my story does n't have a helicopter that whisks people off to manhattan or a red room of pain or a bigfoot who marries a human and settles down and has critters , but it does have a nak*d rock star ( sorta ) groaning in the front seat of my mercifully unharmed toyota tercel , his ass off the seat and one leg splayed up , showing me his fine , puckered winking starfish and a piece of manhood that was so aesthetically pleasing it might as well have been carved out of fine italian marble and placed on a pedestal , dipped in swiss chocolate and served with a side of gruyere and caviar .