Iggy Pop, “Pumpin’ for Jill”

When I’m asleep, you touch my feet
You let me know that I am no creep
Because I love you, you are for real
I’m gonna stay here – pumping for Jill

In the gas station where I work
Everyone treats me just like a jerk
Nobody offers me a tip
I’m gonna stay here – pumping Jill’s hips…

I met you out at the Mardi Gras
On a French Quarter sidewalk
When you kissed me, it was strong
I wonder if you’ll hear this song
La da da da da da, da da da da.

I love this song. It’s a ballad for losers.

The hero is a loser us who’s pumping gas at a gas station.

Everyone treats him like garbage, like a loser, a creep, a nothing, a zero. No one even offers him a tip. He’s so low he doesn’t even deserve their nickels.

But he has one thing those squares will probably never get – a hot babe named Jill. That’s only reason he works at all – for his chick. Sure, he’s a loser. Sure, he hasn’t a dime. Sure, everyone sneers at him. Why not? He hasn’t any money, and that’s all the worth of a man in these benighted states.

But when he goes home, he can still do one thing. He can pump Jill’s hip. He can fuck her into the night, just a bit harder each time he for every snub he got that day. As he bangs away into the dark, he knows that fucking a hot woman his haters will never have.

Who’s the loser now?

They met at the Mardi Gras. Beads and song in the air. Girls lifting up their tops. Entire streets are wasted and reeling with song and cheer. Babes howling on the balconies. Here he met Jill, in a whirl and flash. It was all a drunken She swooped towards him and landed a kiss on his sad face. A kiss full of power, the power of adoration.

Who’s the loser now?

Iggy Pop is one of my all-time favorite artists. This is off of Party, issued in 1981. I saw him at the Palladium in Hollywood in fall of that year. It was too much! Not much was happening on the stage. A band came out and set up their equipment. We were all wondering what was going to happen.

In one fluid movement, this maniac comes running full speed onto the stage, mike in hand, singing. The band in back starts in. He’s dressed in a Spiderman outfit, of all things! Who is it? Spiderman? WTH? I’m confused. I ask my friend, “Who is that? It’s him, right? It’s Iggy! He’s Spiderman!” My friend nods gravely. “Yep, it’s him, all right.”

It was a great show all the way. Lots of really hot young punker babes Iggy Pop chicks. Iggy Pop fans don’t care. They DGAF. They never did. Not from the very start with the Stooges, “Raw Power”,”Searching to Destroy”, “1969”, and especially “No Fun.”

An Iggy Pop chick yelling #metoo? That’s laughable. They’re punkers, not overgrown children. She might knee you in the balls if you get too rude, but she won’t wail like a baby and run to Mommy Cop like these women-children do nowadays.

Besides, Iggy Pop fans love to fuck, both sexes. And they hate authority. They hate cops. They’re basically anarchists. They’re the exact opposite of these prudish, priggish SJW’s who think you need to sign a contract in order to look at a woman or else they haul you off to jail.

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