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CAST (in order of appearance)
Pro Evo
Grix Thraves
Goatboy
Sheepy
Edgy
RastaBillySkank
er-no
Sniper
Wookie Monster
FantasyMeister
Your Honour
A physically large man, Pro Evo - sweaty brow, bag bursting with games - leans forward, smiling.
“Could you sign it ‘To a really big fan’!”
Grix sits at a table across from the barely-managing- to-stand man. He offers him a patronizingly kind, half-smile in return.
“You bet.”
We're at a computer games show, specifically at a game signing. Behind Grix hangs a large banner, heralding Grix Thraves and Goatboy. Beside it is a large mock-up of a video game cover which features two stoner super-heroes who bear a striking resemblance to a pair of very familiar friendly Notables. Grix hands the game back to the fan.
“I love this game man! I wish I was like these guys - getting stoned, talking all raw about chicks and fighting supervillains! I love these guys! They're like `Cheech and Chong' meet `Bill and Ted'!”
“I like to think of them as `Rosencrantz and Guildenstern' meet `Vladimir and Estragon'.”
“Yeah…who?”
Goatboy signs the game of another collector, Sheepy.
“So you drew this cover?”
“I ink it and I'm also the colorist. The guy next to me draws it.”
“What's that mean - you `ink it'!”
“Well. It means that Grix draws the pictures in pencil, and then he gives it to me to go over in ink.”
“So you just trace?”
Goatboy freezes up. He composes himself and continues signing.
“It's not tracing. I add depth and shading to give the image mere definition. Only then does the drawing really take shape.”
“You go over what he draws with a pen - that's tracing.”
He hands the game back to Sheepy.
“Not really. Next!”
A little kid, Edgy, steps up but Sheepy lingers.
“Hey man. If somebody draws something and then you draw the same thing right on top of it, not going out-side the designated original art what do call that?”
“I don't know. Tracing?”
“See?”
“It's not tracing.”
“Oh, but it is.”
“Do you want your game signed or what?”
“Hey - don't get all testy with him just because you have a problem with your station in life.”
“I'm secure with what I do.”
“Then say it - you're a tracer.”
He grabs Edgy’s game.
“How should I sign this?”
“I don't want you to sign it, I want the guy that draws Grix and Goatboy to sign it. You're just a tracer.”
“Tell him, little shaver.”
Grix accepts a game from another fan.
“Who do I sign it to?”
Before Grix can finish, a loud crash is heard. He looks to his left and freaks. Goatboy is throttling Sheepy from across the table. Sheepy attempts to fight him off. Security guards pull them apart. Grix grabs Goatboy.
“Jesus! All I did was call him a tracer!”
“I'LL TRACE A CHALK LINE AROUND YOUR DEAD BODY!”
“Could you get him out of here?”
The security guards drag Sheepy away.
“Hey, wait a sec! He jumped me! And you're dragging me away? Bloody tracer!”
“YOUR MOTHER'S A TRACER!”
“Can I explain the audience principle to you? If you insult and accost them, then we have no audience.”
RastaBillySkank fills the frame. He comes off like a typical, pro-black/anti-white homeboy.
“For years in this industry whenever an African-American character - hero or villain - was introduced usually by white artists and developers - they got slapped with racist names that singled them out as Negroes: Vulcan Raven for instance…”
We're at a panel discussion. The room is full. Five creators sit at a long table, their names on placards in front of them. The banner behind them reads `WORDS UP - MINORITY VOICES IN GAMING'.
“Now my game, `White-Hating Coon', doesn't have any of that bull. The hero's name is Maleekwa, and he's a descendant of the black tribe that established the first society on the planet, while all you Europeans were still hiding in caves, all terrified of the sun. He's a strong role model that a young black gamer can look up to, `Cause I'm here to tell you - the chickens are comin' home to roost, ya'll: the black man's no longer gonna play the minstrel in the medium of gaming and Sci-Fi/Fantasy! We're keeping it real, and we're gonna get respect - by any means necessary!”
During the speech, Grix and Goatboy enter and sit up front.
“Lando Calrissian was a black man, and he got to fly the Millennium Falcon!”
Rasta whips his head around, looking for the source of the comment.
“Who said that?”
“I did! Lando Calrissian is a positive black role model in the realm of Science Fiction/Fantasy.”
“Screw Lando Calrissian! Always some white boy gotta invoke `the holy trilogy'! Bust this - those movies are about how the white man keeps the brother man down – even in a galaxy far, far away. Check this. You got cracker farm-boy Luke Skywalker, Nazi poster boy - blond hair, blue eyes. And then you've got Darth Vader: the blackest brother in the galaxy. Nubian God.”
“What's a Nubian?”
“Shut up. Now Vader, he's a spiritual brother, with the force and all that. Then this cracker Skywalker gets his hands on a light-saber, and the boy decides he's gonna run the universe – gets a whole clan of whites together, and they're gonna bust up Vader's `hood the Death Star. Now what do you call that?”
“Intergalactic Civil War!”
“Gentrification. They're gonna drive our the black element, to make the galaxy quote, unquote `safe' for white folks.”
“But Vader turns out to be Luke's father. And in Jedi, they become friends.”
“Don't make me bust a cap in your ace, yo! Jedi's the most insulting installment, because Vader's beautiful, black visage is sullied when he pulls off his mask to reveal a feeble, crusty white man! They're trying to tell us that deep inside, we all want to be white!”
“Well isn't that true?”
Rasta explodes; he pulls a nine-millimeter from his belt, draws on Goatboy and fires. Goatboy goes down, falling forward into the crowd. The crowd scream and starts to scatter. Rasta jumps over the table and raises his fists in the air.
“BLACK RAGE! BLACK RAGE!! I'LL KILL ANY WHITE FOLKS I LAY MY EYES ON!”
The crowd is gone. Grix sits in his chair, laughing. Rasta steps off the stage and picks Goatboy’s head up off the floor.
“`What's a Nubian?’ You almost made me laugh!”
Rasta sounds different Actually, he sounds gay. Actually - he is. Goatboy smiles.
“Well what about you! You didn't tell me you were going to scream `Black Rage'.”
“How do you manage to get away with this all the time? Shouldn't cops be busting your head open right about now?”
“Well this right here - she full of blanks, okay.”
“Your publisher condones these theatrics?”
“Condones? Honey, they insist. I need to sell the image to sell the game. Would the audience still buy the `Black Rage' angle if they found out the game was written by a…a.…”
“F****t?”
“When you say it, it sounds so sexy.”
He kisses Goatboy full on the lips.
“Hey, hey! I'll play your victim, but not your catcher.”
Rasta turns to see a beautiful, blonde, ruffled-haired angel swinging his purse in a circle. His name is er-no. He is Rasta’s boyfriend.
“This pile of P.M.S. is er-no. He did that game `Idiosyncratic Routine'. Even though he knows my publisher sets this up and pays for the event, he still gets mad when it ends with my act.”
“I just wish I was the one who gets to shoot you.”
“I told er-no I'd buy him a post-rave drink. Can you two stay for a round in the big, scary city?”
“We're gonna take off soon...”
“We'll go.”
Goatboy offers Grix a puzzled glance.
“We'll go.”
We are now at a cheesy club with Grix, Goatboy, Rasta and er-no. A man, Sniper, is up on the stage.
“This is for that special someone our there.”
