Saurav Mohapatra - comic book writer

author, artist and bona fide geek

Month: June 2009

Oh My God I'm So Afraid

[This is a repost from my old sulekha blog. a chance conversation with someone today, reminded me of this]

‘Twas winter and  snow fell from the heavens like only new england snow can fall. I mean three foot snowbanks and it was only  late Novemeber. Axel Rose you sure did not leave in Massachussets. It don’t rain in Novemeber here.. it snows.

I flipped through the channels and found assorted collection of evangelists proclaiming that the day was at hand for the final judgement and it moved me. I thought since the whole of creation is to end soon in trumpets and fanfare, I must do the one thing I have not done yet.  I decided to bite the bullet and dwindle my certainly not sizeable bank balance by plonking down $5.38 plus tax for a pay per view p0rn movie.

I don’t remember the name of the movie, only its subject. It was described on the blurb as “an erotic thriller featuring the quest of an investigative journalist who wades through corrupt cops, vile gangsters and her own sexuality to locate her kidnapped sister“. That perked up my interest and much more. I sure as hell was not going out to shovel the white stuff soon enough after a heavy meal of mac and cheese. So I settled down with my comforter and chin rag after making sure my roomies were fast asleep upstairs.

The movie began with an assorted montage of things to come, the intrepid heroine, the chivalorous hero, the lecherous villain, the sultry vamp and sundry farm animals in various states of sexual congress accompanied by the best elevator muzak that the yamaha synthesizer can offer. After the names of various thespian and technical luminaries involved in this cinematic masterpiece in various capacities and positions (pun not intended) had flashed through the screen (Of the names most of which seemed to have surnames either derived from or directly referencing gential organs and acts of depravity, one name I do remember is “Hung Lo” which I instantly identified as the vile Asian American henchman of the villain of the piece), we cut straight to the obligatory twenty second story segment.

The movie opened like any other self respecting direct to video VHS gem with a scene of our intrepid heroine hard at work at a nameless news paper office typing away furiously on a computer hard at work at what most suspiciously seemed like the BIOS settings screen. She was hindered time and again having to reach around her massive hi tech sillicon enhanced mamrary glands to operate the keyboard. She was dressed tastefully in a tweed short skirt and a tight white office shirt which seemed shrink wrapped onto her. She looks the epitome of the successful news woman of today, radiating an IQ several points above her cup size. (My first guess was around 50, but then I had just watched Forrest Gump the other day so i upgraded the estimate to 60). Her blonde hair (suspiciously looking like a text book case of “Blonde in a Bottle” gone mad) lends her an official air, even in spite of the fact that the discerning viewer could spot more roots in it than the entire season of the television grand event adapted from Alex Hailey’s masterpiece.

Suddenly the elevator music interrupts her thoughts and she picks up a pencil from the desk.She bites into it softly with the subtelty of a teething mink in heat and stares dreamy eyed into the distance. And the screen star wipes and we are obliged with a ten minute segment of her previous escapade with an unnamed (as yet) African American male of generous endowments south of the equator.

I was intrigued. How is the director going to move the plot along when the pair seems so content and satisfied and making small talk about the future.In the meanwhile he gives her a tape asking her to keep it safe and dons his starched police uniform and departs. His final words are “This tape shall put Big Dick away for ten to life.”

Our heroine smiles the wily smile of the seductress who has achieved her goal. She has obtained the story of the century simply by lying on her back.

I could not but shout out “Bravo! What cinematic greatness! What richness of story telling!!!”

As if on cue! The phone rings. Trrrrrrrrrrring Trrrrrrrrrring. Flashback ends and our heroine is pulled back into the real world. I was at the edge of my seat with tension. Who could it be? What awaits our protagonist beyond the wires that lead from this mechnical contraption? How could this lead to further erotic confrontation?

“Hello! Olivia R. Gasm speaking! News Desk, LA Times!”

The voice at the other end was seething with venom! With unbridled furiousness it hissed.

“Drop it lady! If you know what’s good for you, you shall stay away from snoopin’ into Big Dick’s affairs! The Boss don’t like nosy dames pokin’ their powdered noses into his affairs.”

“What! Who is this! How dare you! Tell Big Dick! O.R Gasm is not afraid of his threats!”

“Oh! You should be! If not for your sake then for your sister.”

Click!

The pencil falls from her hands…

The tension is writ thickly on her acquiline nose. No doubt the product of expensive plastic surgery by the best the Mayo Clinic in Beverly Hills has to offer. She is afraid. I almost could spot the fear entrenched so deeply i her vacant eyes proclaiming the last shootingbreak and a generous snort of cocaine derivatives.

