Krakow Melt (15 page)
High-angle shot:
Ninio is lifting his trunk at another elephant across the play area. “I’m coming hither,” the move says. He struts over and corners the object of his lust. Her name is Elvira, says a clip-art bubble.
Dutch tilt:
A shot overused in sci-fi flicks, underused in the skin trade. The camera simulates Ninio peering curiously into her pussy. Meaty, wrinkled labia protrude. Skin has superior texture in this flick, and the resolution catches all.
Establishing shot:
Looking at Ninio’s tectonic head as if from inside Elvira’s cunt. A curious image with an unequivocal message: come pound the sweet fuck out of me.
Whip pan:
The camera pivots breakneck to Ninio’s cock. It’s a four-foot brown stalk with a curlicue bend, and it’s snapping into a frenzy. Pre-cum drips in goopy ropes, enough sperm to father six million pounds of baby elephants, says a text bubble.
Extreme close-up:
Elvira’s eye, a drippy orb. Subtle camera movement catches, in her black-hole pupil, the reflection of Ninio mounting her from behind.
Zoosexual cinema is governed by a screwy set of laws; like many vices, it can be consumed but not sold. Only the best films merit black-market circulation. They must be unerringly artistic and have glints of pathos, or they will never ignite word-of-mouth.
Bird’s-eye shot:
Is there a camera crew? If it’s only one person running from shot to shot, then it’s damn impressive. Ninio hugs Elvira’s back with his front legs and she farts a massive gust of wind under the exertion. Nothing makes an elephant porn movie go viral like a five-second raunch clip, because nobody does raunch like elephants.
Low-angle shot:
Extremely dangerous shot, with risk of trampling. So,
so
worth it. Ninio’s dick is the god of all phalluses, and it jerks around trying to find Elvira’s snatch, slapping her enormous MILF butt and hot thighs. It finally docks into her, stretching a gape and forcing out a bubbly queef. You’d never catch a noise that subtle in the wild.
Moving Dutch tilt:
The following could be cut-in footage, because the lighting is slightly different. The average consumer, however, will never notice.
Disoriented pleasure. Elvira doesn’t have to shake her head back and forth, because the camera does it for her. She trumpets her body joy in cascading echoes, and we see inside her luscious mouth. It’s wet and cavernous, with harmlessly round teeth. Cardinal rule of pachyporn: always hint at a blowjob scene for the sequel, even though it’ll never happen.
Preggo vids will make you a mint, if you know how to film with maternal sensibilities. Unfortunately, Elvira isn’t packing any embryos.
Bird’s-eye shot:
Ninio straightens his back, pushes his head up, and thrusts the rest of his meat into Elvira. One lurch is all it takes. The camera catches a touch of moongleam in his eye. He’s there.
Extreme close-up:
Ninio pulls out and dismounts. Semen and paraurethral fluid gush out of Elvira’s pussy, splattering the lens. It’s all good in the new school of cinematography. Then she pisses a river, Ninio sucks a few litres into his trunk, and he sprinkles it over them both.
But it’s not the fancy-footed grip work, or the incontinence, or the near-constant zoom-ins on Elvira’s rawhide pubes that will make this film a bestseller. It’s the last clip-art bubble:
“Gay icon? I don’t think so.”
We’re looking at a street-corner smash, and maybe even a Zoomie nomination.
To the Gentlemen of the Great West Life Insurance Company, Esteem’d Claims Officers:
It was, no doubt, with Consternation and Regret that you learned of the Fire at Dreamland Amusement Park, that besmirch’d Day of 27 May. ’Tis a Day, to be sure, that I should wish to wipe clean from my Mem’ry, were it not for certain pressing monetary Considerations that I must call to your Attention. Allow me, Men of Finance, to proceed with a brief retelling of His Almighty’s inscrutable Whims on the Night previous to said Day.
In accordance with our Policy of mark’d continual Improvement, and to restore Coney Island to the Heights of Fantazy and Rantipole (a Challenge our honourable Competitors at Luna Park failed mizerably to achieve), the Directors of Dreamland assessed, in sage Turns, the Need for last-minute Renovations. These were carried out dutifully on the Night of 26 May. In great Anticipation of Opening Day the following Morning, Labourers set upon the Hell’s Gate Concession to caulk it capably with Buckets of hot Pitch.
As you surely have heard from my Colleagues, between Sunfall and Sunrize, an Occurrence of unparalleled Misfortune happen’d. ’Twould appear as tho’ the Lightbulbs began to pop in a pell-mell Fashion. The Building caught Fire instantly, and the Flames spread with Haste to nearby Constructions. Notwithstanding the 1,750 Tonnes of Asbestos and other fireproofing Materials, the Amusements burn’d for their frames of Plaster and Lath.
