What do the three funniest, sexiest aliens in the universe want from Earthlings? Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, of course. Linda Jaivin, who staked her claim as the queen of close encounters with her bestseller Eat Me, introduces an even more eye-popping round of pleasure-seeking escapades with the extraterrestrials extraordinaire in Rock 'n' Roll Babes from Outer Space. Look out, because here come Baby Baby, the nymphomaniac and wannabe rock star; Doll Parts, the gutsy punk with an eye for Earth girls; and Lati,...
What do the three funniest, sexiest aliens in the universe want from Earthlings? Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, of course. Linda Jaivin, who staked her claim as the queen of close encounters with her bestseller Eat Me, introduces an even more eye-popping round of pleasure-seeking escapades with the extraterrestrials extraordinaire in Rock 'n' Roll Babes from Outer Space. Look out, because here come Baby Baby, the nymphomaniac and wannabe rock star; Doll Parts, the gutsy punk with an eye for Earth girls; and Lati, the turbo chick with a dangerous habit of mooning asteroids. Once they flee their dreary home planet to experience every hedonistic pleasure Earth can offer, their explosive misadventures become a cosmic tribute to Girl Power and a hilarious, unforgettable ride.
Linda Jaivin's Tom Robbinsish sex writing gives the story a rapid pulse and gratifyingly sweaty palms.
— The New York Times Book Review
- Publisher's Weekly
The three babes of the title, Baby, Doll and Latileave their home planet of Nufon as in, no fun for Australia and the druggy, piercing-oriented purlieus of Newtown Sydney's East Village equivalent in this idiotically amusing B-movie retread. Baby falls in love with the first human they abduct, rock 'n' roller Jake, a clueless grunge lothario with the ambition and animation of a beanbag chair. Problem: Jake can't seem to make a move on Baby. Is this fear of commitment, or just fear? Baby can't tell. In the meantime, Earth is threatened with total destruction by Captain Qwerk of Nufon, intent on recapturing the young women. And, as Baby might say, yadi yadi yada. Jaivin Eat Me writes in a manic, stand-up style and continually undermines her inventiveness with a sophomoric sense of humor. But she also has a real sense of the erotic, and her set pieces of alien-to-human sex are energetically skewed e.g., Nufon girls have multiple sexual organs, and more appear when they are aroused. Even after the book's band-naming glibness begins to grate, Jaivin's ear for street talk and made-for-the-sitcoms wit endow the story with a certain gruesome fascination for those of us on the wrong side of 18.
There's plenty of gender bending, drug gobbling and rude high jinks when the Babes and their human comrade do the town....Jaivin's Tom Robbinish sex writing gives the story...gratifyingly sweaty palms.
— The New York Times Book Review
The title says it all about this cartoonish second novel by the author of "Eat Me" (1997): Three alien babes escape to Earth in order to enjoy lots of sex, drugs, and loud music. Jaivin pretends that every pop sci-fi universe is real, from the space babies of the tabloids to the paranoid fantasies of 'The X-Files', and there's even a nod to Douglas Adams's 'Hitchhiker' books, which clearly serve as some sort of prototype for the extraterrestrial antics here. Baby-Baby, Lati, and Doll are hybrid "ayles" (i.e., aliens) from Nufon, the most boring planet in the "yoon" (i.e., universe). The spawn of previous Earth abductees, the three aspiring rock star/sex fiends steal a rocket and head to Sydney, where Baby-Baby soon hooks up with Rasta-coiffed slacker and rocker wannabe Jake, the lead singer in the band Bosnia. After a night of otherworldly sex, Jake will do anything for his alien love, except commit. Meanwhile, the rock scene in Australia is mesmerized by the most amazing band they've ever heard—the three slightly greenish super-babes, whose antennas are assumed to be just part of their act. Up in space, an interplanetary committee, headed by Capt. Qwerk, decides to recapture the girls, before all of Earth learns of the "Hidden Agenda." The babes manage to escape ahead of Qwerk, and bring a number of earthlings along for the ride—including UFO-spotting George, who's been waiting a long time for alien contact; and Ebola Van Axel, a leather-clad metal superstar. Their hasty getaway is assisted by none other than God, who makes cameo appearances throughout. The flimsy plot, though, is beside the point: Jaivin devotes most of her energy to re-creating the sounds of suchthings as inter-species lovemaking: "Um um um! Socky wocky wocky! Um um um! Chp chp chp. Ooooooh. Smelly welly welly . . . ." Strained humor and annoying bouts of intergalactic jive talk.
