Pedo Panic

 

With Nolan the Nebbish & Lil' Princess Tutu

By Aaron Agassi Copyright 2013 - 2017

 

 

['Pedo Panic' is conceived as the short subject preceding the feature presentation, a new Vampirella movie.]

 

 

Fade into production title sequence:

 

Motel bedroom: In poor quality grainy film stock, a film crew and porno actors go through the motions, wooden, bored out of their minds. A half naked young woman holding a dildo, fails to stifle a massive yawn.

 

Title fades in: made with passion

 

Teaser: fade in:

 

Voice over: "And now, first in accommodation of equal time requirements, an announcement from Shloshurfle Blervich of the Cephalopod Anti-Defamation Society:"

Lights come up upon Shloshurfle Blervich, an octopus on a lectern with a forest of microphones. This is a press conference. Cameras are everywhere, and flash bulbs go off like a fireworks display. The octopus winces uncomfortably at the bright lights. Composing himself, he speaks, terribly upset and stammering atrociously:

"Hello. I am Shloshurfle Blervich of the Cephalopod Anti-Defamation League. For thousands of years, ever since some misguided Japanese purl diver blundered into a spawning of squid, all tentacled beings have never heard the end of it! The tale has grown and grown out of every sane proportion. Slobbering canines and self serving felines are all cuddly and pampered, but no one considers that a squid or an octopus might ever just need a hug! When some mindless brutal Trifid, after ravaging the country side, pollinates and becomes amorous, dulcet clicking and clacking, shambling over ever so sweetly and gently to wet its stamen, everyone stumbles over their feet to invite it over for high tea and brag to the bridge club! Flower power, right? But tentacles are perceived as merely grasping and rapine. Have you any idea how many tactile receptors and corresponding neurons are dedicated to the life function of each and every acetabular protuberance? -A marvel of nature, if dare may I say so myself. But no one appreciates this. My entire phylum has suffered no end of humiliating stereotype and mythology calumniating in the none to subtle subtext of misogynistic Pulp Sci-Fi. And that was before the advent -I still shudder at the thought! of Tentacle Rape Hentai. And if that was not enough, here comes the most tasteless exploitation yet, the Vampirella movie."

Insert edit: In a darkened theatre, a man is frantically entangled from behind with a woman, both fully clothed and intent upon the movie projected before them on the screen. Voice over: "What, right there with a complete stranger?" Reply: "I tell you it was the only way either of us could sit through the entire feature film!" The sign over the fire exit flashes: "PANDER"

Cut back to the press conference, Blervich, increasingly distraught, concludes: "Where will it end?!

Then, as if in answer, a Japanese school girl comes vaulting out from amid the press audience, shimmying out of and casting aside her panties. "Oh, dear..." laments Blervich as the Japanese school girl grabs the screaming frightened mass of tentacles and shoves him right up the pleated micro-skirt of her cute little school uniform! Then just as suddenly, two burly mustachioed Italian plumbers barge in. "Calamari!" they exclaim in jubilation, brandishing outsized cutlery. The Japanese school girl stands whistling idly and innocently. "Well, it could be worse!" concedes Blervish, sighing in contentedly wet, slushy and muffled tones.

Cut to: Montage of stutterers struggling to communicate, the volume dialed down in order to accommodate the voice over narration:

Voice over: "Only the stumbling blocks differ at all. But the inherent pessimism remains the same, as does the feeling of unworthiness and the experience of inadequacy, the choice to not even try, the sensation of guilt for not trying, the resort to hiding behind a self-inflicted handicap as a means for alleviating said guilt, and the consequent waste of human life and potential. Even the simplest form of expression demands of those who stutter a great effort and subjects them to vast humiliation. What’s more, each interaction places heavy demands upon the resources of tactful generosity and patience on the part of others. And because people are not necessarily always either generous or patient, this narrows down their range of social contact tremendously. The stutterer is thus reliant upon humane forbearance and even pity. Worse yet, stuttering also thwarts the expression of ideas of any complexity that is beyond the level of 5 year olds, thus limiting the range of possible communication of the stutterer even further.

