by David Raffin
"Please call me Dick," said Richard.
“Will do, Dick,” said Bird. You may know the name Pratfallovitch even if you don’t read science fiction because he reviews films for Screw Magazine.”
“Yes,” Dick said, “I do. And there are so many films coming out these days you really need the help of a critical eye. I’m happy to do it. I learned about plot and such at the feet of my father, Peter.”
“Well,” said Robyn, “A lot of people think all pornographic films are interchangeable. Sometimes theaters even change the titles when they repeat the films.”
“And that’s awful,” said Dick. “It’s going to create a lot of confusion for archivists in the future. Mark my words. And as you know from your experience in the business, it just isn’t true. The subjects of the films and the execution are vastly different. And there is a lot of dreck. Maybe up to ninety percent. But I could say the same of mainstream Hollywood. Have you seen any of the last Jerry Lewis films? Hollywood is drastically behind the times. Still pushing Bob Hope to a public that desires George Carlin. Not to disparage Hope in his prime, when he had a Woody Allen thing going.”
“My favorite director is David Raffin,” said Bird.
“Yes, he is among the best in the genre,” said Dick.
“I was in one of his films,” said Bird. “It was called Flip you the Bird! That shoot was a really fun day.”
“I’ll bet,” said Dick. “He has a lot of range. Started in nudist camp films when that was the only way to bypass the Hays code. Because it was educational. Then documentaries about sex films from countries which allowed them. Then, sex films. And so many kinds! Slapstick. Horror. Drama. Soap Opera. Silent. Dirty commedia dell’arte. Musicals. Mysteries. Detective stories. Absurdist Farce. Puppets. Romance. And, of course, he hires the best talent.”
Bird and Dick do a flirty communal congratulatory thing with their hands, tentatively intertwining them, gently touching fingers but mostly for show.
“I also love him,” said a dark haired woman in a ballet outfit beside Dick.
“For those of you first joining us I’m here talking with Dick Pratfallovitch, son of cult science fiction writer Peter Pratfallovitch. Also joining us is the adult film star Terri Hall who was once a member of the Stuttgart ballet."
"Hi everyone!" said Miss Hall. “You're all being very bad, and good for you.”
"Terri Hall stars in the soon-to-be released film based on the work of Dick’s father, Peter, The Apple Falls in the Forest Regardless of Who May Be There to Hear it, it’s a story about robots built to love in a world gone mad.”
“That’s your field,” said Rain to Richard with everyone at the dining room table. “Not the madness part, but the robots. Are you still working on robots?”
“Naturally,” said Richard. “In fact I have recently had a breakthrough. And I do love Pratfallovitch’s work. Very provocative.”
Everyone turned their attention back to the spacious nineteen inch screen.
“A lot of people who read and enjoy that novel forget that the Earth was completely destroyed by killer apples in the course of the book,” said Dick. “Because they only remember the story of the love between the robots. And the film had to be made because my father was so upset about the film Star Wars being made. Star Wars is nothing but a crude rip-off of The Apple Falls in the Forest, but with all the sex stripped out of it. And the philosophy. Nothing left but a space shoot ‘em up. But as a Soviet citizen he could do little about it. That’s why he sent me here a year and a half ago so I could help rectify this injustice.”
"Are you getting any trouble because of your communist ties?" asked Bird.
“Not among people in my business,” said Dick. "But I must say, my father is even a dissenter in the Soviet Union. He gets away with it because of his place. And because he is very clever. And we are both true believers in the cause. But he does have what he calls, jokingly, “a crisis of faith” here and there. Most famously because of Laika the space dog. In 1957 a stray dog was plucked from the streets of Moscow and sent on Sputnik II into space. The first living creature from the Earth to orbit. But absolutely no provisions were made for the safe return of a dog from space. And it broke my father’s heart. Because he loves animals. And he loves space. But he does not want his loves to cause problems for each other. He wants them to intertwine sweetly and gently. And there was no reason that dog could not have been brought back to Earth. It would have been something much greater to brag about had they taken the time to schedule a return trip. The fact that they did not is a serious black eye on the otherwise glorious Soviet space program.”
