me in anguish. Never before have I felt such pity for someone. Alone and unbound, Roy Orbison's limbs are free to move

with painful non-restriction. What a horrible nightmare. Ah, that sucks! My silken form screams to Roy. I want nothing more than to hold this man inside of myself, wrapped in the cocoon of my love for several

hours. Wait, is the cling wrap a penis or a vagina? I'm getting confused now. I think it's a cling wrap. Yeah, don't anthropomorphize this. It's hot enough. I don't know why and I don't know how, but I find myself being unwound again and again from my long, firm center rod

and rewrapped around the long, firm black rod that is Roy Orbison. Oh dear. As I spin in dizzying circles, the room becomes a kaleidoscope of color and light reflected harmoniously from both myself and Mr. Orbison's dark glasses. I drop my core to the ground,

spent, as I cover the man in black's face. He is now completely covered in me. It's like this story has its own good news, everyone. I remain wrapped around Mr. Orbison for several hours, finally

being removed and thrown into a nearby trash bin. Left to wallow in filth, my mind begins to wander back to happier times. It begins innocently enough. That's sad. Now he's depressed. Thank you for

hearing my story, thrown away banana peel and empty can. It's like the life of a male bee. You have one use, you get wrapped around Roy Orbison once, and then your life is waste after that. Yeah, but... It's sad.

Well, no, because it's all anticipation of that moment, and then the ecstasy that occurs when that moment actually happens. Yeah, but... I mean, it's a fatalistic worldview, but it's a sexual one worldview but it's a sexual one and that's nice I tried to bring out that depth in my reading I thought my intonations

my performance really brought that to the surface Alright guys are you ready to play the Roy Orbison in cling film adventure games? Yes I've never been readier. Okay good Okay here we go You are in a spooky cave Orbison in cling film adventure games? Yes. I've never been readier. Okay, good. Okay. Okay, here we go. You are in a spooky cave. Lying on the floor

you can see a skull covered with cobwebs and there are rats scurrying through the shadows, bent on who knows what acts of unhygiene. Okay. Acts of unhygiene. They're bent on it. They're like, we're gonna be dirty. Well, yeah, you know what you do? You shudder

and clutch your terrapin to you for comfort. You review the poor life choices that led you to this unwholesome spot. I am definitely doing that. Yeah, yeah. I don't blame you. On a walking day in the Hinterlands, you foolishly walked off of the designated walking path

and struck out on your own. In the deep, scary forest, you saw the cave entrance, and in a moment of rash curiosity, venture in. Little did you suspect what was about to befall. Now, in your dismal predicament, you deplore

and neglect the slovenliness around you and prepare to leave. But then, there comes the faint sound of singing, drifting just in the depths of the cavern. It seems... somehow familiar? Pretty woman, wine and bacon.

He has other songs, just nobody knows them. Curiously, you venture in that direction, descending deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth as sinister stalactites drip around you and evil bats wheel overhead and shriek like your ex-wife when you had suggested playing certain harmless dressing-up games with her.

See, there's lots of choices. Blue or red cling film. What harm could possibly come from being wrapped head to toe in cling film? The Roy Orbison and Cling Fill Adventure Game, a game with minimal baggage. At the end of the tunnel, you come to a rotting oak door with rusty iron hinges.

The handle is in the shape of a skull! From beneath it, you hear a vaulting tenor voice singing forlornly. Jingle bells, jingle bells. Also, now what can befall? That all depends on the choices that you alone can make. Do you knock politely and enter, leave at once and go home, or check your inventory? What's in the inventory?

I. I do not the inventory? I. I. I do not recognize I. I and V. There you go. You are carrying many, many rolls of cling film. And a terrapin.

Yay. Now then, do you knock politely and enter, leave once I leave, or check your inventory again? Knock politely and enter. Inventory. I'm sorry, inventory one. You are carrying many, many rolls of cling film, a terrapin. Knock politely and enter, leave it once and go home, and check your inventory.

Knock politely and enter. Inventory. You are carrying many, many rolls of cling film and a tariff pin. Knock politely and enter. Leave once and go home. Check your inventory. Knock politely and enter. All right.