Grix smiles. Goatboy joins him, both of them showing their gay sides. The band starts playing. Sniper launches into a torchy tune. The song is extremely sexy - as is Sniper who works the mic, making direct eye contact with Grix. Or does he? Grix is smiling, being seduced, Goatboy rolls his eyes. Beside Grix, stands a man with a short haircut, Wookie Monster, who’s also riveted by Sniper’s performance. Sniper makes big-time eye contact with somebody out there. The song seems to be aimed at whoever he’s looking at. It’s more than obvious there’s a seduction going on, but of whom? At the end of the song, the crowd goes wild but Sniper’s preoccupied. He points to someone in the crowd, and curls his finger back in a ‘c’mere’ fashion, urging whomever it is to join her. He jumps off the stage. Grix shakes his head sheepishly and looks downward, aw-shucks style. At that moment, Wookie leaps forward. Goatboy’s eyes widen. Grix looks up and is suddenly taken aback. Sniper and Wookie race into each other’s arms and fall into a way-too-passionate-to-mean-anything-else kiss. Grix’s eyes bug. Goatboy allows a smile to creep across his face. The crowd applauds. Goatboy looks around, and for the first time, we get the distinct impression that this is a gay bar.
“Now that, my friend, is a shared moment.”
Grix, Goatboy, Rasta and er-no decided to stay in the bar for a little, and talk to a few people. FantasyMeister is the man in question. We meet them mid-conversation. Goatboy is speaking to FM.
“And that’s all I’m saying, it’d be different if chicks helped out - pointed a guy in the right direction. Then there’d be no wasted time, and no chance for permanent injuries.”
“Permanent injuries?”
“Sure. You wanna see something permanent?”
Goatboy pulls out his front tooth.
“I got this from Nina Rollins. I’m going down on her, and out of nowhere, her cat jumps on her stomach. She does this big ol’ pelvic thrust - cracks my tooth in half, sends it down my throat. I had to get a crown for the stub.”
“I got that beat.”
“I’m going down on some guy in his dorm room after we went club-hopping. I’m totally drunk, and in the middle of it, I fall asleep - right there in his lap. He got so mad, he digs his heel into my back, right there.”
FM points to a scar.
“That’s permanent.”
“You see this!”
Goatboy points to his neck.
“That’s the farthest I can move my neck to the right. I’m going out with Maria Bennert, and for six months, I’m going down on her, and not a damn thing’s happening. Then one night, I change a position, or vary my lapping-speed, and suddenly it’s a whole new world. She’s moving around, convulsing, breathing heavy. And her legs are pressing against my ears so tightly that I don’t hear her father come into the room. He grabs my hair and he pulls me way back, hard.”
FM throws up his leg and pulls back his trousers.
“I’m eating out a dude in his brother’s car. He’s lying across the back seat, and I’m half-hanging out of the car, my knees on the ground. He’s flailing around, and he knocks the parking brake off. The car starts rolling down the hill, and my right knee is cut up like a kiddy’s scissor class cut it up for paper dolls.”
“Goatboy and FM laugh. Holden looks at a small scar on his arm and thinks better about mentioning it.”
And so the conversation continues.
The four are now exiting the club, the time being very late, when they come across someone else leaving who catches their eye, his name is Your Honour. Grix gets the first word in.
“Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why men?”
“Why women?”
“Because that’s the standard.”
“If that’s the only reason you’re attracted to women - because it’s the standard…”
“It’s more than that.”
“So you’ve never been curious about men?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“No interest.”
“Because?”
“Girls feel right.”
“And that’s how I feel about guys. I’ve never really been attracted to women. I’m more comfortable with the idea of guys.”
“Wait, wait, wait - you’re still a virgin?”
“No.”
“But you’ve only been with guys.”
“You’re saying a person’s a virgin until they’ve had intercourse with a member of the opposite sex?”
“Isn’t that the standard definition?”
“Again with the standards. I think virginity is lost when you make love for the first time.”
“With a member of the opposite sex.”
“Why? Why only then?”
“Because that’s the standard.”
“So if a virgin is raped, then she’s still a virgin?”
“Of course not.”
“But rape is not the standard. So she’s had sex, but not the standard idea of sex. Hence, according to your definition, she’d still be a virgin.”
“Okay, I’ll revise. Virginity is lost when the hymen is broken.”
“Then my sister lost her virginity at ten, because she fell on a fence post when she was ten, and it broke her hymen. Now she has to tell people that she lost it to a wooden post she’d known her whole young life?”
“Second revision - virginity is lost through penetration.”
“Physical penetration or emotional?”
“Emotional?”
“Well, I fell in love hard with Ricky Clarke when we were in high school.”
“Physical penetration.”
“We had sex.”
“Yeah, but not real sex.”
“I move to have that remark stricken from the record. On account of it makes you come off as completely naďve and infantile.”
And so the debate continued on.
Goatboy and Grix are getting ready for a game signing aboard. Grix enters. Goatboy tries to balance way-too-much luggage.
“Look at you. It’s a two day trip.”
“I got the Sega in one bag, my clothes in the other, and two months worth of unplayed games in this one.”
“We’re going to a convention, for the love of God. We’ll be busy from ten ‘till eight each day. When are you possibly going to have time for any of that? In fact, you’re leaving some of this here in a locker. Come on – give me the two that aren’t clothes.”
“Hold on.”
Goatboy starts rifling through his bag.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to get something.”
Goatboy pulls out a huge stack of porno books.
“Who are you, Larry Flynt? What are you going to do with all of those?”
“Read the articles. What do you think I’m going to do with them? They’re stroke books.”
“You’ve got like thirty books there! We’re only there for two days!”
Goatboy continues to leaf through the magazines.
“Variety’s the spice of life. I like a wide selection. Sometimes I’m in the mood for nasty close-ups; sometimes I like them arty and airbrushed. Sometimes it’s a spread brown-eye kind of night; sometimes it’s girl-on-girl time. Sometimes a steamy letter will do it, sometimes - not often, but sometimes - I like the idea of a chick with a horse.”
A beeping sound is heard. Grix checks his beeper and walks off. Goatboy starts packing his magazines up. A little kid, Ant, enters, staring at him.
“What are those?”
Goatboy looks at Ant and back at the books.
“Do you like horsies?”
We are now at Goatboy and Grix’s apartment. Rasta is with them. Grix is talking.
“And when I did some serious soul-searching, it came at me from out of nowhere, and suddenly it all made sense - a calm came over me. I know what we have to do. And then you - Goaty, you Rasta, and I - all of us...can finally be...all right.”
“Please don’t say it.”
“We’ve all got to have sex together.”
The room is silent. Grix lights a cigarette. Goatboy’s eyes nearly bug. Rasta’s head drops.
“Don’t you see? That would take care of everything. None of us will resent Rasta for being gay! This will keep us together. What do you say?”
Goatboy stares forward, wide-eyed. He leans back into the couch and lets out a huge sigh. Then shrugs.
“Sure.”
Grix smiles at his friend. Then he looks at Rasta.
“You know I need this. You know it’ll help.”
Rasta looks at him, sadly.
“No.”
Grix reacts and a shocked Goatboy lets out a sigh of relief.
“No? I...I thought you’d be into this.”
“You did? What does that say about me?”
“But you’ve...you’ve done...stuff...like this. This should be no big deal for you.”
“You don’t want this. You really don’t want this. Trust me. I can’t.”
“You can. I’ll be there. And when it’s over, we’ll be the strongest we’ve ever been because we got through some nasty stuff together. And we’ll finally be on the same level together. And then there’ll be nothing we can’t accomplish.”
A tear rolls down his cheek. He looks at him, sadly, and touches his face.
“Oh Grix. That time is over for me. I’ve been there. I’ve done it. And I didn’t find what I was looking for in any of it.”
Grix and Goatboy look on in shock.
“Oh. So…does this mean you’re not gay?”
“Yep.”
Grix faints.
The End.
Pro Evo went on to become a millionaire in 20 years time from his extensive collection of games, which he sold for extortionate prices. He bought a jumbo jet, stocked with food, drink and music. However, he forgot to stock it with a pilot and it crashed soon after takeoff.
Grix Thraves is currently in a coma from fainting.
Goatboy is still touring over the world, signing games for people, basically living his normal life.
Sheepy is plotting his revenge against Goatboy.
Edgy is going through puberty.
RastaBillySkank, out of guilt, stands a silent vigil at Grix’s side.
They have never been happier…
And remember, Notability is for life, not just for Christmas.