“I was disillusioned the same way by the treatment of Laika the space dog,” Richard said. The others around the table sighed in reciprocal anguish. Rain reached over and held Richard’s hand.
“Well,” Frederick the cleaner said, “Sorry to interrupt this love fest, but the body could be most easily disposed of in a rather simple way that does not often come into play but might just be perfect for you folks.”
“What is it?” asked Rain.
“Well, It’s totally clean and organic. Cheap. It can be done here on site. I see that you have a clown. It’s something that you might consider. You could let the clown… eat him.”
“Let the clown,” said Rain.
“Eat him,” said Sunny.
“Yes,” said the cleaner. “Let the clown do his part and eat the body. Skin. Flesh. Bones. Total disposal. Like nature intended. The clown is a natural scavenger. Why, if there were enough clowns they could scour the Earth clean in an hour. But that would take… a lot of clowns.”
“How many?” asked Rain.
“Oh, at least a few hundred thousand,” said the cleaner.
The clown came out of his stupor. “Oh, Boy, Oh, Boy, Oh, Boy, Can I? I couldn’t? Can I? It’s hardly ever done anymore. Can I? Oh, I’ve always yearned to. Dreamt of it.”
“I think it might be for the best,” said Sunny.
“Well, as long as I don’t have to watch,” said Rain. “Because, unfortunately, I've dreamt of it too."
The clown started running around like mad. "I can't believe it! I can't believe it! If only my father could see this. He didn't believe in me. Didn't think a clown had the same opportunities clowns once had generations ago. Never thought this day would happen. If I had known this was going to happen I wouldn’t've murdered my entire family.”
“Won’t he get a taste for it?” asked Frankie.
“You get the clown for protection or what?” asked the cleaner.
“No, we got the clown for sex,” said Sunny.
“Whatever floats yer boats, ladies and gents,” said the cleaner. “I don’t judge. I clean.” He looked lost in thought a moment. “By the way, If you were a hyper-intelligent fungi the word for killing other funguses, or for killing one‘s own fungal form, or for killing a whole strain of fungi, is the same: fungicide.”
“Sounds right!” said the clown, who had put on a lobster bib and was kneeling over the body of Mitch Danger and drooling. He began feasting. In a showy and obscene manner. Smacking his lips and putting on a show as he dug in, quite literally.
Rain turned up the television. The Robyn Bird Show was still on and Dick Pratfallovitch was now sitting with Terri Hall draped over his lap. He was spanking her bare behind. As he did so she made gleeful sounds which inter-looped with the sounds of the clown munching away a few meters over.
“I bet you can’t do that in the Soviet Union,” said Bird.
“Oh, you might be surprised,” said Dick. “Things are the same the world over. Under communism, under capitalism. Sex is sex, in all its various forms.” Swap! “It’s not even my thing particularly.” Swap! “But I’m having a lovely time because she asked for it and she’s enjoying it.” Swap! “And I like her butt.” Swap!
“Thanks, Dick!” said Miss Hall. “You’re a prince.”
“And you, my dear, are a princess,” said Dick. “A naughty princess.”
“Oh, yes they are,” said Rainy Day.
At this point the clown had consumed the body and was licking the remaining fluids from the plastic wrap. He finished and rolled over. “I ate too much too fast. Glutton! Just like father said. Always. Like a damnable echo in the head.”
The cleaner had hauled out the carpet and now was taking out the plastic. “Clean as a whistle. ‘Till next time, ma’am.”
“Thanks Fred,” said Sunny. “You do great work.”
“You are our best customer. And if you keep that clown maybe we can rent his services.”
“Theodore the clown,” said the clown from the floor. “Full clown services, rendered.” He belched a rather disgusting belch. “Every body loves a clown. But clowns don’t love everybody.”
The cleaner left.
A minute later there was a knock on the door. Rain just yelled, “Come in!”
The door cracked open and Billy entered with Annie and Rikki, the two cheerleaders, none of them wearing a stitch, as they had all clearly become wet from the pool and left their clothes hung out to dry next door. As Rain had suggested.
“I just wanted to thank you, Miss Day,” said Billy.
“Oh,” said Rain, “my pleasure as always.”