’Twas to fight the devilish Conflagration of the Dreamland Tower that Fire Companies from across the Borough arriv’d to join the Combatants already assembled, and all of Brooklyn turn’d up to watch from the Sidelines. In the Blink of an Eye, numerous Assets were consum’d, among them
Chilkoot Pass
,
Canals of Venice
,
Revels of Japan
,
Coasting
through Switzerland
,
Destruction of Pompeii
,
Shoot-the-Chutes
,
Parisian Novelty
, and
Hiram Maxim’s Airships
. A formidable Twist of Irony can be observed in that not even those in the Employ of the
Fighting the Flames
Concession were able to tame a single Lick of Flame with their Fire Hoses.
Compassionate Gentlemen, no Horror can compare to that experienced by the Beasts shelter’d in the Animal Arena. To circumvent the Rise of a general Panic among the Antelope, Lynx, Wolves, Bears, Lions, Zebras, and Baboons, I, in my Wisdom, freed them from their Cages and kept them trotting in the Roundabout with smart Cracks of the Whip. Only Little Hip, the darling Elephant whose Antics are regal’d as far away as Manhattan, refus’d to leave his Cage. I implore the Officers of the reputable Great West Life Insurance Company to note that I took all reasonable Actions to coax out this Prize of my Coterie, to no Avail.
Little Hip witnessed the Dreamland Tower fall upon the other Animals as in the frightful Reverie in the Book of Revelation, Chapter 16, Verse 8, which you well remember from your Catechisms: “And the fourth Angel poured out his Vial upon the Sun; and the power was granted unto him to scorch the Men with Fire.” That day, the Wickedness of Mankind brought a Scourge likewise to innocent Beasts, and Sorrow into my Bosom, I assure you.
The Shetland Ponies and Victoria, the Pregnant Lion, managed to run to Safety. Disaster, however, showed its ghastly Face when the scarlet Fire envelop’d the hapless Zebras and Lions, who scattered with Manes aflame through the crisped Gates of Dreamland, sounding their Death-Screams askance into Brooklyn, seven of them in total.
We are here put in mind of Revelation, Chapter 17, Verse 3: “I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet-coloured beast full of names of blasphemy. It had seven heads and ten horns.”
The Platypusses, sick Aberrations of Faunae that they are, were braised uniformly out of this World by the Grace of God. To prevent further Displays of this shocking Nature, I mercifully produc’d Lead Bullets from my Pistol into the Skulls of the Horses, Pumas, Hyenas, and, yes, the remaining Lions, bringing their Nightmare to a Close.
Only Little Hip, judicious Officers, would I not shoot. Surrounded by inescapable Heat, he trumpeted his last Breaths with great Noise before bravely succumbing to Hades. After a careful Examination of the Facts, you will no doubt ascertain that I employed all measures within my Power to preserve the Life of this expensive Attraction, as the Pachyderm is not obtained cheaply through any of the common Asian or African Routes.
Gentlemen of the Great West Life Insurance Company, it is with this Letter and the faithfully enclosed Receipt that I justify my Claim of $723.18 for said Elephant. Far be it from my Intentions to amend our Contract with a Coddleshell, but I have also attached Documents that demonstrate the current Tusk and Penis market Value, vis-à-vis a post-mortem Standpoint.
May Mankind never again witness such a Tragedy, we pray.
Only you have the Wherewithal to compensate for what the Lord has wrought on this wretched Creature.
Truthfully Yours,
Captain Jack Bonavita
Animal Trainer
The bells had already started to ring.
I was in the back seat of a cab in Nowa Huta, headed to the Człowiek Obcy Gallery for the Great Fire of London when the radio announcer delivered the news in a broken voice.
Panie i Panowie, umarł Papie
The driver stopped the car in the middle of the street. It was night.
The radio fought with the bells for our attention.
Panie i Panowie, umarł Papie
Panie i panowie, Papienie
yje
Maybe he knew his listeners needed to hear it from different grammatical angles for it to sink in. But we had all known this was coming. The commentator could’ve said it any way he liked, and it wouldn’t have changed a thing.
A flash mob blocked the street, and the driver hit the brakes. It was easy to see the masses of people in the dark because they were phosphorescent. They moved as a single entity, slowly, protecting tiny fires and spreading them from hand to hand. They carried lit candles plucked from dinner tables and birthday cakes and emergency kits, and windproof candles in red plastic cups that they had no doubt hoarded for occasions like this. The driver backed up to the last intersection and rerouted the trip. I was going to be late for my show, not that it mattered.
The bells were gonging wildly, but there was no melody. The dissonance spread over the roofs, one church catching it from the other, until all Kraków was sonic chaos. People poured out of restaurants still chewing their last bites, and stumbled out of hair salons with lopsided bobs. Supermarket staff crawled into the store windows, tearing down advertisements and crying into the wadded up, high-gloss paper.