Man Candy's Model Boyfriend is a carnivorous caninid ode to The Stooges. It's 1969 and Iggy Pop has just given birth. He pants and lazily lies on an old and shaggy velvet blanket on the floor, clearly exhausted from his recent effort; he ignores the swarm of punk pups greedily suckling at his long and exposed teats, red from an infinite of ravenous tiny teeth; the little dogs - a blonde one here, a thickly coated black one there - push and jockey each other as if in a mosh pit; Iggy's milk is a golden ambergris that drips from their snarling, curled-at-the-corner mouths. His hair is slicked back with sweat, yet there is love in his droopy, tired eyes. He has become what he's always wanted to become: a dog. An obedient animal. Owned. Cared for. Played with. He is a slobbering mess for you. He sheds for you. He'll roll over, fetch, shake a paw for you. He worships you. Or, as Iggy's lupine lips have said: "Have you ever seen like a really good looking girl, really nicely dressed, and she's walking down the street with her dog, right? And like her dog is... intimate with her body, and she likes him and everything. Basically, it's the idea of I want to unite with your body. I don't wanna talk about literature with you or judge you as a person. I wanna dog you."
BAD GARDENING ADVICE