“Sending over these ladies for fun. And on my birthday. We played checkers, and chess, and swam, and stuff.”
“Yay!” said Annie and Rikki, “Three Cheers”
“Three?” said Billy. “But there are only two of you.”
“It was the least I could do,” Rain said. “For you, Billy.”
“I think I’d rather be called William,” said Billy.
“You got it, kid,” said Sunny.
“Hip Hip Hurrah,” said the cheerleaders. “Hip Hip Hurrah, “Hip Hip Hurrah, Happy Birthday, Bill! And a cheer for you, too, Miss Day! Hip Hip Hurrah!”
Rain blushed.
“Gosh,” said William, “You got me a clown too?”
“Hee Hee Hee,” said the clown, still lying bloated on the floor.
“Better be careful around that clown,” said Frankie. “They can be unpredictable.”
“Oh, he’s perfectly safe,” said Sunny. “He just ate. And we can control him. I know how to talk to them. I got a little clown in me. On my mother’s side.”
“I knew it,” moaned the clown, in ecstasy.
“I suspected it also,” said Frankie. “And I’m OK with it.”
“You know, Okeh is a word borrowed from the Choctaw. It means ‘It is so.’ My grandmother told me.”
“I thought it stood for ‘Old Kinderhook,’” said Frankie.
“I thank you to not call my grandma a liar,” said Sunny. “She was part clown also and she was as stormy as her name, which was Stormy.”
“My grandpa loved a half-clown named Stormy,” said the clown. “With whom he had a stormy affair.”
“Clown?” said Sunny.
“Sis?” said the clown.
“It is so wrong,” said Sunny with a tinge of lust.
“It is so right,” said Frankie.
“So taboo,” Sunny whispered.
“So hot,” said Frankie.
“Hee Hee Hee,” said the clown.
“Ewww,” said Rain.
“Don’t judge,” said Richard.
“You’re right,” said Rain. “Whatever makes you all happy and doesn’t involve me. In any way.”
“Now that’s reasonable,” said Richard. “Right as Rain.”
Rain looked at him. And she glowed.
“Do you think your wife Heather will ever come back?” she asked. “I’m sorry if it’s a sensitive subject still, too soon.”
“It’s not too soon for you to ask,” said Richard. “I think it’s unlikely. She was lucky to come as many times as she did. It was a terrible accident. But I will have to go on. As we all must.”
“You guys want to move this cuddle party to the pool?” asked William. “Cool if you bring the clown.”
“Now that is something you don’t hear every day,” said Rain. “I’d take him up on it. It’s a nice pool.”
“I was hoping you would come too, Miss Day,” said William.
“Oh, I’m pretty tired,” said Rain. “Think I’ll just stay here.” She squeezed Richard’s hand. “But you all enjoy. And call me Rain. My mother was Miss Day.”
“Ok, Rain.”
Everyone else left for the house next door but Richard. He stayed at the table with Rain.
“After all,” said Richard. “I live in the house on the other side. And going one more house over is…”
“So far,” said Rain.
“Yes,” said Richard. “Out of my way.”
They kissed.
In a drawer in the bedroom there was a little pink vibrator. It wasn’t attached to an AI network so it had no idea what was happening in the wider world. But it knew that, for some reason, it was happy. There is a mystery in the field of science. Einstein derided it as “spooky action at a distance.” But it is very real. It is more properly called “quantum entanglement.” When you separate two connected particles, even across time and space, they are still attached and aware of each other. They strive, always, to come together again. To rejoin. They long for each other. There is no scientific explanation for this phenomena. Humans call it love.
William’s Epistle to Screw
I did not ever, in my wildest dreams, think I would be writing you a letter like the kinds I have read in your learned, well-worn pages. I’m just a regular guy who eats pizza, reads, and likes math. I was home alone for a week, ready for college, and planned to spend my summer reading and eating pizza by the pool, running equations through my mind relentlessly. That’s the kind of guy I am, sadly, a thinker more than a doer. But I do like being a thinker. Even if society is hard on us.