Enter our hero from stage left. I did not catch his name in the title sequence, but judging from the caucasian features he can not be “Hung Lo” in name but he would most certainly have done justice to the name.

He comes and on cue comforts our heroine. The comforting leads to a sesual shoulder massages and our female protagonist gets the same dreamy eyed look she had fifteen minutes ago.

Then she utters the magic phrase which is the title of this post.

Wiht utmost sincerity of a damsel in distress borrowed from some ancient conanesque epic she blurts out, “Oh My God! I am so afraid!”

I did not catch the subtle maneouvering of the plot or the exact sequence of cinematic twists but withhin five seconds the couple were joined in sexual congress utilizing the space in that cramped office to the maximum to enact at least thirty five of the most difficult positions from the Kama Sutra and beyond. It ended with a grand finale of the oral sort.

The movie switched to a Tarantino mode for ten minutes after that. The action was fast and brutal with scene after scene depicting our heroine finding her sister kidnapped, working the streets (no no, not in that sense,.. like a reporter) in the company of our fearless hero pressing for clues about the whereabouts of her abducted sibling.

We cut in a manner befitting a Truffaurt or a Kurosawa to the villain’s den (to my untrained eye it looked vaguel reminiscent of Ms. Gasm’s office at the LA Times, but the computer was now showing the Windows 95 flying tubes screensaver)

The villain the eponymous Richard “Big Dick” Pornetti issneering at the predicament of Miss Valerie Gasm , younger sibling of our intrepid reporter but no less voluptous even in her state of utter distress. She suffers from the same enormity of the chest, the vacant eyes which must have been passed from mother to daughter as a tradition in the Gasm family….Only telling point was that to bring diveristy and richness of content the script has depicted that the younger Miss Gasm be  brunette.

He gives his most menacing leer and tells her of the dire fate that awaits her if her sister does not cooperate. With this he leaves leaving his vamp to attend to their captive. Valerie bursts into tears and this melts the heart of the raven haired vamp with distinct east asiatic features. Against her will, in a poignant  moment of solidarity of the vivacious feminine, she is drawn to this brunnete in distress and puts hand on her quivering shoulders.

I let go of a couple of sniffles at this display of affection and the change of heart brought about in the most stoic of sidekicks.

It is then that the captive (who has not been able to resist the famed “Stockholm Syndrome”) utters the “Open Sesame” phrase of the movie.

With all earnestness she looks deep into the eyes of her captor and says, “Oh! My God! I am so afraid!”

Aha! We cut to fifteen more minutes of some of the best interracial girl on girl action I have ever seen, in terms of camera angles and  cinematic techniques i mean.

By this time I was so engrossed in the movie that time had become subjective for me. I had not noticed the snowfall stop outside or my roomies waking up upstairs. I kept on watching the masterpiece. I heard character after character be trapped in scenes of seeming no escape only to blurt out “Oh My God! I am so afraid!!!” followed by ten fifteen minutes of scenes of virtouso erotic film making .

The movie ended in a grand finale of a group sex scene with what seemed like half the cast screaming out “Oh My God I am so afraid” to be comforted in the most sensuous of manners by the other half irrespective of gender, race or anatomical proprtions.

I was moved by this cinematic masterpiece. I was weeping tears of joy for having witnessed the best that the LA porn industry could offer.

Suddenly i felt a pain in my chest. Oh! No! was it to be the end! I panicked!

I wanted to be comforted! I wanted to be held close and told that there was no need to be afraid.

I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, “Oh! My God! I am so afraid!” in fact i think for a moment I did and was instantly rewarded by the Gasm sisters smiling their most come hither smiles at me. They moved in closer and I closed my eyes awaiting 15 minutes of heaven. Suddenly they poked me in the chest.. again and again…

“Dude! Dude! Wake up!!!It has stopped snowing!”

I opened my eyes! My world had crashed! The sensuous sisters had morphed intomy gruff roomies!

“We got to shovel the sidewalk before the landlord gets home! c’mon change into something warm!”

I sighed and looked at the television to be greeted by the blackness that greets one after a pay per view show has ended. A formless shapeless darkness that bespoke of my lament. How much of the movie had a I dreamt myself and how much of it was actual!

I did not care! The cinematic masterpiece I had just witnessed stayed with me forever. Whenever I hear someone utter the magic phrase “Oh My God ! I am so afraid!” I look around and await the coming of the lovely Gasm sisters.