Pro Evo
Grix Thraves
Goatboy
Sheepy
Edgy
RastaBillySkank
er-no
Sniper
Wookie Monster
FantasyMeister
Your Honour
A physically large man, Pro Evo - sweaty brow, bag bursting with games - leans forward, smiling.
“Could you sign it ‘To a really big fan’!”
Grix sits at a table across from the barely-managing- to-stand man. He offers him a patronizingly kind, half-smile in return.
“You bet.”
We're at a computer games show, specifically at a game signing. Behind Grix hangs a large banner, heralding Grix Thraves and Goatboy. Beside it is a large mock-up of a video game cover which features two stoner super-heroes who bear a striking resemblance to a pair of very familiar friendly Notables. Grix hands the game back to the fan.
“I love this game man! I wish I was like these guys - getting stoned, talking all raw about chicks and fighting supervillains! I love these guys! They're like `Cheech and Chong' meet `Bill and Ted'!”
“I like to think of them as `Rosencrantz and Guildenstern' meet `Vladimir and Estragon'.”
“Yeah…who?”
Goatboy signs the game of another collector, Sheepy.
“So you drew this cover?”
“I ink it and I'm also the colorist. The guy next to me draws it.”
“What's that mean - you `ink it'!”
“Well. It means that Grix draws the pictures in pencil, and then he gives it to me to go over in ink.”
“So you just trace?”
Goatboy freezes up. He composes himself and continues signing.
“It's not tracing. I add depth and shading to give the image mere definition. Only then does the drawing really take shape.”
“You go over what he draws with a pen - that's tracing.”
He hands the game back to Sheepy.
“Not really. Next!”
A little kid, Edgy, steps up but Sheepy lingers.
“Hey man. If somebody draws something and then you draw the same thing right on top of it, not going out-side the designated original art what do call that?”
“I don't know. Tracing?”
“See?”
“It's not tracing.”
“Oh, but it is.”
“Do you want your game signed or what?”
“Hey - don't get all testy with him just because you have a problem with your station in life.”
“I'm secure with what I do.”
“Then say it - you're a tracer.”
He grabs Edgy’s game.
“How should I sign this?”
“I don't want you to sign it, I want the guy that draws Grix and Goatboy to sign it. You're just a tracer.”
“Tell him, little shaver.”
Grix accepts a game from another fan.
“Who do I sign it to?”
Before Grix can finish, a loud crash is heard. He looks to his left and freaks. Goatboy is throttling Sheepy from across the table. Sheepy attempts to fight him off. Security guards pull them apart. Grix grabs Goatboy.
“Jesus! All I did was call him a tracer!”
“I'LL TRACE A CHALK LINE AROUND YOUR DEAD BODY!”
“Could you get him out of here?”
The security guards drag Sheepy away.
“Hey, wait a sec! He jumped me! And you're dragging me away? Bloody tracer!”
“YOUR MOTHER'S A TRACER!”
“Can I explain the audience principle to you? If you insult and accost them, then we have no audience.”
RastaBillySkank fills the frame. He comes off like a typical, pro-black/anti-white homeboy.
“For years in this industry whenever an African-American character - hero or villain - was introduced usually by white artists and developers - they got slapped with racist names that singled them out as Negroes: Vulcan Raven for instance…”
We're at a panel discussion. The room is full. Five creators sit at a long table, their names on placards in front of them. The banner behind them reads `WORDS UP - MINORITY VOICES IN GAMING'.
“Now my game, `White-Hating Coon', doesn't have any of that bull. The hero's name is Maleekwa, and he's a descendant of the black tribe that established the first society on the planet, while all you Europeans were still hiding in caves, all terrified of the sun. He's a strong role model that a young black gamer can look up to, `Cause I'm here to tell you - the chickens are comin' home to roost, ya'll: the black man's no longer gonna play the minstrel in the medium of gaming and Sci-Fi/Fantasy! We're keeping it real, and we're gonna get respect - by any means necessary!”
During the speech, Grix and Goatboy enter and sit up front.
“Lando Calrissian was a black man, and he got to fly the Millennium Falcon!”
Rasta whips his head around, looking for the source of the comment.
“Who said that?”
“I did! Lando Calrissian is a positive black role model in the realm of Science Fiction/Fantasy.”
“Screw Lando Calrissian! Always some white boy gotta invoke `the holy trilogy'! Bust this - those movies are about how the white man keeps the brother man down – even in a galaxy far, far away. Check this. You got cracker farm-boy Luke Skywalker, Nazi poster boy - blond hair, blue eyes. And then you've got Darth Vader: the blackest brother in the galaxy. Nubian God.”
“What's a Nubian?”
“Shut up. Now Vader, he's a spiritual brother, with the force and all that. Then this cracker Skywalker gets his hands on a light-saber, and the boy decides he's gonna run the universe – gets a whole clan of whites together, and they're gonna bust up Vader's `hood the Death Star. Now what do you call that?”
“Intergalactic Civil War!”
“Gentrification. They're gonna drive our the black element, to make the galaxy quote, unquote `safe' for white folks.”
“But Vader turns out to be Luke's father. And in Jedi, they become friends.”
“Don't make me bust a cap in your ace, yo! Jedi's the most insulting installment, because Vader's beautiful, black visage is sullied when he pulls off his mask to reveal a feeble, crusty white man! They're trying to tell us that deep inside, we all want to be white!”
“Well isn't that true?”
Rasta explodes; he pulls a nine-millimeter from his belt, draws on Goatboy and fires. Goatboy goes down, falling forward into the crowd. The crowd scream and starts to scatter. Rasta jumps over the table and raises his fists in the air.
“BLACK RAGE! BLACK RAGE!! I'LL KILL ANY WHITE FOLKS I LAY MY EYES ON!”
The crowd is gone. Grix sits in his chair, laughing. Rasta steps off the stage and picks Goatboy’s head up off the floor.
“`What's a Nubian?’ You almost made me laugh!”
Rasta sounds different Actually, he sounds gay. Actually - he is. Goatboy smiles.
“Well what about you! You didn't tell me you were going to scream `Black Rage'.”
“How do you manage to get away with this all the time? Shouldn't cops be busting your head open right about now?”
“Well this right here - she full of blanks, okay.”
“Your publisher condones these theatrics?”
“Condones? Honey, they insist. I need to sell the image to sell the game. Would the audience still buy the `Black Rage' angle if they found out the game was written by a…a.…”
“F****t?”
“When you say it, it sounds so sexy.”
He kisses Goatboy full on the lips.
“Hey, hey! I'll play your victim, but not your catcher.”
Rasta turns to see a beautiful, blonde, ruffled-haired angel swinging his purse in a circle. His name is er-no. He is Rasta’s boyfriend.
“This pile of P.M.S. is er-no. He did that game `Idiosyncratic Routine'. Even though he knows my publisher sets this up and pays for the event, he still gets mad when it ends with my act.”
“I just wish I was the one who gets to shoot you.”
“I told er-no I'd buy him a post-rave drink. Can you two stay for a round in the big, scary city?”
“We're gonna take off soon...”
“We'll go.”
Goatboy offers Grix a puzzled glance.
“We'll go.”
We are now at a cheesy club with Grix, Goatboy, Rasta and er-no. A man, Sniper, is up on the stage.
“This is for that special someone our there.”
Grix smiles. Goatboy joins him, both of them showing their gay sides. The band starts playing. Sniper launches into a torchy tune. The song is extremely sexy - as is Sniper who works the mic, making direct eye contact with Grix. Or does he? Grix is smiling, being seduced, Goatboy rolls his eyes. Beside Grix, stands a man with a short haircut, Wookie Monster, who’s also riveted by Sniper’s performance. Sniper makes big-time eye contact with somebody out there. The song seems to be aimed at whoever he’s looking at. It’s more than obvious there’s a seduction going on, but of whom? At the end of the song, the crowd goes wild but Sniper’s preoccupied. He points to someone in the crowd, and curls his finger back in a ‘c’mere’ fashion, urging whomever it is to join her. He jumps off the stage. Grix shakes his head sheepishly and looks downward, aw-shucks style. At that moment, Wookie leaps forward. Goatboy’s eyes widen. Grix looks up and is suddenly taken aback. Sniper and Wookie race into each other’s arms and fall into a way-too-passionate-to-mean-anything-else kiss. Grix’s eyes bug. Goatboy allows a smile to creep across his face. The crowd applauds. Goatboy looks around, and for the first time, we get the distinct impression that this is a gay bar.