"There are many modalities for the treatment of stuttering, mostly trickery of diversions from the crippling self conscious anxiety. Struggling to speak with a mouth full of pebbles, reading a text while listening to loud music on headphones, acting and role-play of characters other than oneself. All of these approaches are not only predicated upon the perception of self consciousness as the immediate motive of stuttering, but to begin with share the assumption that stuttering itself must be overcome in order to alleviate the problems caused thereby. But proud NRA member Dr. Boris Bombasticus at the Arkham Asylum for the Morally Challenged, has arrived at a daring new workaround, brilliant in its simplicity: Arm the stutterer! Because nothing raises self confidence and commands respect more handily than the great equalizer, firearms."

Dr. Boris Bombasticus confidently hands out various firearms to the stutterers beaming with happy gratitude.

Cut to: First person shooter POV upon the supercilious headwaiter in a pretentious fine restaurant: "That will be the juice of fresh fresh watermelon rind, celery and mulberries, with hints of rosewater and almond extract, served with bay scallops wrapped not in bacon but pachuto and capicola, one lobster with a level teaspoon of Seville marmalade in the brains and gills. -And to the Seville marmalade first add a drop of natural vanilla in turn first rendered for the same consistent nucleation as artificial vanilla. Instead of bread, pepperoni pizza filled Bourikas from whole buckwheat flour and likewise for desert, crabapple strudel croissants with no added sugar, only lemon zest. And for the police officers on the way to arrest Monsieur, espresso brewed from fermented Amazaki brown rice, malted barley, roasted carob and chicory, instead of coffee, served with assorted whole multigrain bear claws, again no added sugar, only fresh grated ginger and rehydrated dried fruit instead of jam on top."

Cut to: First person shooter POV upon a young person watching FLCL on TV, glancing with one eye back over his shoulder to address the camera: "So, Nauta, Snipa, is the Zen archer taking aim at himself. And 'never knows best' is a Nihilistic double entendre." The scene on TV is of the sight gag making reference to El Kabong. -it doesn't exist, in actuality, but the glaring omission is herein belatedly amended.

Cut to: First person shooter POV upon a prestigious Harvard professor: "I see now. Yes of course non justification is unjustified. That's only self consistent, after all, with faliblism to begin with."

Cut to: In the Oval Office, first person shooter POV upon Presidents Barak Obama and Donald trump, sitting with Oprah Winfrey.

Obama: "So continued support for Israel or not, is a false dilemma, for the United Jewish Appeal as much as for the United States. The real policy question ought to be of unconditional support. Instead Israel should be prevailed upon to secularize and adopt a bill of rights. This would transform the unfocussed struggle for peace obstructed by such daunting conflict of interest and bitter competition, into a clear civil rights struggle for everyone."

Oprah: "And the impoverished Palestinians shouldn't drive out the affluent Jewish settlers, but tax them and bill for using the land. -like Bono sings: pay the rent."

"Now, that's deal making!" exclaims Trump.

Panning around the Oval Office, Cristina L. Traina holding a shotgun, reclines on a comfortable stuffed lounge chair, nursing a baby in swaddling. She stammers at first, but gradually composes herself.

Voice over resumes: "Some stutterers stumble upon syllables, others upon words, yet others fixate in inhibition or compulsion, upon ideas they fear to articulate or questions they shy from raising."

Cristina L. Traina: "One day, as I breast-fed my eldest daughter, I decided to practice the Kegel exercises postpartum women use to regain tone in their pelvic floor muscles. Quietly nursing, rocking, contracting, releasing, I felt my vaginal muscles taking over: an orgasm. I jolted to attention, shocked that I had experienced a sexual climax while embracing an infant. The connection felt dirty and incestuous. -intensely physical and erotic: nestling, burrowing, kicking, suckling, caressing, hugging, lying languorously intertwined..." She gazes imploringly into the camera... "Am I then a child molester?!"

A boxing glove suddenly punches out from the swaddling, and Traina takes one on right on the chin! As her head swings back from the impact, her hair flying undone, her arms lower the obscure mass of swaddling from her bare breast dripping with milk and spittle, revealing a most grotesque baby with dark and distinctive five o'clock shadow, then chomping down on a filthy cigar clutched in the boxing glove!