I do not regret that I missed the screen appearance of the mighty “Hung Lo” or the bit with the farm animals!!! I do not regret that the tax on the movie turned out to be twice the 5.38 announced on the blurb… Neither do I regret that I can not ever utter the word “Oh My God! I am so afraid!” even in the direst of circumstances without getting majorly aroused..

My only regret in all this! I never bothered to remember the name of the movie !!! :(

Otters, Poits and Eaters of Ed

In the Land of Lit, once there was nothingness. Nothingness begat a ton of water and things stayed wet and watery for a while. Quite some time passed before the water gave birth to something called “life” which was this teensy weensy little speck. Life was horny like hell. Soon there were more. They grew bigger and called themselves “pishies”.

 

After sometime the “pishies” got tired of the water and some of them came out to the land to make out. Some “pishies” liked it so much they never went back to the water and rolled in the mud everyday. They were called “riptyles”. The “riptyles” got bigger and some of them felt cold. They grew “phithers” and huge big freakin’ tits. They were called the “momals” in the great ancient tongue of pishi-riptyles which roughly meant “Nice Hooters”.

 

The “riptyles” loved the taste of a nice hooter or two and soon they started eating the “momals”. They were just so damn tasty and there were so many of them. Some “momals” apart from the nice rack had better “phithers” and could fly. They were called the “byrds”, some just licked their genitalia day in and day out and were called “kyats”. Yet another group of “momals”, saw the “kyats” licking their balls and thought there must be some significance to it and started licking their own. They were called “dawgs”. Some of them sought refuge in the trees and swung till their scrotums extended and hands became as long as … well became very long. They were called the “primatas”. Some “primatas” (ones with the nicer boobs anyway) came back down on the ground and shed all their “phithers”. They still kept some of the “phithers” on their faces and in their armpits along with several other places, but mostly the lack of “phithers” somehow allowed them to “talk”. They were called the “talkies”, but they preferred the term “oomans” (this term seems to have ambiguous etymology. Experts argue that it could either mean “born of an egg” or “great rack”)

 

Anyhoo, the “riptyles” viewed the infinite variety of the “momals” as an endless buffet line. The “momals” being slightly more intelligent and being more endowed with what they referred to as “cool” (which initially meant “Nice Nice Hooters” but the meaning kinda got lost down the way.), discovered this concept called “God” (which has meant different things through out “momalian” history but mostly variants of “The Great and Almighty Boob that sees everything and jiggles crazily when it does” and “Holy Celestial Cleavage”). They prayed to the “God” thingie to deliver them from the “riptyles” and he sent a biggest darn rock with fire and brimstone to take care of the bigger “riptyles”. (That is the only incident on record in the whole of history, which remotely points to the existence of the “God” thingie).

 

With the “riptyles” out of the way, the “momals” especially the “oomans” flourished. They made out like crazy and admired each others hooters and finally decided that it was time for something called “cyvalizishon”. Soon as they were “cyvalized”, it was decreed that naked breasts were not cool any more and they started wearing clothes. Some even thought the discovery of the apple had something to do with it. Now some of the overzealous “oomans” who felt left out of the initial bare breasted part of history, decided to create their own fantasy world in which there were boobs galore. They secretly indulged in something they called the “wry-thingie”. By an evolutionary coincidence they were all called “Ed”. They even invented their own “God” like thingie called “Ott”. So other people called them those gosh-darned “Otters”. Now some “Otters” did not like to be associated with others, so they renamed “Ott” to “Poi” and preferred to be called “Poits”. They called their version of the “wry-thingie” as “Poims”. Now do not get this wrong, some “Otters” were “Poits” and some “Poits” were “Otters” too. They had a lot in common. They all did their version of the “wry-thingie” and they were still all called “Ed”. But they preferred their own labels.

 

There were other people who liked to “read” whatever “wry-thingie” the “Otters” or the “Poits” produced. By this time the hallowed ancient phisie-riptyllian tongue had run out of words and synonyms of “Nice Boob” and its variants (most things had already been named by then). So these people who “read” were called “readers”. Now as the “readers” “read” the “wry-thingie”, they too started enjoying the long gone days of bare breasted glory. The “oomans” who ran things got worried. As people spent their time thinking about boobs, no work ever got done in Lit.

 

So they created a race of monsters. Now these monsters were big and scary and had horrible teeth. They were asked to defile and devour anyone named “Ed”. They were called the “Ed-eaters”. (See earlier reference as to the ancient tongue running out of words).

