Because John Walker insisted, you get this update. Just so you know who to send the blame-mail to.
The following is the script of something I've just finally got around to starting to write. After the Bristol con this year, someone asked me if I had any particularly vile story ideas for something or another he was planning. I said, sure. How about... well, this idea.
Obvious notes: Script is written for an artist I'd probably know rather than a company, so I'm a little more idiosyncratic in my panel descriptions. And, as last time, this is first take on everything and hasn't been within a square mile of a proofreader.
It's all set up. It's a clearly delusional fantasia with the real world warped to suit my purposes. It is, even in these pages, somewhat Wrong with a capital "What is he thinking?".
See what you think.
Five page wide panels.
A darkened lecture hall, from the perspective of someone sitting in the audience. We can make out the rough details of the layout – essentially a table and a blank projector screen behind it. A man’s silhouette stands centre stage, behind the desk, leaning on it.
He forms a dynamic silhouette, prepared to perform rather than slumping.
MAN: THANKS FOR COMING.
Lights up. All details revealed.
The man keeps the same pose, looking directly out at us. This is MR SATIABLE, famous porn-director turned recluse. He’s smiling, somewhat sinisterly directly at us. He’s dressed in a cheap suit, a Stetson hat and a ludicrously over-developed moustache. In one hand is a pointing stick. The other contains a remote control device for controlling his presentation.
The screen behind him is, currently, blank.
MR SATIABLE: I’M MR. SATIABLE, BUT CALL ME JUSTIN.
MR SATIABLE: YOU MAY KNOW ME FROM MY WORKS IN THE EIGHTIES, BUT FORGET ABOUT ALL THAT SHIT. IT’S HISTORY. I COME WITH A SIMPLE MESSAGE.
Same angle again.
The man raises his arms to empathise his point. The screen behind him clicks to a slide which prints the word “FUCKED” in giant letters behind him as a backdrop.
MR SATIABLE: THE PORN INDUSTRY IS FUCKED.
MR SATIABLE: YOUR PROFITS ARE DOWN. YOU CAN’T KEEP UP WITH WHAT THE EASTERN FETISH-FACTORIES ARE THROWING UP EVERY GOD-DAMN WEEK.
Angle again! The same. Oh yes.
The back-drop has changed to a graph. The only details we need to make out are the fact the Y-axis is labelled with a Dollar sign and the trend is steeply down as we progress across the X. Continuing his lecture, Justin turns to face the screen, pointing out elements on the graph with his back to us.
MR SATIABLE: WHEN I WAS STARTING UP, A LITTLE DVDA WAS EXTREME. BUT NOW UNLESS YOU’RE AT THE DRIPPING-SEMEN EDGE OF RESEARCH, YOU’RE NOTHING.
Same angle. Don’t worry, Artist. This is the only one of these I’ll be doing in this. I know you hate them so.
The screen is continuing to show the graph at the moment. Mr Satiable backs off to our right, while pointing his projector-device at the screen. Casual gesture.
MR SATIABLE: I’M HERE WITH THE ANSWER TO ALL YOUR PROBLEMS.
MR SATIABLE: BUT FIRST… INTELLIGENCE TEST. WATCH CLOSELY.
Five panels. First and last panels should be large and page width. The remaining three panels should be strung out between them.
The projector screen fills the panel.
On it, facing us, a man is fucking a chimp. From behind.
The man is leaning back, face in that porn grimace that’s either ecstasy, disgust or perhaps both. He’s naked, very hairy and carrying a pot belly. Big moustache. You’ve always had a part of you that wanted to draw a Ron Jeremy-style-fella, and this is it. The Chimp is female, and understandably somewhat agitated. It’s triangular shaped thin breasts hang directly down from its torso.
It’s a moving picture, so if it fits your style either motion lines and sound-effects (“Ook! Ook!”) would work well here. Fairly neutral angle on it all.
MR SATIABLE (OFF): WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS?
Back on the audience view of the event. Mr Satiable is caught, looking down at the response coming from the audience. His expression is one of expectancy crushed into disappointment.
AUDIENCE (OFF): ER… IT’S A DUDE FUCKING A CHIMP
Mr Satiable slaps his head, leaning against the screen, his other hand reaching up to caress the images. The projection splays over him.
MR SATIABLE: NO!
MR SATIABLE: THIS IS BEAUTIFUL!
Close on the Chimps face, with Mr Satiable leaning inches away from her lips. Extremely close. Distorted slightly. Animal porn-face next to image-flecked Man-face.
MR SATIABLE: HE’S INTO IT. SHE’S INTO IT. MOST FUN SHE’S HAD IN YEARS. FREE OF CAPTIVITY. FREE OF INHIBITIONS. SHE’S A NATURAL. SHE’S A BEAST.
MR SATIABLE: SO WHY DOESN’T THIS SELL MORE?
Close on those hanging, triangular chimp tits. A much detail as you can will yourself to. We have the title of the script and the author details framed beneath it.
MR SATIABLE OFF: LET ME TELL YOU: HER TITS ARE SHIT.
WRITER: KIERON GILLEN
ARTIST: ARTIST McARTIST
Kieron Gillen's Workblog, foo'.