The Rocklopedia Fakebandica now has a podcast.
Listen now!
Difference between revisions of "Lady Leather"
(New page: From Norman Spinrad's 1987 sci-fi novel, ''Little Heroes''. A virtual rock star, or AP (artificial personality) created by record company MUSZIK, Inc. Mentioned in passing. <blockquote>...) |
|||
| (4 intermediate revisions by the same user not shown) | |||
| Line 1: | Line 1: | ||
| − | From Norman Spinrad's 1987 sci-fi novel | + | From Norman Spinrad's 1987 sci-fi novel ''Little Heroes''. A virtual rock star, or AP (artificial personality) created by record company Muzik, Inc. Mentioned in passing, with this description of her video: |
| + | <blockquote> | ||
| + | There were about a dozen people on the floor at this hour, all dancing to the tune of their own fading flash, but all of them moving to the max metal beat of the Lady Leather disc playing on the big screen behind them.<br /><br /> | ||
| − | < | + | Eat my big black whip<br /> |
| − | + | You dirty little dip<br /> | |
| + | Shove it up your hole<br /> | ||
| + | Suck my leather soul<br /> | ||
| + | The whip! The whip!<br /> | ||
| + | Trip to the whip!<br /><br /> | ||
| + | |||
| + | Up on the videowall, Lady Leather, wearing gunmetal jackboots and skin-tight black leather from neck to knees, cracked her two long whips to the beat, snarling and spitting and strutting like a crazed storm trooper on a carpet of writhing pink bodies, while behind her was a big close-up of her own face, lip-syncing the lyric in the innocent bliss of an endless orgasm. | ||
</blockquote> | </blockquote> | ||
| + | [[Category:1987]] | ||
[[Category:Little Heroes]] | [[Category:Little Heroes]] | ||
| + | [[Category:Virtual musicians]] | ||
Latest revision as of 12:04, 13 April 2018
From Norman Spinrad's 1987 sci-fi novel Little Heroes. A virtual rock star, or AP (artificial personality) created by record company Muzik, Inc. Mentioned in passing, with this description of her video:
There were about a dozen people on the floor at this hour, all dancing to the tune of their own fading flash, but all of them moving to the max metal beat of the Lady Leather disc playing on the big screen behind them.
Eat my big black whip
You dirty little dip
Shove it up your hole
Suck my leather soul
The whip! The whip!
Trip to the whip!
Up on the videowall, Lady Leather, wearing gunmetal jackboots and skin-tight black leather from neck to knees, cracked her two long whips to the beat, snarling and spitting and strutting like a crazed storm trooper on a carpet of writhing pink bodies, while behind her was a big close-up of her own face, lip-syncing the lyric in the innocent bliss of an endless orgasm.
