Roy Orbison wrapped in clingfilm

Cate Blanchett in a daring turn.

And clingfilm.

David Spade Full Frontal

Meatloaf

You can't wrap Meat Loaf in clingfilm!

So, anyone bought the novel?

I start at the ankles and work up. I am 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 cling-film. The pleasure is unexampled.

'You are completely wrapped in cling-film,' I say.

Two criminals burst in waving shotguns.

'This is a robbery!' they yell. 'You two are hostages.'

'Make them tie each other up,' says the lead robber.

'Ach! I have forgotten the rope,' says his cohort.

'I happen to have a roll of cling-film with me,' I offer diffidently. 'Perhaps that would serve?'

'It will have to. Wrap that man in black in cling-film at once or it will go badly with 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 mother 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.

'He is completely wrapped up in cling-film,' I report.

Does he ever get to say "I am completely wrapped up in cling-film" ?

'Good,' says the bandit. 'Now I want you to wrap the clingfilm 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 clingfilm. Awkwardly, I pass the film around both of our waists several times, until we are bound together by the miracle substance. My synapses overload with joy.

'We are both wrapped in clingfilm,' I tell the robbers. 'I am not completely wrapped, however, but is there more clingfilm in my briefcase if you would care to finish the job.'

'No, that will do.'

It certainly will!

Well, wrap me up in clingfilm and sellotape me to Roy Orbison!

You'd think maybe this would all have got a bit predictable by now, and maybe he'd diversify into Bacofoil or something.

Well in the Christmas story he does diversify - by completely wrapping santa clause in cling film.

I remember wrapping a kid called Ben in toilet roll and then clingfilm in halls during my first year at university.

Roy Orbison In Clingfilm Haikus

wearing dark glasses
he approached me without clothes
the cling wrap shone brightly
through the flashing lights
reflected off smooth surface
a glimpse of johnson

This is a very specific fetish.

Jetta the turtle?
Stretch wrap man in black?
Only the lonely.

Flowing like a stream
Rivulets on plastic wrap
Someone's been Cryin'

"Please unwrap me now"
Last words. Dump the corpse
On the Blue Bayou.

I'd like to try my hand at this.

I saw you crying
Bound incling wrap, so you were
You could not play guitar

In the north, they say
Are dragons, proud and hopeless
They, too, cannot sing

I shop: I purchase wrap
At home, Orbison awaits
We are both hungry.

Roy, I wrap you tight
Hold still, songwriter, I gasp
My mouth - so very dry.

Oops extra syllable there.

Roy, it is raining
And you have no umbrella
There's a solution.

I'm satisfied with that last one.

In clingfilm I walk with you, in clingfilm I talk to you.
In clingfilm you're mine, all of the time we're together
In clingfilm, in clingfilm.

But just before the dawn, I awake and find you gone.
I can't help it, I can't help it, if I cry.
I remember that you said goodbye.

It's too bad that all these things, can only happen in clingfilm
Only in clingfilm, in beautiful clingfilm

I stare at my lunch
One sandwich, wrapped in clear film
Why can't you be Roy?

^^^ == ^_^

http://www.amazon.com/Ulrich-Haarburstes-Novel-Orbison-Clingfilm/dp/0955460204

5 stars!

it's an amazing book. how will we protect ourselves from those menancing earwigs?

there is one thing we might try

Who would you cast as the Big O?

Russell Crowe

The dream starts the usual way, with the arrival of a mysterious man with dark glasses, dressed in all black from head to toe. I know who it is. We all recognize him. It is the legendary singer Roy Orbison, alive and in his prime.

Roy Orbison says ‘Let us say my name together’ and we all say ‘Roy Orbison’. Then he turns to me and says ‘Thank you, but please, call me Roy.”

‘You bet”, I say. The others who had recognized him and spoken his name with me disappear.

With charisma to spare, Roy Orbison says ‘I trust you know what I need.’

‘Where would you like to be cling-wrapped?’ I ask.

‘Around the ankles, to start’, says Roy. ‘Then work your way up toward my head. You can cover up my mouth with the cling-film, but leave the nostrils free. Appreciate it.’

‘You bet’, I say. ‘Please stand still, Roy.’

He towers above me, sharp, against the flat gray sky. His pants are within a foot of my face. I see his matte black slacks have been recently ironed. They smell like fabric softener.

‘I no longer belong to this time’, says Roy. ‘The space is the same, more or less, but the time is no longer right.’

The clingfilm unfurls around Roy Orbison’s legs in tight overlapping layers. I am efficient, wrapping firmly but not unreasonably so. There is a reason Roy comes to me for clingwrap. There are reasons. I pull the plastic counter-clockwise up and around his tibias, fibulas, patellas, femurs, up toward the hips.

The others returned, and this time without promption we all spoke his name again, ‘Roy Orbison’. Roy is on stage while I work diligently underneath his gesturing arms.

‘The elephant in the room is the clingfilm. I’ve come to rely on it. It preserves me in my current state - what I still perceive to be my current state - including my voice, my undeniable set of pipes.’

Roy sings his heart out.

I see them joyfully lost in Roy’s dream as I pass behind and in front of him with the clingfilm. I pin his arms down to his sides, keeping his hands pressed hard against his pockets. Roy Orbison, outside of time but inside our space, is still the man in black, covered in a shifting transparent film gloss sheen like oil in water.

He stops singing when the clingwrap reaches his throat.

‘One last thing’, he says, ‘as I drift away into my magic night, I must trust you to wake me up when you feel the time is right. Perhaps in a different place.’

The others disappear. It’s just me and Roy again. I think I am about to say something, but as my mouth opens he says ‘Also, again, just a reminder about not covering up the nostrils. Love ya.’

Roy Orbison nods in a way that seems to end an era. I cover his mouth with clingfilm, then carefully cover the nose and cheek area while leaving a small gap for the nostrils. The top of a dome is a difficult area for any clingwrapper, and the top of Roy Orbison’s head is no exception. Nonetheless I quickly and skillfully finish covering up the top of his head. I tear the last of the clingwrap off with the sawtoothed edge of the dispenser, securing the film to itself with a modest but sufficent slab of transparent shipping tape. I place my finger near the nostril gap and feel Roy exhale.

We wait for the right time.