Boots, take this one, please. Okay. You pass through and the door slams shut behind you. You are in a drafty, stone-flagged room, dimly illuminated from a skylight high above. It contains a coil of rope lying in a corner, a rubber bathing ring in the shape of a green seahorse, a door marked PRIVATE, and, standing in rising water at the bottom of a 30-foot pit, Roy Orbison, the well-known pop maestro. We put you in the orb pit!

Hello, Roy, you say. What are you doing in this spooky dungeon? It's a question. What a dungeon! I've been kidnapped by goblins, he replies. So, you reply with polite interest, that's surely a vexation. Yeah, it is.

It is, he says. The mischievous creatures have incarcerated me in this pit into which water is inexorably flowing. If I cannot get free, I will surely drown. Oh no. Oh no. It is so. A rusty pipe outlet is gushing remorselessly into the pit. Roy continues.

Remorselessly? Yeah. Remorselessly. With no remorse. I wish that pipe would let up a little bit. No regrets. Roy continues. I would reward the man who rescued me with free concert tickets and a handsome carriage

clock engraved with a personal message of thanks. But not a woman. He's very enthusiastic. He had some carriage clock. That's a surprise worth daring much for. But common humanity and an interest in pop music alone dictates that I should help you. Interest in pop music. Then please do so with promptitude.

The water is already lapping around my feet. My shoes are waterlogged and my black clothing will be ruined. What can you do in this predicament? Do you... Check inventory. That is not an option. It's always an option. What are my options?

Lower the rope to Roy and pull him out. Throw him the rubber bathing ring in the shape of a seahorse. Yeah. Look around for a stopcock or some sort of janitor who can turn off the water in this cave. Go find the cave janitor. Or wrap Roy Orbison in cling film. Wrap Roy Orbison in cling film!

No, I'm going to pull him out. I'm going to pull him out. Fuck you! No, I want to see what happens if we try... Let's just try not wrapping him in cling film just once. Just to see what happens.

I think you've lost this vote. Are you sure? I want to pull him out. If it's a bad idea, we can wrap him in cling film. Alright, fine. Portex, pull him out. That was a foolish choice.

Without wishing to cast aspersions, you have the brains of a Bavarian goat tickler. Fair enough, I have that coming. If you manage life as badly as you manage adventure games, you are probably the despair of your family. Oh, now that hits tough at home. That is probably true. You lower the rope to Roy and attempt to pull him out,

but as soon as the weight comes on the end of the rope, you overbalance and fall into the pit. You dash your brains out on the stone below. I have no sympathy for you, for this is Darwinism in action. Go back and try again, and this time be more diligent in your reasoning. Wow.

Okay, maybe we should try the cling film. Let's do something sensible. Yeah. Let's do something sensible. Yeah, let's do something sensible. Come quiet. Okay, come quiet. Congratulations! You have made the logical choice. Yay!

Of course we have. You bow and say, May I join you in your pit, Roy? I believe I have formulated a plan. Please to do so, says Roy. You lower yourself from the edge of the pit and drop down into the water with a splash. Yes, get into this pit with me.

Wait, wait, but my version had me going into the water too and I ended up dashing my brains off. Yeah, without the intent of rapping Roy Orbison in a clink film. I'm sorry, was that a Bavarian goat tickler talking? I think that's what I heard. That's what it sounded like to me.

As fortune has it, I happen to have brought a roll of cling film or so on this adventure. You say? My plan involves it! Behind his trademark dark glasses, Roy raises an eyebrow. I cannot possibly imagine how you intend to employ it. I can guess. I'm imagining right now. It is my proposal, Roy, to wrap you in cling film, thereby protecting you from the ravages of the water.

Oh. Yes, to prevent you from suffocating, I'm going to wrap you in plastic film. Right. Yes. Yes, to prevent you from suffocating, I'm going to wrap you in plastic film. Right. Such a good idea has the irresistible force of destiny itself, says Roy. Proceed to implement it. Advance! I start from the feet and work my way up. That is, you do, for you are the hero.