“Now that, my friend, is a shared moment.”
Grix, Goatboy, Rasta and er-no decided to stay in the bar for a little, and talk to a few people. FantasyMeister is the man in question. We meet them mid-conversation. Goatboy is speaking to FM.
“And that’s all I’m saying, it’d be different if chicks helped out - pointed a guy in the right direction. Then there’d be no wasted time, and no chance for permanent injuries.”
“Permanent injuries?”
“Sure. You wanna see something permanent?”
Goatboy pulls out his front tooth.
“I got this from Nina Rollins. I’m going down on her, and out of nowhere, her cat jumps on her stomach. She does this big ol’ pelvic thrust - cracks my tooth in half, sends it down my throat. I had to get a crown for the stub.”
“I got that beat.”
“I’m going down on some guy in his dorm room after we went club-hopping. I’m totally drunk, and in the middle of it, I fall asleep - right there in his lap. He got so mad, he digs his heel into my back, right there.”
FM points to a scar.
“That’s permanent.”
“You see this!”
Goatboy points to his neck.
“That’s the farthest I can move my neck to the right. I’m going out with Maria Bennert, and for six months, I’m going down on her, and not a damn thing’s happening. Then one night, I change a position, or vary my lapping-speed, and suddenly it’s a whole new world. She’s moving around, convulsing, breathing heavy. And her legs are pressing against my ears so tightly that I don’t hear her father come into the room. He grabs my hair and he pulls me way back, hard.”
FM throws up his leg and pulls back his trousers.
“I’m eating out a dude in his brother’s car. He’s lying across the back seat, and I’m half-hanging out of the car, my knees on the ground. He’s flailing around, and he knocks the parking brake off. The car starts rolling down the hill, and my right knee is cut up like a kiddy’s scissor class cut it up for paper dolls.”
“Goatboy and FM laugh. Holden looks at a small scar on his arm and thinks better about mentioning it.”
And so the conversation continues.
The four are now exiting the club, the time being very late, when they come across someone else leaving who catches their eye, his name is Your Honour. Grix gets the first word in.
“Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why men?”
“Why women?”
“Because that’s the standard.”
“If that’s the only reason you’re attracted to women - because it’s the standard…”
“It’s more than that.”
“So you’ve never been curious about men?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“No interest.”
“Because?”
“Girls feel right.”
“And that’s how I feel about guys. I’ve never really been attracted to women. I’m more comfortable with the idea of guys.”
“Wait, wait, wait - you’re still a virgin?”
“No.”
“But you’ve only been with guys.”
“You’re saying a person’s a virgin until they’ve had intercourse with a member of the opposite sex?”
“Isn’t that the standard definition?”
“Again with the standards. I think virginity is lost when you make love for the first time.”
“With a member of the opposite sex.”
“Why? Why only then?”
“Because that’s the standard.”
“So if a virgin is raped, then she’s still a virgin?”
“Of course not.”
“But rape is not the standard. So she’s had sex, but not the standard idea of sex. Hence, according to your definition, she’d still be a virgin.”
“Okay, I’ll revise. Virginity is lost when the hymen is broken.”
“Then my sister lost her virginity at ten, because she fell on a fence post when she was ten, and it broke her hymen. Now she has to tell people that she lost it to a wooden post she’d known her whole young life?”
“Second revision - virginity is lost through penetration.”
“Physical penetration or emotional?”
“Emotional?”
“Well, I fell in love hard with Ricky Clarke when we were in high school.”
“Physical penetration.”
“We had sex.”
“Yeah, but not real sex.”
“I move to have that remark stricken from the record. On account of it makes you come off as completely naďve and infantile.”
And so the debate continued on.
Goatboy and Grix are getting ready for a game signing aboard. Grix enters. Goatboy tries to balance way-too-much luggage.
“Look at you. It’s a two day trip.”
“I got the Sega in one bag, my clothes in the other, and two months worth of unplayed games in this one.”
“We’re going to a convention, for the love of God. We’ll be busy from ten ‘till eight each day. When are you possibly going to have time for any of that? In fact, you’re leaving some of this here in a locker. Come on – give me the two that aren’t clothes.”
“Hold on.”
Goatboy starts rifling through his bag.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to get something.”
Goatboy pulls out a huge stack of porno books.
“Who are you, Larry Flynt? What are you going to do with all of those?”
“Read the articles. What do you think I’m going to do with them? They’re stroke books.”
“You’ve got like thirty books there! We’re only there for two days!”
Goatboy continues to leaf through the magazines.
“Variety’s the spice of life. I like a wide selection. Sometimes I’m in the mood for nasty close-ups; sometimes I like them arty and airbrushed. Sometimes it’s a spread brown-eye kind of night; sometimes it’s girl-on-girl time. Sometimes a steamy letter will do it, sometimes - not often, but sometimes - I like the idea of a chick with a horse.”
A beeping sound is heard. Grix checks his beeper and walks off. Goatboy starts packing his magazines up. A little kid, Ant, enters, staring at him.
“What are those?”
Goatboy looks at Ant and back at the books.
“Do you like horsies?”
We are now at Goatboy and Grix’s apartment. Rasta is with them. Grix is talking.
“And when I did some serious soul-searching, it came at me from out of nowhere, and suddenly it all made sense - a calm came over me. I know what we have to do. And then you - Goaty, you Rasta, and I - all of us...can finally be...all right.”
“Please don’t say it.”
“We’ve all got to have sex together.”
The room is silent. Grix lights a cigarette. Goatboy’s eyes nearly bug. Rasta’s head drops.
“Don’t you see? That would take care of everything. None of us will resent Rasta for being gay! This will keep us together. What do you say?”
Goatboy stares forward, wide-eyed. He leans back into the couch and lets out a huge sigh. Then shrugs.
“Sure.”
Grix smiles at his friend. Then he looks at Rasta.
“You know I need this. You know it’ll help.”
Rasta looks at him, sadly.
“No.”
Grix reacts and a shocked Goatboy lets out a sigh of relief.
“No? I...I thought you’d be into this.”
“You did? What does that say about me?”
“But you’ve...you’ve done...stuff...like this. This should be no big deal for you.”
“You don’t want this. You really don’t want this. Trust me. I can’t.”
“You can. I’ll be there. And when it’s over, we’ll be the strongest we’ve ever been because we got through some nasty stuff together. And we’ll finally be on the same level together. And then there’ll be nothing we can’t accomplish.”
A tear rolls down his cheek. He looks at him, sadly, and touches his face.
“Oh Grix. That time is over for me. I’ve been there. I’ve done it. And I didn’t find what I was looking for in any of it.”
Grix and Goatboy look on in shock.
“Oh. So…does this mean you’re not gay?”
“Yep.”
Grix faints.
The End.
Pro Evo went on to become a millionaire in 20 years time from his extensive collection of games, which he sold for extortionate prices. He bought a jumbo jet, stocked with food, drink and music. However, he forgot to stock it with a pilot and it crashed soon after takeoff.
Grix Thraves is currently in a coma from fainting.
Goatboy is still touring over the world, signing games for people, basically living his normal life.
Sheepy is plotting his revenge against Goatboy.
Edgy is going through puberty.
RastaBillySkank, out of guilt, stands a silent vigil at Grix’s side.
They have never been happier…
And remember, Notability is for life, not just for Christmas.
