Razor Dildo

Contributor: Paul Tristram

- -
I was walking down by a stream today (Look it doesn’t fucking matter which stream it was, it was just a stream, alright!) When I decided to take myself a well earned rest upon a vacant wooden bench (Look it doesn’t fucking matter which side of the stream the vacant wooden bench was on, it was just a vacant wooden bench, alright!)
So I sat there for awhile, just carelessly wishing that I had a hammer and a few dozen nails with me because I’ve given up smoking for eight days and every time that I stop still for more than a second my hands become possessed by something, I am serious they start break dancing and signalling to nothing and nobody, they start chopping invisible paper right there before my eyes, not in an exact straight line, in more of a slope?
So the hammer and nails were for me to nail my bastard hands down each side of me, into the wooden bench (Look it doesn’t matter what I would have used to nail the second hand down after the first was securely in place because I would have improvised, used my head or something.
When I noticed a couple sitting down on the bank with their bare feet dangling into the cold, refreshing stream.
The boy turned to the girl and excitedly said, “Look there in the water, it’s something alive and swimming!”
“Where by exactly and what on earth is it?” replied the girl.
“It’s some kind of small fish; it’s a bit like a goldfish, only it’s not gold, it’s thinner and longer and it’s free or something!” replied the boy knowingly.
“My, you are clever!” replied the girl proudly.
“Do you know what Idris? You could be on one of them nature programmes that they have on TV, if you really wanted
to, you know the ones that go and talk about whales and things like that, really close up like, coz I bet you know what a whale is, don’t you Idris?”
“Oh that’s easy!” replied Idris.
“Fucking piece of piss, they’re big fucking things, a bit like a goldfish only bigger and they’re not gold and they eat boats and shit!” replied Idris, still knowingly.
The girl leaned in close and kissed him and then said.
“You are clever Idris, but I do wish you wouldn’t swear like that, especially in public, there’s someone sitting behind us on that wooden bench!”
“Oh, don’t worry about him Samantha!” replied Idris.
“Look he’s not taking a blind bit of notice of us, he’s too busy beating his right hand up with that fence post!”
“Oh yes!” exclaimed Samantha with a sudden distaste in her mouth. (Apparently Idris was having a little trouble with wind)
“Let’s ignore him and try and find that fish again!”
“Ah, there it is!” yelled Idris excitedly, making sure to keep his arse down wind.
“Shall I leap in, you know, just like Tarzan would and wrestle the savage motherfucker up onto the bank?” asked Idris eagerly, he was so eager that he was now half erect.
“No you silly fool, what the hell would you want to do that for?” scowled Samantha.
“Savage motherfucker indeed, the thing’s barely bigger than my thumb, and sit yourself down, for Christ sake, you’re making a spectacle of yourself, you’re all sticking out in the front, oh my God, are you like that over that fish? oh my God, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, what with the stench coming from your behind aswell!”
“I’m sorry but I can’t help it, I just get carried away sometimes!”
said Idris with a frown, his shorts now back to their normal shape.
And that is how I left them, as I walked off towards home, after still not having smoked, drank or taken any drugs in eight days.

- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

0 Comments

Author: Paul Tristram

Contributor: Eric Hawthorn

- -
Nowhere in the world is our beloved art form more prevalent, or more vibrant, than in the great nation of Japan. Westerners take note: the Japanese are true innovators. Their particular advantage lies in the widespread use of animation, a medium whose exemption from the laws of reality remains less explored in the West. In “hentai”—that distinctly Japanese form of animation—we have the extreme close-up, the x-ray shot, forays into anthropomorphism and magical realism. And then there’s the archetypal Hentai Girl: neon hair, saucer eyes, dancing irises reflecting a minimum of three major light sources at any time. The Hentai Girl always possesses a near-metallic radiance (a shininess unmatched by the male characters, light reflection being a gender thing).

Continuing this noble Japanese tradition, Pussycat Danger Academy! is finally available in the States thanks to Red Cell Media. (I must also thank faithful B.R.D. contributor Aphrodite’s Mistress for providing an image of the film’s cover. She is a valued member of our community, despite her often-belligerent feminism.) Pussycat Danger Academy! is the latest from director T.A. Katarya of Mushroom Panic! fame. It takes place in Sensei Sumakura’s Academy for Girls, an elite boarding school that bears a striking resemblance to the private academy in Katarya’s classic Midnight Protrusion Party! The academy features a secret, torch-lit dungeon, which serves as a meeting place for the Council of Nine, a group of cloaked figures with nefarious intentions. It should be no surprise to hentai aficionados that this Academy for Girls, a campus of whites and pastels, has a murky dungeon. Every girls’ academy requires a dungeon for its more ominous proceedings.