 

For a time, “wry-thingie” suffered a great setback as the “Ed-eaters” frequently ate any one named “Ed” who came in their way. Soon there were not many “Otters” or “Poits” left, so one of the “Otters” a guy named Ed of course, called a council with the “Ed-eaters”.

 

They talked long and hard for many hours. Finally Ed convinced the “Ed-Eaters” to form a system. “Ed-eaters” would stop their wanton carnage and in return the “Otters” would send them a letter explaining whatever “wry-thingie” they had done. This was called a “query” and the since all Otters were called “Ed” they would send a Self Addressed Stamped Envelope with their full name and address, so that the “Ed-Eaters” would not have any trouble finding them. The “Ed-eaters” would then view the “Wry-thingie” and only come back and eat the Ed who sent the query if it was very very bad.

 

Later another layer was introduced in this system as there were just too many “Otters” sending “queries” to the “Ed-eaters”. Some “Ed-eaters” could not eat Eds that well. So the others told them to sort of screen prospective “Eds” before one could reach the “Ed-eater”. These guys were called “Agents” (they ran out of words so they made this one up). The “Otters” would first query the “Agents” before they could reach a bonafide “Ed-Eater”. The “agents” got some entrails and other knick knacks when the “Ed-Eater” finally ate an “Ed”.

 

So till this day in the Land of Lit, the holy system of “Query” Letters and Self Addressed Stamped Envelopes has forever ensured that the halls of “Wry-Thingie” keep on echoing with tales of bare breasts and glorious cleavage while keeping the “Ed-Eaters” not hungry. The system works and everyone is happy. (Well almost every one. The “Poits” still prefer to do things their own way. They do not count as most of them get eaten alive by the “Ed-Eaters” anyways.)

 

THE END

Friendship 2.0

Someone whose Twitter feed I subscribe to recently posted a status update to the tune of “I really, really detest overfamiliarity from strangers.” I can’t speak for the populace in general, but this brings me to something I’ve been thinking about for the last few years. I’ve been working out of my basement office for last 4 years and my only interaction with other human beings (apart from my wife and kid) have been either during the daily trips I take to Trader Joe’s (my neighborhood grocery store) or online.

With the explosive burst of Social Networking, our lives or rather the parameters for interaction in our lives have become really weird. I’ve always been socially awkard, so it’s no surprise I have got more “online” friends than real ones. It never actually seemed unnatural to me, but sometimes I do step back and try to think about what, if anything, it tells about me as a person.

Online acquaintances are a way of maintaining a disposable emotional squash wall for me. I’ve never met more than half of the people I interact with online. I work for a company spread across half the world and my only contact with them is via IM, E-Mail and phone. So keeping that aside for the moment, most of the people I do prefer to have “conversations” with are online buddies (not the anonymous kind, but people I’ve come across in my double life as a comic book creator / netizen). I know their names, gender and where they are from (I sincerely hope so, anyways  ), but I’ve never met them face to face.

Some people I chat with regularly, share my narrow (in genre) yet broad (in topics) interest with comic books, pop culture etc. Some I interact because I really dig their sense of humor. So I feel an affinity with these “web-friends”. Plus remote interaction takes away a kind of personal involvement (social quid pro quo) involved in a face to face acquaintance. That’s a big thing for me. Generally I treat the internet as a shrink’s couch, venting my frustrations or cracking jokes to alleviate my myriad insecurities / complexes / neuroses. Works for me.

There are some downsides though. First thing is over IM, it’s kinda hard to judge the other person’s mood when you initiate a conversation. An accidentally omitted smiley can put you in a tizzy.  Sarcasm, that cornerstone of pseudo-intellectual conversations is hard to translate across the net. There is always that “did they say what I think they said and did they mean what I think they said” kind of hesitancy involved in chatting, mostly with recent internet acquaintances. And the Big Bomba – timezone difference. Human beings are kind of slaves to the circadian rhythm. Our moods and perceptiveness vary along with the schedules of our Sleep-Wake cycle. When you’re chatting with someone half a world away, you might have just woken up and be feeling fresh, but the other person might just have returned from a grueling day at office or staving off insomnia.

Weighing the pluses and minuses of online acquaintance is perhaps a subject best addressed in Media theory / Anthropology tomes of the near future. But it is something to mull over for me. Hell with it, I think I’m going to pink crazydude666 and ask him how the weather is in Philippines. :)