Oh, right. He forgot that he's not talking about him. for you are the hero. Oh, right. He forgot that he's not talking about him. It is hard to wrap his feet when they are underwater, so you have Roy stand on one leg at a time and raise the other out of the water

and wrap them individually. I don't know. It's not as hot as he can sense to it. I don't know. Starfish style. You take a moment to deplore the sadly waterlogged condition of his shoes. When you reach the waist, which is above the waterline, you proceed to wrap normally, but

you do not do it very tight, but rather in a baggy and loose-fitting way for reasons which will soon become apparent but completely watertight. Okay. I'm okay. You're trapping him in a bag of water. This is a cliffhanger. I like it. Well, no, no.

He's talking about the reasons. I'm glad the reasons are watertight. Yes. Soon, Roy Orbison is completely waterproofed in cling film. This doesn't work as well that way. Your eyes roll right around in your

head like fruit machine reels. Do they? And then your pupils turn into rolls of cling wrap. Fruit machine. And then you spit coins out of your mouth. What fruit machine? No, you spit. It's just a long roll of cling wrap coming out of your mouth.

How is it a fruit machine? Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Okay, okay, okay. I think this guy really likes fruit by the foot. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, okay, okay, okay. I think this- I think this guy really likes fruit by the foot.

Shhh. Shhh. Shhh. You are completely wrapped in glub glub! Zwoop. Oh dear. Are you okay, Lemon? Boots?

Checking in, are you okay? Do you need to be wrapped in Kleesville? There's nothing wrong! Completely wrapped in Klop Klop. I'm just sitting back and admiring it. It's so beautiful. You say, for by this point the rising water

has reached your mouth. Standing on tiptoe, you strain up and take a last gulp of air, then wait for your plan to proceed. At this point, you realize you have no plan.

The plan has a life of its own. As you have taken great care to trap lots of air bubbles inside Roy's cling film coating, he has no difficulty in breathing. Sure.

Or they naturally float him to the surface of the water, and holding on, you are pulled up the pit with him. As the water fills the room, the two of you float up to the skylight. It... skylight? By the way, there's a skylight. Yeah. It is made of glass behind wide-set iron bars. You smash the glass of it with your fist,

taking care to wrap your hand in your coat first. Not in the cling film. Why not in the cling film? So that you do not cut yourself. Then wriggle through the bars of it and are free! Quickly, you pull Roy through after you. You collapse to the floor of a torch-lit

corridor. I thought it was a skylight. There's a skylight into the floor of a corridor? Yeah. This is a skylight to a hallway that leads to the bathroom. Guys, this doesn't seem very well thought out. Taking great gulps of air and admiring your work,

you have wrapped Roy in cling film. Yay! And, of course, saved his life. Whatever. With a start, you remember that Roy's cling film cocoon is airtight. Do you release him immediately? No. Or leave him wrapped in shimmery translucent loveliness for a minute

but make topical small talk so as not to make things unpleasant for him? That one. That one, definitely. The second one. The one with the adjectives, of course. Alright, John. Okay, so the second option. You admire Roy in all his plastic-coated scrumptiousness, pacing all around him and mewing softly with pleasure

at your favorite bits. Oh, dude! Wow. Not my favorite bits. I can't decide which bits are my favorite. It's really so hard. I want to make you mew louder. So as not to make it unpleasant for him,

you contrive to make small talk, telling him about your drive to the Hinterlands and the efficiency or otherwise of the service stations you've stopped at,

while Roy makes faint noises of interest. So, Roy, I drove to this gas station and the attendant was so rude to me. I agree.

Help me. Well, I thought about either getting a Snickers or a Butterfinger, and I couldn't decide. It's such a hard choice once you're on the road. Kill me. After a while, you notice Roy has started to turn blue. Do you want to release him from the cling film at once? No. Make a little air hole

somewhere that won't show and leave him wrapped in cling film for a bit. I would like to point out that at any point, if you click the release him from cling film every single time, it all leads to the same ending. Of course. Alright,

Victor, what happens when I get in an air hole? You continue to admire Roy Orbison. Of course. He is completely wrapped in cling film. Every part of him. Call back. You emit a sigh of unfathomable content.

I think that's actually content. Unfathomable content. I think that's actually content. Unfathomable content. You cannot imagine the content of this eye. This is a site for sore eyes that could put the makers of soothing eye lotion out of business could it be broadcast worldwide.

See, the makers of eye lotion are already out of business because they're making a lotion you rub into your eyes. Their product was called Mud Gum! Time passes. Do you want to release him from the cling film yet?