"something about amy" is thefilm i believe,whatever it was its from one of the silent bob and whats-his-name films
CAST (in order of appearance)
Pro Evo
Grix Thraves
Goatboy
Sheepy
Edgy
RastaBillySkank
er-no
Sniper
Wookie Monster
FantasyMeister
Your Honour
A physically large man, Pro Evo - sweaty brow, bag bursting with games - leans forward, smiling.
“Could you sign it ‘To a really big fan’!”
Grix sits at a table across from the barely-managing- to-stand man. He offers him a patronizingly kind, half-smile in return.
“You bet.”
We're at a computer games show, specifically at a game signing. Behind Grix hangs a large banner, heralding Grix Thraves and Goatboy. Beside it is a large mock-up of a video game cover which features two stoner super-heroes who bear a striking resemblance to a pair of very familiar friendly Notables. Grix hands the game back to the fan.
“I love this game man! I wish I was like these guys - getting stoned, talking all raw about chicks and fighting supervillains! I love these guys! They're like `Cheech and Chong' meet `Bill and Ted'!”
“I like to think of them as `Rosencrantz and Guildenstern' meet `Vladimir and Estragon'.”
“Yeah…who?”
Goatboy signs the game of another collector, Sheepy.
“So you drew this cover?”
“I ink it and I'm also the colorist. The guy next to me draws it.”
“What's that mean - you `ink it'!”
“Well. It means that Grix draws the pictures in pencil, and then he gives it to me to go over in ink.”
“So you just trace?”
Goatboy freezes up. He composes himself and continues signing.
“It's not tracing. I add depth and shading to give the image mere definition. Only then does the drawing really take shape.”
“You go over what he draws with a pen - that's tracing.”
He hands the game back to Sheepy.
“Not really. Next!”
A little kid, Edgy, steps up but Sheepy lingers.
“Hey man. If somebody draws something and then you draw the same thing right on top of it, not going out-side the designated original art what do call that?”
“I don't know. Tracing?”
“See?”
“It's not tracing.”
“Oh, but it is.”
“Do you want your game signed or what?”
“Hey - don't get all testy with him just because you have a problem with your station in life.”
“I'm secure with what I do.”
“Then say it - you're a tracer.”
He grabs Edgy’s game.
“How should I sign this?”
“I don't want you to sign it, I want the guy that draws Grix and Goatboy to sign it. You're just a tracer.”
“Tell him, little shaver.”
Grix accepts a game from another fan.
“Who do I sign it to?”
Before Grix can finish, a loud crash is heard. He looks to his left and freaks. Goatboy is throttling Sheepy from across the table. Sheepy attempts to fight him off. Security guards pull them apart. Grix grabs Goatboy.
“Jesus! All I did was call him a tracer!”
“I'LL TRACE A CHALK LINE AROUND YOUR DEAD BODY!”
“Could you get him out of here?”
The security guards drag Sheepy away.
“Hey, wait a sec! He jumped me! And you're dragging me away? Bloody tracer!”
“YOUR MOTHER'S A TRACER!”
“Can I explain the audience principle to you? If you insult and accost them, then we have no audience.”
RastaBillySkank fills the frame. He comes off like a typical, pro-black/anti-white homeboy.
“For years in this industry whenever an African-American character - hero or villain - was introduced usually by white artists and developers - they got slapped with racist names that singled them out as Negroes: Vulcan Raven for instance…”
We're at a panel discussion. The room is full. Five creators sit at a long table, their names on placards in front of them. The banner behind them reads `WORDS UP - MINORITY VOICES IN GAMING'.
“Now my game, `White-Hating Coon', doesn't have any of that bull. The hero's name is Maleekwa, and he's a descendant of the black tribe that established the first society on the planet, while all you Europeans were still hiding in caves, all terrified of the sun. He's a strong role model that a young black gamer can look up to, `Cause I'm here to tell you - the chickens are comin' home to roost, ya'll: the black man's no longer gonna play the minstrel in the medium of gaming and Sci-Fi/Fantasy! We're keeping it real, and we're gonna get respect - by any means necessary!”
During the speech, Grix and Goatboy enter and sit up front.
“Lando Calrissian was a black man, and he got to fly the Millennium Falcon!”
Rasta whips his head around, looking for the source of the comment.
“Who said that?”
“I did! Lando Calrissian is a positive black role model in the realm of Science Fiction/Fantasy.”
“Screw Lando Calrissian! Always some white boy gotta invoke `the holy trilogy'! Bust this - those movies are about how the white man keeps the brother man down – even in a galaxy far, far away. Check this. You got cracker farm-boy Luke Skywalker, Nazi poster boy - blond hair, blue eyes. And then you've got Darth Vader: the blackest brother in the galaxy. Nubian God.”
“What's a Nubian?”
“Shut up. Now Vader, he's a spiritual brother, with the force and all that. Then this cracker Skywalker gets his hands on a light-saber, and the boy decides he's gonna run the universe – gets a whole clan of whites together, and they're gonna bust up Vader's `hood the Death Star. Now what do you call that?”
“Intergalactic Civil War!”
“Gentrification. They're gonna drive our the black element, to make the galaxy quote, unquote `safe' for white folks.”
“But Vader turns out to be Luke's father. And in Jedi, they become friends.”
“Don't make me bust a cap in your ace, yo! Jedi's the most insulting installment, because Vader's beautiful, black visage is sullied when he pulls off his mask to reveal a feeble, crusty white man! They're trying to tell us that deep inside, we all want to be white!”
“Well isn't that true?”
Rasta explodes; he pulls a nine-millimeter from his belt, draws on Goatboy and fires. Goatboy goes down, falling forward into the crowd. The crowd scream and starts to scatter. Rasta jumps over the table and raises his fists in the air.
“BLACK RAGE! BLACK RAGE!! I'LL KILL ANY WHITE FOLKS I LAY MY EYES ON!”
The crowd is gone. Grix sits in his chair, laughing. Rasta steps off the stage and picks Goatboy’s head up off the floor.
“`What's a Nubian?’ You almost made me laugh!”
Rasta sounds different Actually, he sounds gay. Actually - he is. Goatboy smiles.
“Well what about you! You didn't tell me you were going to scream `Black Rage'.”
“How do you manage to get away with this all the time? Shouldn't cops be busting your head open right about now?”
“Well this right here - she full of blanks, okay.”
“Your publisher condones these theatrics?”
“Condones? Honey, they insist. I need to sell the image to sell the game. Would the audience still buy the `Black Rage' angle if they found out the game was written by a…a.…”
“F****t?”
“When you say it, it sounds so sexy.”
He kisses Goatboy full on the lips.
“Hey, hey! I'll play your victim, but not your catcher.”
Rasta turns to see a beautiful, blonde, ruffled-haired angel swinging his purse in a circle. His name is er-no. He is Rasta’s boyfriend.
“This pile of P.M.S. is er-no. He did that game `Idiosyncratic Routine'. Even though he knows my publisher sets this up and pays for the event, he still gets mad when it ends with my act.”
“I just wish I was the one who gets to shoot you.”
“I told er-no I'd buy him a post-rave drink. Can you two stay for a round in the big, scary city?”
“We're gonna take off soon...”
“We'll go.”
Goatboy offers Grix a puzzled glance.
“We'll go.”
We are now at a cheesy club with Grix, Goatboy, Rasta and er-no. A man, Sniper, is up on the stage.
“This is for that special someone our there.”