Morty the Midget, glaring into the camera: "Bitch."

Fade to black.

Cut to: The opening tile card depicts Nolan the Nebbish rearing back in consternation from Lil' Princess Tutu, a little tyke garbed in a princess/ ballerina Halloween costume, resting in her bedroom, a shrine to the Anime character Princess Tutu, replete with all manner of posters, dolls and figurines of Princess Tutu, as well as a scene of Princess Tutu playing on a giant plasma screen.

Fade in: Mr. Nolan Nebbish is being processed out, released from the sexual deviants' wing of the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, and on the way out, at the very doorstep, urged for the umpteenth time, that he need not trouble himself regarding his fuzzy recollection of his offences, as that only shows how well the Lodivico Technique has been working. Nevertheless, it remains crucial that he accepts responsibility without question, and quickly and quietly situate himself as according to the terms of his parole. Nebbish accepts all of this Kafkaesque advice, with apprehensively eager gratitude and conviction.

With Nebbish barely off the prison bus from Arkham, Lil' Princess Tutu, a little kindergarten tyke in a ballerina/princess Halloween costume, overhears people pointing and gesticulating at Nebbish, denigrating him as: Pedophile, child molester, registered sex offender.... So, Lil' Princess Tutu saunters up to Nebbish, and tugging upon his sleeve, blithely inquires of him what all these funny words mean. With all jaundiced eyes upon him, Nebbish freaks out and splits, retorting: "It means you should keep your distance, little girl." Why?" "Your par--that ques-- Ask yer Mom." stammers Nebish, then blurting out: "Oh, go Google it up for yourself!" On her smart phone, Lil' Princess Tutu does exactly that. In affronted indignation, Lil' Princess Tutu gives chase: "Hey, I'm America's cosplay cutie! I'm irresistibly adorable! [à la Glenn Close in 'Fatal Attraction'] I won't be ignored!"

Meanwhile, a frightened child struggles to get his parents' attention, but they only brush him off in annoyance, too preoccupied with watching Nebbish and gossiping, to pay any notice as children are snatched, one by one, out from under the very noses of their similarly preoccupied guardians and caregivers, into an ominous dark alley.

Cut to: Nebbish, hat in hand, applies for a job at The Worst Dive in Town. A very old and faded sign in the window reads: HELP WANTED: assistant dishwasher. Vouching his penitence as a new man, debt to society paid, seeking any fresh start. Out of thin air, Princess Tutu appears, clasping his arm, full of ringing endorsement of her cutie pie! Nebbish freaks! His prospective employer seethes, smoke out of his ears, his hat bouncing like the lid on a pot boiling over. Nebbish and Lil' Princess Tutu unceremoniously bounce out the door and onto the sidewalk!

Cut to: Nebbish running, gasping for breath, stops to rest at a park bench. Then Lil' Princess Tutu makes her best alluring ballet entrance from out of the grand park fire fountain, with dramatically musical score from her boom box. Nebbish freaks and splits, literally in twain and back together again, before zooming away like a freight train!

Montage: Everywhere Nebbish flees, there is Lil' Princess Tutu! In the Valentine's Day display in the greeting card aisle in the Pharmacy, the cherub is Lil' Princess Tutu! Nebbish dashes into the moonwalk at the Carney, and Lil' Princess Tutu is there doing slow mo cartwheels in a funky little space suit! When Nebbish, desperately stressed out, goes for Tai massage, the tiny feet walking across his back are Lil' Princess Tutu's!

Nebbish rendezvous with the exhausted delivery men hauling a giant safe up the stairs to a room in flophouse, where just arriving, he hurriedly pays for the key. Nebbish slams the door shut and dives into the safe, with great relief. Inside, Lil' Princess Tutu is there striking a match, purring: "How cozy and romantic!" Nebbish bolts out across the rooftops, bowling over Batman and Daredevil: "Hey, watch it, Mack!" they complain...

