At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008


Apparently fetishes interest my readers. I may be just projecting, of course, but judging by the wealth of comments I have received ever since I started writing about underwear, schoolgirls, and wombats, there is a vast untapped market out there of people who like discussing such obsessions ..... if not actually practicing them in the privacy of their own darkened sweat-reek dungeons.

Fetishes are very Catholic, as one my anonymous commenters pointed out.
Reader Spiros then elaborated, saying: " a blog which features repeated references to curries, Talmud, Malayo-Polynesian languages, Manga, medieval Dutch poetry, pipe tobacco, and transvestites, not to mention wombats (CUIDADO LOS UOMBATS!), could be fairly characterized as being catholic ".

Beware of wombats.

Graham writes: " I am amazed at H.B.'s abilities & challenge him to do the fetish stuff for..... Beatrix der Nederlanden."

The Beatrix referred to is Beatrix Wilhelmina Armgard of Orange Nassau, Queen of the Netherlands and princess of Lippe-Biesterfeld. She has been the reigning monarch since her mother princess Juliana abdicated in 1980.
[As a matter of interest to Margavriel, the queen is also the countess of Katzenelnbogen. This datum as a lagniappe.]

I like a challenge, but there is perhaps too much to work with here.

Should I speak of her helmet-like coiffure, reminiscent of nineteen-sixties stewardesses and the dignified hair-helmets of yore? Should I mention that it reminds me of the mushroom people in a remarkably sexual children's book from years ago? I remember her gliding over the green dunes of the Eindhovensche golf course one drizzly day, following her husband and his friends Riemsdijk and van Lanschot, as they listlessly whacked their balls. Her hair shielded her from the worst effects of the rain, and was still shiny and hard when the eighteen holes were done.

Or could I, Clinton-like, obsess over her firm jaw, the lively eyes, her preference for certain dresses, a possible secret liking for big strong cigars?

Or might I instead imagine a big bold lesbian who collects photos of Beatrix, and enjoys sliding the thin thin edges of those pictures over her breasts, drawing blood from many microscopic paper cuts, panting and sweating as her heaving bosom reddens, reddens, reddens........ She sinks down upon her sheets of royalist orange, meltingly deliquescent, her fingers clenching and unclenching, as she imagines those stern loving eyes, that regal jaw (the Lippe-Biesterfeld gene!), the languidly waving right hand before an adoring yet wholly imaginary throng.....

Oh to wander the long frigid halls of the Loo Palace, or the cool marble floors in quiet corners of the Binnenhof, pantingly impatient for the object of her crush to return from delivering the opening address to parliament, and come to her, tired from performing her royal duty, majestic and graceful......

Good heavens, I just don't know where to begin. I am at a loss here, Graham, please help me out. I invite you to describe how Beatrix makes you feel, and what you yourself find most appealing about the current Dutch monarch.

Just don't use the term 'wombat'. There has been far too much mention of wombat here in recent days, and the thrill of large antipodean marmots is wearing thin.

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  • At 4:32 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    This lack of comment is distressing. Does nobody value the royals anymore? What, he asked, is this world then coming to?

    Vivat Orange! Et vivat lesbianismus!

  • At 4:33 PM, Blogger Spiros said…

    Perhaps veering slightly off topic:
    the corrected text for the beginning of FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS...

    "We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold...suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge Wombats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car..."

  • At 5:05 PM, Blogger Spiros said…

    Excuse me, but just who was listlessly whacking whom's balls? Prithee, elaborate.

  • At 5:41 PM, Anonymous Zonker said…

    Uncle Duke, is that you?

  • At 5:55 AM, Anonymous Graham said…

    Beatrix’s stern gaze fixes upon me. I freeze – knowing what is to come.
    Her lips separate and the gleaming enamel teeth part, as she says.

    “Graham – remove my hat”, It is large and pink, resembling a UFO for Barbie – I lift it off and place it on the table. The rim is warm and smells sweet

    Beatrix comes closer – the air is still, a fly ventures to flit across her bosom – but it does not succeed, the thermals hurl it upwards to squash against the ceiling.

    I remain calm, her temper could change at any moment.

    “ Graham – my, coat please”, .. slowly I remove the garment, it is shapeless, though surprisingly light, made of a soft salmon-coloured material woven exclusively by fishermen’s wives from a village in Friesland. As I carefully slip a clothes-hanger into the shoulders – a beam of sunlight catches the it and a myriad tiny spectrums reflect off the woven fish-scales onto the walls of the boudoir

    “Mooi, heel mooi!” she gasps, the distance between us now only inches – but it can never be breached….

    She tilts her head upwards, her eyes scanning my expressionless face; challenging me to show emotion.

    “Now my skirt, Graham” ….. after searching for the clasp – I find and free it, undoing the small zipper and the garment falls to the carpet. The orange silk lining rustles tantalizingly as it settles. I lift it up and place it on a hanger.

    “Graham, the blouse” ……. years of practice help me to unbutton the blouse without touching her bosom. My predecessor once made skin contact – and was never seen again. It is of French style with two small embroidered windmills on the chest pockets. The tiny mother-of-pearl buttons are a challenge for my coarse hands

    I am not permitted to look directly at her, but a sideways glance at the mirror shows that only a leopard skin thong remains.

    “Graham, my undergarment” This moment fills me with fear – I must keep absolutely calm – slowly I pull on the obligatory sterile rubber gloves and grasp the sides beneath thumbs and forefingers of both hands. Then with a quick tug downwards the thong is freed and falls to the floor.

    “Tot slot! Graham, dit zijn mijn kleren, U moet niet hen dragen!” she exclaims – her lips hardly parting as her steel blue eyes follow a bead of sweat running down my forehead.