Grix smiles. Goatboy joins him, both of them showing their gay sides. The band starts playing. Sniper launches into a torchy tune. The song is extremely sexy - as is Sniper who works the mic, making direct eye contact with Grix. Or does he? Grix is smiling, being seduced, Goatboy rolls his eyes. Beside Grix, stands a man with a short haircut, Wookie Monster, who’s also riveted by Sniper’s performance. Sniper makes big-time eye contact with somebody out there. The song seems to be aimed at whoever he’s looking at. It’s more than obvious there’s a seduction going on, but of whom? At the end of the song, the crowd goes wild but Sniper’s preoccupied. He points to someone in the crowd, and curls his finger back in a ‘c’mere’ fashion, urging whomever it is to join her. He jumps off the stage. Grix shakes his head sheepishly and looks downward, aw-shucks style. At that moment, Wookie leaps forward. Goatboy’s eyes widen. Grix looks up and is suddenly taken aback. Sniper and Wookie race into each other’s arms and fall into a way-too-passionate-to-mean-anything-else kiss. Grix’s eyes bug. Goatboy allows a smile to creep across his face. The crowd applauds. Goatboy looks around, and for the first time, we get the distinct impression that this is a gay bar.
“Now that, my friend, is a shared moment.”
Grix, Goatboy, Rasta and er-no decided to stay in the bar for a little, and talk to a few people. FantasyMeister is the man in question. We meet them mid-conversation. Goatboy is speaking to FM.
“And that’s all I’m saying, it’d be different if chicks helped out - pointed a guy in the right direction. Then there’d be no wasted time, and no chance for permanent injuries.”
“Permanent injuries?”
“Sure. You wanna see something permanent?”
Goatboy pulls out his front tooth.
“I got this from Nina Rollins. I’m going down on her, and out of nowhere, her cat jumps on her stomach. She does this big ol’ pelvic thrust - cracks my tooth in half, sends it down my throat. I had to get a crown for the stub.”
“I got that beat.”
“I’m going down on some guy in his dorm room after we went club-hopping. I’m totally drunk, and in the middle of it, I fall asleep - right there in his lap. He got so mad, he digs his heel into my back, right there.”
FM points to a scar.
“That’s permanent.”
“You see this!”
Goatboy points to his neck.
“That’s the farthest I can move my neck to the right. I’m going out with Maria Bennert, and for six months, I’m going down on her, and not a damn thing’s happening. Then one night, I change a position, or vary my lapping-speed, and suddenly it’s a whole new world. She’s moving around, convulsing, breathing heavy. And her legs are pressing against my ears so tightly that I don’t hear her father come into the room. He grabs my hair and he pulls me way back, hard.”
FM throws up his leg and pulls back his trousers.
“I’m eating out a dude in his brother’s car. He’s lying across the back seat, and I’m half-hanging out of the car, my knees on the ground. He’s flailing around, and he knocks the parking brake off. The car starts rolling down the hill, and my right knee is cut up like a kiddy’s scissor class cut it up for paper dolls.”
“Goatboy and FM laugh. Holden looks at a small scar on his arm and thinks better about mentioning it.”
And so the conversation continues.
The four are now exiting the club, the time being very late, when they come across someone else leaving who catches their eye, his name is Your Honour. Grix gets the first word in.
“Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why men?”
“Why women?”
“Because that’s the standard.”
“If that’s the only reason you’re attracted to women - because it’s the standard…”
“It’s more than that.”
“So you’ve never been curious about men?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“No interest.”
“Because?”
“Girls feel right.”
“And that’s how I feel about guys. I’ve never really been attracted to women. I’m more comfortable with the idea of guys.”
“Wait, wait, wait - you’re still a virgin?”
“No.”
“But you’ve only been with guys.”
“You’re saying a person’s a virgin until they’ve had intercourse with a member of the opposite sex?”
“Isn’t that the standard definition?”
“Again with the standards. I think virginity is lost when you make love for the first time.”
“With a member of the opposite sex.”
“Why? Why only then?”
“Because that’s the standard.”
“So if a virgin is raped, then she’s still a virgin?”
“Of course not.”
“But rape is not the standard. So she’s had sex, but not the standard idea of sex. Hence, according to your definition, she’d still be a virgin.”
“Okay, I’ll revise. Virginity is lost when the hymen is broken.”
“Then my sister lost her virginity at ten, because she fell on a fence post when she was ten, and it broke her hymen. Now she has to tell people that she lost it to a wooden post she’d known her whole young life?”
“Second revision - virginity is lost through penetration.”
“Physical penetration or emotional?”
“Emotional?”
“Well, I fell in love hard with Ricky Clarke when we were in high school.”
“Physical penetration.”
“We had sex.”
“Yeah, but not real sex.”
“I move to have that remark stricken from the record. On account of it makes you come off as completely naďve and infantile.”
And so the debate continued on.
Goatboy and Grix are getting ready for a game signing aboard. Grix enters. Goatboy tries to balance way-too-much luggage.
“Look at you. It’s a two day trip.”
“I got the Sega in one bag, my clothes in the other, and two months worth of unplayed games in this one.”
“We’re going to a convention, for the love of God. We’ll be busy from ten ‘till eight each day. When are you possibly going to have time for any of that? In fact, you’re leaving some of this here in a locker. Come on – give me the two that aren’t clothes.”
“Hold on.”
Goatboy starts rifling through his bag.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to get something.”
Goatboy pulls out a huge stack of porno books.
“Who are you, Larry Flynt? What are you going to do with all of those?”
“Read the articles. What do you think I’m going to do with them? They’re stroke books.”
“You’ve got like thirty books there! We’re only there for two days!”
Goatboy continues to leaf through the magazines.
“Variety’s the spice of life. I like a wide selection. Sometimes I’m in the mood for nasty close-ups; sometimes I like them arty and airbrushed. Sometimes it’s a spread brown-eye kind of night; sometimes it’s girl-on-girl time. Sometimes a steamy letter will do it, sometimes - not often, but sometimes - I like the idea of a chick with a horse.”
A beeping sound is heard. Grix checks his beeper and walks off. Goatboy starts packing his magazines up. A little kid, Ant, enters, staring at him.
“What are those?”
Goatboy looks at Ant and back at the books.
“Do you like horsies?”
We are now at Goatboy and Grix’s apartment. Rasta is with them. Grix is talking.
“And when I did some serious soul-searching, it came at me from out of nowhere, and suddenly it all made sense - a calm came over me. I know what we have to do. And then you - Goaty, you Rasta, and I - all of us...can finally be...all right.”
“Please don’t say it.”
“We’ve all got to have sex together.”
The room is silent. Grix lights a cigarette. Goatboy’s eyes nearly bug. Rasta’s head drops.
“Don’t you see? That would take care of everything. None of us will resent Rasta for being gay! This will keep us together. What do you say?”
Goatboy stares forward, wide-eyed. He leans back into the couch and lets out a huge sigh. Then shrugs.
“Sure.”
Grix smiles at his friend. Then he looks at Rasta.
“You know I need this. You know it’ll help.”
Rasta looks at him, sadly.
“No.”
Grix reacts and a shocked Goatboy lets out a sigh of relief.
“No? I...I thought you’d be into this.”
“You did? What does that say about me?”
“But you’ve...you’ve done...stuff...like this. This should be no big deal for you.”
“You don’t want this. You really don’t want this. Trust me. I can’t.”
“You can. I’ll be there. And when it’s over, we’ll be the strongest we’ve ever been because we got through some nasty stuff together. And we’ll finally be on the same level together. And then there’ll be nothing we can’t accomplish.”
A tear rolls down his cheek. He looks at him, sadly, and touches his face.
“Oh Grix. That time is over for me. I’ve been there. I’ve done it. And I didn’t find what I was looking for in any of it.”
Grix and Goatboy look on in shock.
“Oh. So…does this mean you’re not gay?”
“Yep.”
Grix faints.
The End.
Pro Evo went on to become a millionaire in 20 years time from his extensive collection of games, which he sold for extortionate prices. He bought a jumbo jet, stocked with food, drink and music. However, he forgot to stock it with a pilot and it crashed soon after takeoff.
Grix Thraves is currently in a coma from fainting.
Goatboy is still touring over the world, signing games for people, basically living his normal life.
Sheepy is plotting his revenge against Goatboy.
Edgy is going through puberty.
RastaBillySkank, out of guilt, stands a silent vigil at Grix’s side.