"I'm unappetizing, unappealing!" wails Lil' Princess Tutu. In desperation, Lil' Princess Tutu scrawls up a pentagram on the floor, initiating a séance, raising up the spirit of Shirley Temple, who lectures avidly attentive Lil' Princess Tutu upon the typically uneducated and emotionally unstable Child Predator profile. Nebbish must be both tantalized and enraged by provocation. By way of demonstration, Shirley Temple, pulling down the cord, unfurls from a spring loaded blind, a full size poster of Bela Lugosi as Dracula, flaunting herself and throwing rotten tomatoes, until Dracula, infuriated, leaps out from the poster to attack! Shirley Temple vanishes again in a puff of smoke, while Dracula turns into a bat and flies away, leaving Lil' Princess Tutu to ponder.

Montage: Hapless Nebbish continues to flee, dodging various massive objects falling out of the blue, a grand piano, a steamroller, a sailboat, a meteor, each with differently costumed Lil' Princess Tutu doing pinup poses riding on top, until Nebbish finally cracks, and to the sudden horror of Lil' Princess Tutu, launches himself into blood thirsty attack! Nebbish monstrously enraged, pursues terrified Lil' Princess Tutu into a dilapidated abandoned building, stumbling down a flight of stairs, where he collects himself in rage and exhaustion. "Well now you've got me. I'm cornered. You did your best, but no one can be anyone but who they truly are. Oh, woe is me! My stolen innocence!" Nebbish's expression becomes remorseful. "No one must ever know. I can never be allowed to talk." Melodramatically: "You'll have to kill me!" Nebbish recoils in horror! "Or not." concedes Lil' Princess Tutu. Menacingly, Nebbish advances upon Lil' Princess Tutu. But freezes in confusion. Tongue lolling out, lasciviously, Nebbish moves in again, but freezes in confusion and consternation. "I'm America's little sweetheart!" protests Lil' Princess Tutu. Nebbish can only scratch his head in confusion. "Oh, well. Maybe I'm just not your type. Well, there's always other prey." No sooner said, then a parade of darling moppets and beauty pageant prostetots, parade by Nebbish, who eyes them up and down like a laser scanner! Meanwhile, at the back of the line, Brook Shields dutifully cues up, dressed up in her by now decidedly ill fitting Victorian undergarments from 'Pretty Baby'. Her non verbal reticence finds consensus amongst the others in line, and so she slinks away awkwardly. "Nope. Still nothing." announces Nebbish. (beat) Then, in tomes of eager and ebullient thudding stupidity: "Does this mean I'm cured? -George!" Lil' Princess Tutu whacks Nebbish with a slapstick out of thin air, and pulls off her wig, transforming into a brusque cigar chomping midget with deep five o'clock shadow: "No dolt, it means that you where never out for itty bitty titty in the first damn place!"

To Nebbish's further astonishment, the lights come up revealing extensive demolition for cameras and equipment, for using the abandoned building as a film location. Nebbish sees that the midget is Lil' Princess Tutu's stunt double. "Sorry" apologizes the midget to Lil' Princess Tutu. "I get impatient." The midget painfully snaps a rubber band about his wrist in penance, adding: "Oh hi, Vampi!" Nebbish turns and beholds: It’s Vampirella! "Say, Morty, who's your cute friend?" Nebbish melts! Lil' Princess Tutu grumbles to the camera:

 "Someday, tumblr_ljthdbjRD31qznavao1_500.gifI'll have boobs!" 

And then, Princess Tutu turns to Vampirella: "Hey Vampi, Fredrico just got a cancellation, so there's an opening right now, for a bikini wax." "Really? Gotta dash!" Vampirella makes ready to sprint like star athlete, but freezes stock still: "Hey, you wouldn't be putting me on again, Lil' Princess Tutu??" Lil' Princess Tutu emits exaggerated adorable giggles.

