"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:
"
"
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
rôle-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."
ESTABLISHING SHOT, Mar-a-Lago. Zoom into a
shabby ersatz Oval Office.
Then
CUT TO:
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 a panicked Donald Trump,
approvingly.
PAN ACROSS the ROOM:
Cristina L. Traina
holds a shotgun, reclining 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 massive cartoonish boxing glove
suddenly erupts out from the swaddling, and
Cristina L. Traina
takes one 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, chomping down on a filthy
cigar and brandishing the massive cartoonish boxing glove!
Morty the Midget,
glaring into the camera:
"Pervert 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
Nebbish, 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, Lil'
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 out 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. It
order to be caught, 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.
Eyes bulging and 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: "Duh... 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 dwarf with deep five o'clock
shadow, Morty the Midget: "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
Morty the Midget serves as
Lil' Princess Tutu's stunt double. "Sorry" apologizes
Morty 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,
I'll
have booooobs!"
And then,
Lil' Princess Tutu turns
briskly 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 erupts
in an
emition of 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. But it used to be worse!"
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 scene: "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 g irl!" 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
Lil' Princess 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?"
Yet another, 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 the dejected stork. "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
off-screen, is heard to shout: "Quiet on the set.
Places, everyone!"
FIN ---
Our feature begins.