They have never been happier…
And remember, Notability is for life, not just for Christmas.
Pro Evo
Grix Thraves
Goatboy
Sheepy
Edgy
RastaBillySkank
er-no
Sniper
Wookie Monster
FantasyMeister
Your Honour
A physically large man, Pro Evo - sweaty brow, bag bursting with games - leans forward, smiling.
“Could you sign it ‘To a really big fan’!”
Grix sits at a table across from the barely-managing- to-stand man. He offers him a patronizingly kind, half-smile in return.
“You bet.”
We're at a computer games show, specifically at a game signing. Behind Grix hangs a large banner, heralding Grix Thraves and Goatboy. Beside it is a large mock-up of a video game cover which features two stoner super-heroes who bear a striking resemblance to a pair of very familiar friendly Notables. Grix hands the game back to the fan.
“I love this game man! I wish I was like these guys - getting stoned, talking all raw about chicks and fighting supervillains! I love these guys! They're like `Cheech and Chong' meet `Bill and Ted'!”
“I like to think of them as `Rosencrantz and Guildenstern' meet `Vladimir and Estragon'.”
“Yeah…who?”
Goatboy signs the game of another collector, Sheepy.
“So you drew this cover?”
“I ink it and I'm also the colorist. The guy next to me draws it.”
“What's that mean - you `ink it'!”
“Well. It means that Grix draws the pictures in pencil, and then he gives it to me to go over in ink.”
“So you just trace?”
Goatboy freezes up. He composes himself and continues signing.
“It's not tracing. I add depth and shading to give the image mere definition. Only then does the drawing really take shape.”
“You go over what he draws with a pen - that's tracing.”
He hands the game back to Sheepy.
“Not really. Next!”
A little kid, Edgy, steps up but Sheepy lingers.
“Hey man. If somebody draws something and then you draw the same thing right on top of it, not going out-side the designated original art what do call that?”
“I don't know. Tracing?”
“See?”
“It's not tracing.”
“Oh, but it is.”
“Do you want your game signed or what?”
“Hey - don't get all testy with him just because you have a problem with your station in life.”
“I'm secure with what I do.”
“Then say it - you're a tracer.”
He grabs Edgy’s game.
“How should I sign this?”
“I don't want you to sign it, I want the guy that draws Grix and Goatboy to sign it. You're just a tracer.”
“Tell him, little shaver.”
Grix accepts a game from another fan.
“Who do I sign it to?”
Before Grix can finish, a loud crash is heard. He looks to his left and freaks. Goatboy is throttling Sheepy from across the table. Sheepy attempts to fight him off. Security guards pull them apart. Grix grabs Goatboy.
“Jesus! All I did was call him a tracer!”
“I'LL TRACE A CHALK LINE AROUND YOUR DEAD BODY!”
“Could you get him out of here?”
The security guards drag Sheepy away.
“Hey, wait a sec! He jumped me! And you're dragging me away? Bloody tracer!”
“YOUR MOTHER'S A TRACER!”
“Can I explain the audience principle to you? If you insult and accost them, then we have no audience.”
RastaBillySkank fills the frame. He comes off like a typical, pro-black/anti-white homeboy.
“For years in this industry whenever an African-American character - hero or villain - was introduced usually by white artists and developers - they got slapped with racist names that singled them out as Negroes: Vulcan Raven for instance…”
We're at a panel discussion. The room is full. Five creators sit at a long table, their names on placards in front of them. The banner behind them reads `WORDS UP - MINORITY VOICES IN GAMING'.
“Now my game, `White-Hating Coon', doesn't have any of that bull. The hero's name is Maleekwa, and he's a descendant of the black tribe that established the first society on the planet, while all you Europeans were still hiding in caves, all terrified of the sun. He's a strong role model that a young black gamer can look up to, `Cause I'm here to tell you - the chickens are comin' home to roost, ya'll: the black man's no longer gonna play the minstrel in the medium of gaming and Sci-Fi/Fantasy! We're keeping it real, and we're gonna get respect - by any means necessary!”
During the speech, Grix and Goatboy enter and sit up front.
“Lando Calrissian was a black man, and he got to fly the Millennium Falcon!”
Rasta whips his head around, looking for the source of the comment.
“Who said that?”
“I did! Lando Calrissian is a positive black role model in the realm of Science Fiction/Fantasy.”
“Screw Lando Calrissian! Always some white boy gotta invoke `the holy trilogy'! Bust this - those movies are about how the white man keeps the brother man down – even in a galaxy far, far away. Check this. You got cracker farm-boy Luke Skywalker, Nazi poster boy - blond hair, blue eyes. And then you've got Darth Vader: the blackest brother in the galaxy. Nubian God.”
“What's a Nubian?”
“Shut up. Now Vader, he's a spiritual brother, with the force and all that. Then this cracker Skywalker gets his hands on a light-saber, and the boy decides he's gonna run the universe – gets a whole clan of whites together, and they're gonna bust up Vader's `hood the Death Star. Now what do you call that?”
“Intergalactic Civil War!”
“Gentrification. They're gonna drive our the black element, to make the galaxy quote, unquote `safe' for white folks.”
“But Vader turns out to be Luke's father. And in Jedi, they become friends.”
“Don't make me bust a cap in your ace, yo! Jedi's the most insulting installment, because Vader's beautiful, black visage is sullied when he pulls off his mask to reveal a feeble, crusty white man! They're trying to tell us that deep inside, we all want to be white!”
“Well isn't that true?”
Rasta explodes; he pulls a nine-millimeter from his belt, draws on Goatboy and fires. Goatboy goes down, falling forward into the crowd. The crowd scream and starts to scatter. Rasta jumps over the table and raises his fists in the air.
“BLACK RAGE! BLACK RAGE!! I'LL KILL ANY WHITE FOLKS I LAY MY EYES ON!”
The crowd is gone. Grix sits in his chair, laughing. Rasta steps off the stage and picks Goatboy’s head up off the floor.
“`What's a Nubian?’ You almost made me laugh!”
Rasta sounds different Actually, he sounds gay. Actually - he is. Goatboy smiles.
“Well what about you! You didn't tell me you were going to scream `Black Rage'.”
“How do you manage to get away with this all the time? Shouldn't cops be busting your head open right about now?”
“Well this right here - she full of blanks, okay.”
“Your publisher condones these theatrics?”
“Condones? Honey, they insist. I need to sell the image to sell the game. Would the audience still buy the `Black Rage' angle if they found out the game was written by a…a.…”
“F****t?”
“When you say it, it sounds so sexy.”
He kisses Goatboy full on the lips.
“Hey, hey! I'll play your victim, but not your catcher.”
Rasta turns to see a beautiful, blonde, ruffled-haired angel swinging his purse in a circle. His name is er-no. He is Rasta’s boyfriend.
“This pile of P.M.S. is er-no. He did that game `Idiosyncratic Routine'. Even though he knows my publisher sets this up and pays for the event, he still gets mad when it ends with my act.”
“I just wish I was the one who gets to shoot you.”
“I told er-no I'd buy him a post-rave drink. Can you two stay for a round in the big, scary city?”
“We're gonna take off soon...”
“We'll go.”
Goatboy offers Grix a puzzled glance.
“We'll go.”
We are now at a cheesy club with Grix, Goatboy, Rasta and er-no. A man, Sniper, is up on the stage.
“This is for that special someone our there.”