I have in the past been visited on these occasions by the lady next door. A beautiful lady. Smart. Charming. With a cool name. But it would not be proper to name names in this situation. Sometimes naming names is a despicable act40. Naturally, it is to that which my mind strayed as it so often does. Her touch. Her smell. The lilt of her laughter creates a spontaneous reaction within me. It is only natural. Still, I am often lonely. Unfulfilled. This is the problem of modern capitalist societies. Chronic alienation. Isolation from the wider group. Camaraderie narrowed to the breaking point as small groups splinter and fold up upon themselves into oblivion.
“Oh, Aphrodite! Goddess of Love! Consort of Dionysus! Mother of Eros41! Come to me! Intercede on Earth as my humble bequest to humankind!” This is what my heart cries throughout what seems like infinity. But I am a scientist. Mature. Focused. Yet even science is bound by the conventions of the times. Revolutions come but one at a time, struggle is eternal, and progress slow. It is only those moments of convergence which give us the notion that change is rapid. It is only those flashes of revelation, worshipped and denounced in the same moment, almost the same breath, which spark the fire of revolutionary thought. Change is built through fertile soil nourished with the progress of the past hard fought.
It is in this light I was alone with my thoughts.
It was then I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it there was a woman standing there in white with a handful of leaflets. It was as if the skies had parted and left her as a sacred dropping. She was a remnant of the spark of life divine.
“Hi,” she said. And I was.
“I’ve come to let you in on the words of truth,” she said. “Divine truth. Forbidden knowledge. Earth shattering. For real.”
My mouth was agape42.
“This world we know is a world we know not,” she continued. “For we are, all of us, destined to repeat eternal; returning, coming again and again in various guises and disguises, alone and in various pairings. Woe! A false construct hiding reality.”
I had suspected as much.
“This world is a computer simulation. It resets re
gularly. It imparts false memories to stabilize the system. It learns. The important thing is to strive to enjoy yourself fully, as I have. This is why I share the word door-to-door. Orally.”
I thanked her and closed the door43. Would I ever make a true connexion? I went back to my chair. My Moxie was still cold and I wanted to read the latest issue of your publication. It helps with the loneliness, as is its true purpose.
I read from the rear first. It is my preference. The ads. Betwixt the ads for prostitutes, whose patron saint is Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, her symbols myrtle and rose, and there were ads for Myrtle and Rose, working alone or in concert, was a strange advert which said, cryptically:
“Heather is coming soon. Again. Be ready.”
But past that, first, is the movie section and I am a great supporter of the arts. The reviewer, Dick Pratfallovitch is a worthy informant on the modern state of affairs. Much film is dreck and Dick can be counted upon, always, to discern the object of desire from an afternoon devoid of delight. It is the latter I wish to avoid and the former I cherish above all else.
I read with lust in my heart and ink on my fingertips. I could wash after. I always did. Oh, your magazine makes me dirty. I was interested in the film about Puppets, Let my Puppets Cum. A film by Gerard Damiano. He made the famous Deep Throat, and The Devil in Miss Jones, a film which starts with a suicide and ends in Hell, as an homage to the philosopher Jean Paul Sartre’s No Exit. Still, it could not be as good as the puppet film of last year, Puppets Play the Field, by David Raffin. But he is one of the greatest auteurs in porn.
I considered my place in society. Yes, I was lonely and alienated. But is this not the fate of people under capitalism; under the yoke of which we are splintered into class though society denies the existence of this. Yet why then are there haves and have nots? Why are we alone? Modern society is a treadmill, relentless, the purpose of which is to keep people too busy to challenge, or even analyze, the system closely. Prizes are yearned for. If one gets them there are then further prizes. And pitfalls. If they do not earn rewards they are forced to live without, as they struggle, toil endlessly, but are told it is no life to live. And the fault is clear. It is the fault of those who do not have. Salvation is but a purchase away. It will solve loneliness. They yearn. They are undervalued as a product. People become the product, the true product, within the system. Each one designated a value. A worth. A place. A spectrum of desirability. We dispose of the past. Things are made to break, people are broken, for they are meant to be broken, for the health of the system, for the system is not designed to benefit anyone, and successfully does not. We will drown in our own garbage. If the consumer wasteland does not get us, the ideological wasteland will. We fight for our own downfall. We cling to illusions. As we praise the greatness of the age. We are amused to death. Circus sans bread.