Nah. Yes? The man is dying. Or, not just yet, thank you. Not just yet. The man's dying! Does nobody care that we're killing Roy Orbison? Roy Orbison's in cling film. We must cherish this moment. He's completely wrapped up in cling film.

I'm the only sane one. Every part of him. Really? What's the hurry? People nowadays are always in such a rush. While there is much to be said for efficiency, it is a poor thing if a man cannot take a moment to admire an unparalleled phenomenon such as a black-clad pop maestro completely cocooned in fling fuck.

Such a fling fuck? Wait, wait, I had him perfectly wrapped up here in cling film. I walk away from a second and come back and he's all just like covered up in fling fuck? Yeah. That's fucking bullshit, man. Unparalleled phenomenon such as a black-clad maestro completely cocooned in cling film! You snort and whinny and rub your

cheek against his flank. Also, you are now a horse somehow. Well, you were a cat, now you're a horse. It's not clear which of you is an animal now. Time passes. How much? Who can say? An hour? A day? A lustrum?

A lifetime? Wait, what was one of those? I think one of those wasn't a word. Nope. Lustrum. Do you wish to release him from the cling film now? God, no. I think we need to save this man. You know what? Let's not be hasty.

By the way, Lestrum is five years. Five year... Oh, really? It's a Roman five-year period. Oh my god, you can just do this for a very long time. Well, wrap me in cling film and call me Roy. Alright, alright, fine. Let's remove him from the cling film. Oh, dear. I suppose. Alright.

Bit hasty, are you? Still, if that's how you want to play it, I suppose the choice is yours. Thanks. You may well be correct from a strict ethical viewpoint. At this point, you're still following proper ethics. Is there any way this doesn't end with Roy Orbison just murdering this guy? He seems pretty chill with it. Well, yeah, if it ends with't end with Roy Orbison just murdering this guy? He seems pretty chill with it. Well, yeah, if it ends with you murdering Roy Orbison.

But you're perhaps deficient in aesthetic taste. This was my favorite problem in my ethics textbook. The previous choice was you may have left him in there a lifetime, and if you let him go, you're too hasty, and you haven't admired him enough. Well, yeah, one lifetime, as if that's long enough. Yeah. I don't know if you noticed, but there was a point in the story where

Roy Orbison was completely wrapped up in the cling film. Oh! I love that part. With trembling and flinching hand, you unwrap Roy from the cling film. Now to escape this dungeon, says Roy. He gets to the point. He forgives you immediately.

You need to cooperate if you're going to get out of a situation like that. You can't hold a grudge. Otherwise you just get wrapped back up in the cling film. That's probably true. Serious concern. It cooperates or else it gets the cling film again. You proceed along the corridor.

Presently you come to a T-junction. You see a rotted old signpost inscribed in gothic and scary font nailed on the wall in front of you in a careless T-junction. You see a rotted old signpost, inscribed in gothic and scary font, nailed on the wall in front of you in a careless and slipshod manner. The arrow pointing to the right is labeled, This way out of the dungeon! While that pointing to the left says, This way to certain death.

How do you wish to proceed? Certain death. Certain death. Certain death. Inventory. Portax. IMB. IMB. You death. Certain death. Inventory. Poor tax. IMV.

IMV. Have a cling film. Wait. I thought this was going to end the story. What? No. Hang on. Hang on.

This is really good, actually. This is really good. Pays off. You traverse a corridor for some time, making topical small talk so as to keep your spirits up. So, remember that time I wrapped you up in cling film? You know, I actually do remember that. Remember the time I wrapped Santa up in cling film? Remember the time those guys

broke in and told me to wrap you up in cling film? Presently, you come to a dank, shadowy room. As you enter, the door slams heavily behind you of its own accord, causing you to give a start and jump into Roy's arms. Scooby-Doo style.

That's cute. You apologize for the intrusion and get down. In the room are a canary in a cage in the corner, a box of matches of an inferior brand. An ideal home catalog.

Several shadowy passages lead off from the chamber. Suddenly you hear a hissing sound. Roy's nostrils twitch twice beneath his trademark dark glasses. I believe I can smell gas. Gas! Gas? What can you do?