Grix smiles. Goatboy joins him, both of them showing their gay sides. The band starts playing. Sniper launches into a torchy tune. The song is extremely sexy - as is Sniper who works the mic, making direct eye contact with Grix. Or does he? Grix is smiling, being seduced, Goatboy rolls his eyes. Beside Grix, stands a man with a short haircut, Wookie Monster, who’s also riveted by Sniper’s performance. Sniper makes big-time eye contact with somebody out there. The song seems to be aimed at whoever he’s looking at. It’s more than obvious there’s a seduction going on, but of whom? At the end of the song, the crowd goes wild but Sniper’s preoccupied. He points to someone in the crowd, and curls his finger back in a ‘c’mere’ fashion, urging whomever it is to join her. He jumps off the stage. Grix shakes his head sheepishly and looks downward, aw-shucks style. At that moment, Wookie leaps forward. Goatboy’s eyes widen. Grix looks up and is suddenly taken aback. Sniper and Wookie race into each other’s arms and fall into a way-too-passionate-to-mean-anything-else kiss. Grix’s eyes bug. Goatboy allows a smile to creep across his face. The crowd applauds. Goatboy looks around, and for the first time, we get the distinct impression that this is a gay bar.
“Now that, my friend, is a shared moment.”
Grix, Goatboy, Rasta and er-no decided to stay in the bar for a little, and talk to a few people. FantasyMeister is the man in question. We meet them mid-conversation. Goatboy is speaking to FM.
“And that’s all I’m saying, it’d be different if chicks helped out - pointed a guy in the right direction. Then there’d be no wasted time, and no chance for permanent injuries.”
“Permanent injuries?”
“Sure. You wanna see something permanent?”
Goatboy pulls out his front tooth.
“I got this from Nina Rollins. I’m going down on her, and out of nowhere, her cat jumps on her stomach. She does this big ol’ pelvic thrust - cracks my tooth in half, sends it down my throat. I had to get a crown for the stub.”
“I got that beat.”
“I’m going down on some guy in his dorm room after we went club-hopping. I’m totally drunk, and in the middle of it, I fall asleep - right there in his lap. He got so mad, he digs his heel into my back, right there.”
FM points to a scar.
“That’s permanent.”
“You see this!”
Goatboy points to his neck.
“That’s the farthest I can move my neck to the right. I’m going out with Maria Bennert, and for six months, I’m going down on her, and not a damn thing’s happening. Then one night, I change a position, or vary my lapping-speed, and suddenly it’s a whole new world. She’s moving around, convulsing, breathing heavy. And her legs are pressing against my ears so tightly that I don’t hear her father come into the room. He grabs my hair and he pulls me way back, hard.”
FM throws up his leg and pulls back his trousers.
“I’m eating out a dude in his brother’s car. He’s lying across the back seat, and I’m half-hanging out of the car, my knees on the ground. He’s flailing around, and he knocks the parking brake off. The car starts rolling down the hill, and my right knee is cut up like a kiddy’s scissor class cut it up for paper dolls.”
“Goatboy and FM laugh. Holden looks at a small scar on his arm and thinks better about mentioning it.”
And so the conversation continues.
The four are now exiting the club, the time being very late, when they come across someone else leaving who catches their eye, his name is Your Honour. Grix gets the first word in.
“Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why men?”
“Why women?”
“Because that’s the standard.”
“If that’s the only reason you’re attracted to women - because it’s the standard…”
“It’s more than that.”
“So you’ve never been curious about men?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“No interest.”
“Because?”
“Girls feel right.”
“And that’s how I feel about guys. I’ve never really been attracted to women. I’m more comfortable with the idea of guys.”
“Wait, wait, wait - you’re still a virgin?”
“No.”
“But you’ve only been with guys.”
“You’re saying a person’s a virgin until they’ve had intercourse with a member of the opposite sex?”
“Isn’t that the standard definition?”
“Again with the standards. I think virginity is lost when you make love for the first time.”
“With a member of the opposite sex.”
“Why? Why only then?”
“Because that’s the standard.”
“So if a virgin is raped, then she’s still a virgin?”
“Of course not.”
“But rape is not the standard. So she’s had sex, but not the standard idea of sex. Hence, according to your definition, she’d still be a virgin.”
“Okay, I’ll revise. Virginity is lost when the hymen is broken.”
“Then my sister lost her virginity at ten, because she fell on a fence post when she was ten, and it broke her hymen. Now she has to tell people that she lost it to a wooden post she’d known her whole young life?”
“Second revision - virginity is lost through penetration.”
“Physical penetration or emotional?”
“Emotional?”
“Well, I fell in love hard with Ricky Clarke when we were in high school.”
“Physical penetration.”
“We had sex.”
“Yeah, but not real sex.”
“I move to have that remark stricken from the record. On account of it makes you come off as completely naďve and infantile.”
And so the debate continued on.
Goatboy and Grix are getting ready for a game signing aboard. Grix enters. Goatboy tries to balance way-too-much luggage.
“Look at you. It’s a two day trip.”
“I got the Sega in one bag, my clothes in the other, and two months worth of unplayed games in this one.”
“We’re going to a convention, for the love of God. We’ll be busy from ten ‘till eight each day. When are you possibly going to have time for any of that? In fact, you’re leaving some of this here in a locker. Come on – give me the two that aren’t clothes.”
“Hold on.”
Goatboy starts rifling through his bag.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to get something.”
Goatboy pulls out a huge stack of porno books.
“Who are you, Larry Flynt? What are you going to do with all of those?”
“Read the articles. What do you think I’m going to do with them? They’re stroke books.”
“You’ve got like thirty books there! We’re only there for two days!”
Goatboy continues to leaf through the magazines.
“Variety’s the spice of life. I like a wide selection. Sometimes I’m in the mood for nasty close-ups; sometimes I like them arty and airbrushed. Sometimes it’s a spread brown-eye kind of night; sometimes it’s girl-on-girl time. Sometimes a steamy letter will do it, sometimes - not often, but sometimes - I like the idea of a chick with a horse.”
A beeping sound is heard. Grix checks his beeper and walks off. Goatboy starts packing his magazines up. A little kid, Ant, enters, staring at him.
“What are those?”
Goatboy looks at Ant and back at the books.
“Do you like horsies?”
We are now at Goatboy and Grix’s apartment. Rasta is with them. Grix is talking.
“And when I did some serious soul-searching, it came at me from out of nowhere, and suddenly it all made sense - a calm came over me. I know what we have to do. And then you - Goaty, you Rasta, and I - all of us...can finally be...all right.”
“Please don’t say it.”
“We’ve all got to have sex together.”
The room is silent. Grix lights a cigarette. Goatboy’s eyes nearly bug. Rasta’s head drops.
“Don’t you see? That would take care of everything. None of us will resent Rasta for being gay! This will keep us together. What do you say?”
Goatboy stares forward, wide-eyed. He leans back into the couch and lets out a huge sigh. Then shrugs.
“Sure.”
Grix smiles at his friend. Then he looks at Rasta.
“You know I need this. You know it’ll help.”
Rasta looks at him, sadly.
“No.”
Grix reacts and a shocked Goatboy lets out a sigh of relief.
“No? I...I thought you’d be into this.”
“You did? What does that say about me?”
“But you’ve...you’ve done...stuff...like this. This should be no big deal for you.”
“You don’t want this. You really don’t want this. Trust me. I can’t.”
“You can. I’ll be there. And when it’s over, we’ll be the strongest we’ve ever been because we got through some nasty stuff together. And we’ll finally be on the same level together. And then there’ll be nothing we can’t accomplish.”
A tear rolls down his cheek. He looks at him, sadly, and touches his face.
“Oh Grix. That time is over for me. I’ve been there. I’ve done it. And I didn’t find what I was looking for in any of it.”
Grix and Goatboy look on in shock.
“Oh. So…does this mean you’re not gay?”
“Yep.”
Grix faints.
The End.
Pro Evo went on to become a millionaire in 20 years time from his extensive collection of games, which he sold for extortionate prices. He bought a jumbo jet, stocked with food, drink and music. However, he forgot to stock it with a pilot and it crashed soon after takeoff.
Grix Thraves is currently in a coma from fainting.
Goatboy is still touring over the world, signing games for people, basically living his normal life.
Sheepy is plotting his revenge against Goatboy.
Edgy is going through puberty.
RastaBillySkank, out of guilt, stands a silent vigil at Grix’s side.
They have never been happier…
And remember, Notability is for life, not just for Christmas.