Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” is the sexiest song I’ve ever heard in my life. I’ve probably listened to it a million times and I still think so. For years, I’ve had this ridiculous “Wicked Game” fantasy. The kind of fantasy that goes nowhere, really. There is a man driving through the desert (The Mojave? The Gobi?), and he is listening to “Wicked Game”. He speeds nonstop through the night because I’ve driven him mad and he can’t sleep. It has been forty-three hours since he’s had a shower, and he smells mmmmm mmmmm manly. He has a mustache that would make Lu Xun and Eugene Hutz sick with envy. He is traversing the desert, looking for me, but I am nowhere he’ll ever find. I am swinging from magic peach trees in the clouds. I am in Kiev, dancing in a circle of boisterous Ukrainian musicians. I am studying tantric Buddhism in the mountains of Tibet.
He’ll have to make space-time leaps if he ever wants to track me down.
(If you’ve never heard “Wicked Game”, go watch this video, which is even more ridiculous than my fantasy, and which might be the one thing that has ever made this song lose sexiness in my mind!)