Will you... What are my options? Oh god, What can you do? Will you... What are my options? Oh, God, what are my options? Will you use the canary? Maybe, that's actually not a bad idea. Strike a match to see better what is going on? No, no, don't do that. No, no, no.

That sounds bad. Lie down on the floor where the air will be clear, reading the ideal home catalog while away the time until the gas evaporates? Boy, I don't know if that's an okay idea, but maybe if you combine the canary and also lay down, that would buy you more time.

Oh, okay. Is there any other options? Yeah, there's one option left, Lemon. It might just work, though. Okay, what's that? Do you rap Roy Orbison in cling film? Yes! Yes, of course I do! Now, the game urges you to think carefully and make your choice.

Oh my god, it's a different description of rapping Roy Orbison in cling film. I think it's time to cut it off. No, never. We're wrapping boots up in cling film and continuing this forever. All right. So what happens is you wrap them up in cling film, and then, I don't know, you get away from it. And then you meet a man who asks you questions, you know?

Yeah. And your options are attempt to answer the riddle, attempt to reason with the man, grab him by the beard, slam his head against the wall repeatedly, and shout at him until he tells you the way out of the dungeon,

or wrap Rybarbs up in cling film. And then later you get... Something is chasing you, and then you notice your shoelace is undone, and then do you stop to tie it, or do you ignore it? And then it says, so your options are stop to tie your shoe, ignore it, and carry on running.

And then it says, Roy Orbison is already wrapped up in cling film, so that is not an option. There's this one point where you and Roy have an encounter with a dragon who's shooting jets of fire at you, and your options are to look around for a fire alarm, fire extinguisher, a bucket of sand, and designated fire escape route. Seize the sword and smite the dragon,

put on the magic ring and see what transpires, or wrap Roy Orbis in a clay film. Wait, how does killing the dragon... This is an incredibly foolhardy decision to make. You have no training in the safe handling of swords, and there is no responsible person around to supervise you. I also like the description of the dragon's hoard of

treasure. A big pile of treasure scattered around the chamber. There is gold and jewels and chest stuff with BMW shares. And then at some point you come across a princess that you rescue, and if you choose to take her with you, then Roy becomes heir to the princess's kingdom, and his time is taken up with state duties and playing polo with the crowned heads of Europe. So there's, okay, so you're

almost out of the dungeon, and you can even smell the fresh air on the other side, and there's a lever, and the options are pull the lever up, push the lever down, or wrap Roy Harbos in it. Oh! Wait!

The last page is the best? In the last page, if you wrap him up, it gives the ending. Who should read the ending? Because, I mean, we... Alright, John, give me the end of the story, please. I'll bring us home. You know, there was really no need for this, but I do not find it in my heart to rebuke you. Aw, thanks, Uli.

You start at the feet and work your way up. Of course. You rap both diligently and joyously. Soon, Roy Orbison is completely wrapped in cling film. Yay! Strength floods your body, and you find you could fight ten more dungeons on his behalf. You are completely wrapped in cling film, you say.

Call back. Picking up his bodily, picking him up bodily and kicking the portcullis out of the way. Daringly, you kiss him on the forehead as you strive forth to liberty. That's nice. Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!

And you carry him back to Dusseldorf. The end. Copyright Ulrich Harberstay 2008. Play again. Inventory. You're carrying many, many rolls of cling film. A terrapin. The turtle was not used

even once in the entire story. Play again because I didn't get all the points the first time. Just run and skate Each place we go So afraid That he might show. Yeah, Ron and Steve.

And there we go. Around about an hour of cling film. Sean, what do you think they learned this week? My podcasting friend cannot speak because he's completely wrapped up in cling film. You know, the internet's a terrific place that it would be able to provide you with just story after story. I mean, you know, 20 years ago, would you be able to find a place where people would just have stories of Roy Orbison being completely wrapped up in a coin film? The website is always thfpl.us. Come visit

us and introduce us to things just as weird as that. And we'll see you next week. Goodbye. Say goodbye, John. Afraid to lose If he came back Which one would you choose

Then all at once He was standing there So sure of himself His head in the air My heart was breaking Which one would it be He turned around And walked away with me Oh no, no really, I need to eat, I need to do things.

Oh god, oh god, oh there goes the air, oh there's all the air. Oh I don't have anything left in my lungs. Oh no. Thank you.