Quickly composing herself, Vampirella urges Nebbish: "Think. You must remember what happened to you," "Oh no, I mustn't. It can be so hard to tell what's real and what's just in my mind. I've worked so hard in treatment..." "Brainwash! What you are experiencing is a full on psychotic break. The man you call Dr. Bombasticus, strangely also sometimes credited with the introduction of Improvisational Theater Games including Jump Emotions, into Pornography, has made you so dependant upon him, by actually teaching you to manage your own psychosis! Unprecedented. Bombasticus believes that Psychosis should not be regarded as aberrant, but as an important altered mental state for dealing with ugly realities that we tend simply to put out of mind. Everything that has been orchestrated around you has all been arranged to exonerate you, that you may freely bear witness. Your prior memories from before Arkham, are all as reliable as they ever where. You are now ready to face them." Nebbish flashes back: "I was on my way home from the market, when by chance I observed human traffickers hustling their wretched captives into the back ally entrance of some sleazy strip joint. But somehow at the Police Station, when I tried to fill out a complaint, I became the suspect!" "Then, while you where still overwhelmed by the turn of events, your useless Public Defender sold you on a plea bargain to Arkham." "Where you where subjected to psychic driving and induced with false memories until you suffered a psychotic break" adds Bela Lugosi! "Mass hysteria ensues!" concludes Bela Lugosi, who then, much to Nebbish's star struck delight, seamlessly transitions into perfectly brilliant shtick: "Here at Satanic Daycare, we offer the full range of ritual abuse and dark conspiracy. Apparently, we always have. [Eyes glazed:] God bless my hypnotherapist for helping me to understand!" "Are the authorities all so corrupt?" marvels Nebbish, wincing somewhat at being mocked so. "Nah!" replies Morty the midget, "More just apathetic lazy. The system is overloaded."

Insert edit: A prison bus loads up with stoners all sharing a massive doobie. The poor bus driver coughs and tears up as the bus fills with copious swirling smoke. When hockey masked Hannibal Lector is wheeled up to the bus stop, chained to a hand truck, the bus driver opens the side window and smoke billows out: "Sorry, no more room" gasps the bus driver. As the bus careens, tires screeching, off towards a massive Penitentiary in the distance, still trailing clouds of smoke, Hanibal Lector is set loose: "Go on, scram!" "Clarisse?" demands Hannibal Lector, dejectedly.

Back to reality: "Why have you gone to such lengths for my sake?" queries Nebbish. "Are you after the human traffickers? Will you mount a rescue?" "Not just that." Answers Morty the midget, turning to smile upon Lil' Princess Tutu, who explains: "I wasn't always popular. I know what it is to be the goat. When I was told about all that you've been going through, I had to say, sure, let me help." Nebbish is overcome: "Oh, bless you little girl!" As Nebbish rushes to embrace Lil' Princess Tutu in gratitude, suddenly, an irate mob materializes out of nowhere to converge upon Nebbish and attack! Nebbish screams like a little girl! "Damn perv! I knew it." states Lil' Princess Tutu, flatly.

Nebbish, beaten and battered, laboriously clambers out the iris closing, into the field of blackness. "Alone at last!" purrs Lil' Princess Tutu. As Nebbish, exhausted makes ready to flee yet again, Lil' Princess Tutu demands, scratching her head, scrolling through a plethora of Internet information on her Smartphone: "Look, will someone explain to me exactly what all the big fuss is all about?" Meanwhile, the lights have come up, turning the vast blackness into an empty field of white, so that the movie theater audience shadows become visible on screen. Nebbish motions Tutu closer, and begins whispering and gesticulating. "Who? Put what, where, when? Why?" demands Lil' Princess Tutu, befuddled. A voice from the audience protests: "Stop that, shut up, she'll be scarred for life!" Another voice rebuts, angrily: "No, it's taboo and terrified silence that does that!" "Yeah," agrees another "got a problem with sex education, Buster?" Another one, a real cut up calls out: "Bleakh, bleakh, Masked Man..." A brawl ensues in the movie theatre!

Meanwhile, a dejected stork in a postal worker's uniform and cap, has wandered on screen, and Lil' Princess Tutu consoles him. "Hey," says Nebbish, "Cheer up, the feature film is about to begin." The title 'Vampirella' scrolls up. "Oh, maybe too scary for you, little girl." "Oh, I didn't know scary until our little chat just now, Mister." retorts Lil' Princess Tutu, with grim resolve, as all fades to black, the bell rings and the Director is heard to shout: "Quiet on the set. Places, everyone!"

FIN  --- Our feature begins...