Tonight's my first night on Earth. It's been a big one so far. I've been out on the town, I've been to a gig, I've even abducted my first Earthling. That's you, of course. Yeah, it's the whole alien catastrophe and you're part of it. Ready to rock 'n' roll?
Me? I'm Baby.
Baby Baby. Sound familiar? I got it from the lyrics of my favorite rock song. You know the one. My real name, well, I don't think I'll even bother telling you. You wouldn't be able to pronounce it anyway. You need at least two extra tongues and another set of denticles. Teeth. Whatever. Yeah, Baby Baby, that's me--extraterrestrial extraordinaire, alien sex fiend, wannabe rock star, designated driver on the highway to hell. Leader of the pack. Don't always look before I lead, but there you go.
It's not a big pack I lead. There's just Lati and Doll and me. Lati's a turbo-chick, full-on, fun, always looking for a good time. Her energy levels are near-on nuclear. You never know what Lati's gonna do next. Lati is the butterfly wing fluttering through all your chaos theories. Doll's another kettle of badfish altogether. Bit of a punk too, our Doll, and when she's mad, she's bad. Keeps Lati and me in line. Underneath all that attitude, she's actually quite sweet. But don't tell her I said so. She'd kill me.
We blew in this afternoon on Galgal, our flying saucer. Finding a park for a saucer is no easy feat in Sydney. It took us as long to find this parking space as it did to get to Earth from the dark side of the moon. That's where we ditched Mum. The mothership.
Doll handled the landing. She's the only one who managed to pass the perpendicular parking testback home. I never got a license. While doing my test I managed to trash three landing pods and take out a control tower. Nearly wiped the examiner too. Oh, it wasn't that bad. He was just a borg. You know, a cyborg. They were able to fix him up with a brand-new face and limbs. But they banned me from driving for life. Nufonians have a very limited sense of humor.
Nufon? That's the planet we're from. Don't get me started on Nufon and Nufonians. I know I shouldn't bag them all the time, but then I do a lot of things I shouldn't.
Anyway, we were stoked to land on Earth. First off, we turned our four-fingered little alien hands to shape-shifting. We wanted to take on Earth-girl form. To get some credit in the straight world. You know, Earthling world. Straight means something different here, does it? Oh, right. You see, space is so bent that even though Earth is round it's still sorta straight by comparison. Know what I mean? Never mind.
It took us a while to get the hang of shape-shifting. On the first try, we all came out looking like Keith Richards. That was scary. Yeah. We eventually got it right. Well, as right as we could under the circs. For one thing, we can't seem to make the damn antennae go away. Still, they've got their uses. For another--well, you'll see.
Of course, we didn't have a thing to wear. So we scored a few jars of Enigma Cream from Galgal's Special FX room and hit the consumption centers. Enigma Cream? It's concealer. A drop or two will cover up the odd zit or love bite. But if you're having a really bad hair day you slather it all over and disappear completely. Disguise-o-rama. We acquired some top gear. Like this orange PVC mini. You think it's filthy, do you? Really? I didn't notice any stains. What? Oh, I see. Fucken Transling-a-tron. Translation chip technology never keeps up with the lingo. Filthy, eh? Cool. Anyway, Lati went straight for your classic Bond T's and jeans, and Doll hit up some shop on Oxford Street for leather trousers and boots. We also managed to flog a whopping great stack of CDs. How? Easy. We just used your standard off-the-shelf Abduct-o-matic, you know, the minimodel you can buy in any supermarket. I see. Any supermarket on Nufon anyway. With the Abduct-o-matic, you just zap what you want, and what you want is yours. Ching ching! Instant gratification. Just what the doctor ordered--retail atrophy. What? Therapy. Whatever.