The movie’s heroine, Miku-chan, is a neon-haired schoolgirl sporting a miniskirt, knee socks, and matching vest, which is the standard attire for a Hentai Girl. (Even Miku-chan’s teacher sports this schoolgirl attire, but with glasses and a peremptory hairdo to indicate her status as Sensei). We’re introduced to Miku-chan by the Council of Nine, which discusses her “very super abilities and power [sic],” as well as the “much wonderful evils and powerful ability [sic]” they will derive from her. The Council of Nine views their subject via a camera hidden in her dorm room, which the C of 9 calls “her academy girls domicile of residents and living [sic sic sic sic sic].”

Cut to the Academy Girls Domicile Of Residents And Living. Miku-chan—unaware of her surveillance, of course—is experimenting with her new Osaku Fun Toy! The device features the image of “Goodnight Kitty,” Katarya’s rendition of a certain cultural icon. Predictably, the Osaku Fun Toy! goes berserk, effecting a whirlwind of strewn debris and cartoon flailing, after which Miku-chan discovers her Osaku Fun Toy! is stuck. Upset, she cries approximately 80 gallons of geyser-like tears, flooding the room. (The Osaku Fun Toy! problem is never actually resolved; presumably, it remains intractably stuck for the rest of the film. This doesn’t seem to present an issue.) Her dorm room, accustomed to such torrential grief, quickly drains.

Like most hentai directors, Katarya has a casual approach to plausibility. Explanations or justifications would only taint his work with reality, so no rationale is provided for how Miku-chan generates so many tears, nor why her roommate, Neko-san, is dressed like a cat (and uses very cat-like motions, and purrs). Presumably, a girls’ academy would not require students to don animal costumes. But the catgirl is essential to this genre and beyond the need for explanation (variations of this leitmotif include the dogboy and bunnygirl). Nor do we require an explanation for Neko-san’s tragicomic final scene, in which she is accosted by the Council of Nine’s “Death Minions Of Other Dimension [sic].” The Death Minions Of Other Dimension are a mob of giant, aggressive cephalopods. They attack Neko-san in a prolonged and cephalopodous way, then throw her down a ventilation duct. When Neko-san emerges, we see that she has transformed into a butterfly.

Not a cat, per her costume, but a butterfly. In part, this is likely the error of an underpaid Korean storyboard artist, but the compounded absurdity matters little to an experienced hentai viewer. The world of Pussycat Danger Academy!, and hentai in general, is altogether separate from the reality we know. I was pondering this fact during a classroom scene, in which Sensei Akari—whose glasses and peremptory haircut identify her as a teacher—drops her ruler. Sensei Akari must bend over—way, way over—to pick it up. This takes about ten minutes.

To imply that the hentai universe reflects our reality would suggest that its art and adventures symbolize true-life conditions. But in Pussycat Danger Academy!, a teacher is denoted by glasses and a peremptory haircut simply because all teachers in this genre are denoted by glasses and a peremptory haircut, just as all Death Minions Of Other Dimension are denoted by cephalopodous tentacles. These are strictly genre conventions, their deeper symbolism irrelevant. As Baudrillard explained, symbols derive their meaning through their relationships to other symbols (Simulacra and Simulations, 1992). As such, the Japanese use details such as shininess and neon hair and knee socks—through symbolic association—to indicate the Feminine, just as they use tentacles and murky dungeons to symbolize the Villainous.

Consider the Blush. When a hentai girl blushes (and they all blush, being very bashful creatures) it is easy to suppose such a blush emblematic of shame or discomfort, but this seemingly universal Sign Of Not Having Fun has taken on a different significance here. The Blush has undergone a Baudrillardian detachment from its original meaning. Now, by genre consensus, characters Having Fun (and we must assume they are) nonetheless exhibit the red-cheeked Sign Of Not Having Fun. Thus, when Miku-chan or Neko-san blushes, while assailed by tentacled Death Minions, we the audience must assume she is Having Fun.

By the time I reached this insight, Sensei Akari, still in her classroom, had almost finished retrieving her dropped ruler. She was also beginning to blush.

Pussycat Danger Academy!, and hentai in general, are extremely effective means of detachment. This art form features so many permutations, so many departures from the reality we know, the viewer undergoes a sort of out-of-body experience. To emerge from such a state is quite jarring. As usual, when I finished watching this film, my back was sore, my legs stiff. Squeaky Japanese voices echoed on. I ran my finger over the wood grain of my desk, rearranged the box of tissues, and tried to peer out the fogged windows. It took a while for my eyes to readjust to the dullness of everyday color.

Fortunately, there were other films to review. (Four stars)

- - -
Eric Hawthorn thinks Razor Dildo is a killer name for a lit journal. His piece, "Pussycat Danger Academy!," is an excerpt from The Backroom Diaspora, an experimental novella about friendship and porn. It's available for free at thebackroomdiaspora.blogspot.com

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.