  • At 7:49 AM, Anonymous Graham said…

    "Graham, please help me out.

    I invite you to describe how Beatrix makes you feel,

    ...... inferior, lowly, a dreg of society, a whelk washed up in the Waddenzee.

    and what you yourself find most appealing about the current Dutch monarch.

    ...... her wartime childhood in Canada. Her deceased father-in-law's love of jet-fighters, her intelligence - which is reputedly far greater than that of many other monarchs of our time, her disgruntled ex-subjects in CA, USA

  • At 8:25 AM, Anonymous Graham said…

    sorry, I meant her deceased father....I always get confused coz. all the men in her life were Germans


  • At 10:11 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    O hemel, ik melten, ik melten!

  • At 10:29 AM, Blogger Tzipporah said…

    sorry, I meant her deceased father

    For some reason, my addled brain insists on reading that as "diseased"

  • At 11:52 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Ah, now this is the real MacCoy - deeply twisted. Had I studied psychology, there would be a wealth of material here. Enough for a book. It could very well be that Tzipporah is the only normal member of your stable.


  • At 11:52 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    And me, of course.


  • At 4:18 PM, Blogger Spiros said…

    I am still awaiting clarification: were they whacking their own balls, or taking it in turns to whack each other's balls?

  • At 5:42 PM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    I'm afraid I wasn't paying much attention to their balls. An oversight, I now realize.

  • At 9:41 AM, Blogger Spiros said…

    Define: "normal".
    It might be more accurate to say that Tzipporah is the only STABLE member of BOTH's (metaphorical) stable, although I would prefer to think of it as a "peanut gallery".

    Also, the phrase is "real McCoy", not "real MacCoy".

    Las Llamas are to the Amazon as Los Uombats are to the Yangtse...


  • At 10:36 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    "Las Llamas are to the Amazon as Los Uombats are to the Yangtse...

    Wrongo in bales. Should read 'las llamas are to the Amazon as los wong-bats are to the Yangtze'.

    Uom might be a correct spelling in Indonchina, for one of the ethnic languages especially. Ober mir given in gonzen nisht a hoot vos di tribals es pronuntsen voln, un vil konsekvently es vi 'wong' shriebn.


  • At 11:30 AM, Anonymous graham said…

    Surely Llamas live in the Andes and the areas of Peru where women wear large lampshades & bowler-hats whilst making gulasch from guinea-pigs - - I doubt if llamas could even survive 1 minute in the Amazon jungle.

    Unlike the Dutch Royal family.

    The amazon jungle seems pretty enuff & HB would enjoy that all the old crones do not wear X-my-heart garments and smoke pipes - but my quiet feeling is that there are areas of the planet which are best flown over...with Ray-Bans down


  • At 12:08 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    I would rather have a sweet little Catholic womattress in my underwear than a Dutch royal. And anything beats a possum with Ray-Bans.

    ---Grant Patel

  • At 12:11 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Lev, are you saying I'm not normal? I am quite as normal as Tzipporah. I mean, have you seen her latest post? A strange person in Australian garb in the top photo, and a punk wombat in the bottom photo. She desires that you visualize both of them wearing yarmulkis.

    Starnge people at synagogue in Portland, I say. Must be Conservatives.

    ---Grant Patel

  • At 4:25 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    It's a bird. It's plane. It's a punk wombat?

    New age reinterpretationists and reform. The unitarians of the jewish world.

  • At 1:24 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Listen, hen...when yuir King o'France, ye got more important things to doo then go arrund rememberin' yer bluidy number!

    -King Louis XIX

  • At 11:54 PM, Blogger Spiros said…

    Just wondering...we're they listlessly whacking their balls or listlessly stroking their balls?

  • At 11:27 AM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    Spiros, please get off their balls, you're all over them.

    Their balls are not really the point. I acknowledge your fascination, and perhaps at some distant future date I will cater to your obsession with their balls, maybe even devoting an entire post to their balls. But meantime, please imagine them as being ball-less, entirely without balls, void on the ball issue, sorely lacking, de-balled, bll-wise amiss, blackballed, ball erased.

    Bally unballed, in fact.

  • At 12:09 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Call a priest.

    Do not discuss balls with the priest you have called. Nor wombats.

    ---Grant Patel

  • At 10:36 PM, Anonymous Amphibious said…

    So...languidly doing what, then?

  • At 12:25 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Languidly putting wombats in their underwear, what else?

    You are obsessed with balls, llamas, wombats and penguins. Thank heavens not with Jesus. Oh wait, you are.

    ---Grant Patel

  • At 12:25 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    And further: "CUIDADO LOS PANTIES!"

    ---Grant Patel

  • At 4:57 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Totally disgusting and a horrifying waste of precious time.

  • At 5:01 PM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    Glad you like it.

  • At 12:15 AM, Blogger Spiros said…

    "It is a great honor having so many members of the Government dead in our drawing room."
    "Sitting room. There are no members of the Government dead in our drawing room."
    "You know what I mean!"
    "Well, it's..."

  • At 7:19 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    But the question is, what kind of underwear do the members of the government have on?

    Is it Catholic Wombat Underwear?

    Or does it have a pattern of Jeesusses and bacon strips?

  • At 12:13 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Totally disgusting and a horrifying waste of precious time.

    Sounds exactly and precisily like what the doctor ordered. That and a nice steak.

    ---Grant Patel

  • At 11:22 AM, Anonymous Eric the Frog said…

    Is it Catholic Wombat Underwear? Or does it have a pattern of Jeesusses and bacon strips?

    Nope. Amphibian. Very happy and kissable amphibian


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