You understand. We'd been cooped up in a spaceship for what seemed like eons without even a shopping channel. I can tell you, we were pretty keen to cut loose. Mum isn't bad as motherships go. But let's face it, it's still basically a tin fucken can with boosters. Lati, Doll, and I are the best of mates and we've known each other since we were only knee-high to a mushroom spore. Still, put us in a flying antennae-spray container for that long and we can really get on each other's tits.
It doesn't help that by nature we're not much inclined to dormition. When you're awake most of the time like we are, you want to be entertained. The recreational facilities on board were pathetic. Fully tragic actually, considering how many trips to Earth the craft had made before we came along and borrowed it. Stole it. Whatever. On the other hand, our fellow Nufonians being what they are, and being that what they are is terminally fucken boring, I suppose it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise. Anyway, there was one Scrabble set, a selection of nonviolent computer games, a collection of CDs that consisted entirely of recordings by Bing Crosby, one copy of Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus, and, dig this, heaps of stamp albums. Of all the things in the yoon that you could collect, Nufonians would concentrate on postage stamps. You can see why we had to get away from that planet. Absolute dweebsville. Bogans of the yooniverz. You want to know what Nufonians are like? All you need to know is this--they wear trek-suits in public.
Sorry. I won't go on.
There just aren't that many places you can stop off at on the way here, either. On the advice of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy we tried the Restaurant at the End of the Yooniverz. That guidebook was published years ago and the restaurant must've changed hands or something, cuz it had been turned into a Sizzler. Family fucken restaurants. They're everywhere. Plague-o-rama.
We managed somehow. Doll amused herself by putting Mum on manual, taking over the controls and playing chicken with asteroids. Scared the living nightlights out of us a few times. There was this one asteroid, don't know his name, but he was a big mother. Doll took us close enough to see the dust on his nose. You should have seen the look on his face when we zipped by! Anyway, we had fun with him. We all blew kisses and Lati mooned him. Lati will moon anything. Even moons, though that joke wore pretty thin after a while. As for me, I just played a lot of air guitar.
I love rock music. We all do.
Thankfully, we'd managed to smuggle an Intergalactic Yaddayadda Receiver on board, so at least we could tune in to some decent music and keep up with the Simpsons and X -Files. We ayles love The X -Files, by the way. It's much more popular in the outer than The Twilight Zone or My Favorite Martian ever was. There's a huge X -Files fan club based on a planet near Alpha Centauri. The Sirians threw a fabulous party there shortly before we left. All the ayles got dressed up as Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. You gotta meet the Sirians some day. They're full-on space trash. We love 'em. Anyway, we thought of having an X -Files party during the trip. But it wouldn't have been much of an event with just the three of us. Well, four, if you count Revor.
Revor is our pet. See him? He sees you now. Isn't he cute? Haha. Stop that, Revor. Heh. Stop it. Ha! C'mon, Revor, lay off. You're making the Earthling nervous. Oops. Don't worry. You should be able to wash that out. When he cums that fast it's usually pretty watery. At least on Earth it doesn't float around like it did when we were up in the zero. What d'ya mean, what is it? It's only an oioi. Don't you have them on Earth? Funny little creatures. They're hybrids actually. Half Madagascan aye-aye, half space elefent. You know space elefents? They're teeny-weeny little pink things not much bigger than a quark with long noses and excellent mammaries. Oh, look. I said "only an oioi" and now he's acting all hurt. Oh, Revvy-wevvy. Don't be like that.
Come here, Revor. Come here. That's right. Oooh. What are you doing? Get outta there! Oooh. Whoawhoawhoa. No! Don't do that! Well, oooh, maybe do that. Yes, do that. Oh, yes. Oooh, Rev. Oooh. What have you found there? Mmmmm. Oh, Revor, baby. Yeahhhhhhh. Bit to the left. That's it. Ohhhhh. Don't stop. Good boy. Goooood boy.
What's wrong, Earth boy? You're looking a trifle on the pale side. Isn't sex what life on Earth is all about? I've seen Earth movies. I read Cosmo. I listen to rock songs. You know, this bed is on fire, I wanna rock you all night long, the birds and the goats. Oh, man. What d'ya mean, it's slightly more complicated than that? How complicated could it be?
By the way, is that a rocket in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? I'm pretty happy to see you, actually. Very happy. There's definitely something about you, Earth boy. Something I want. Something I just might take.