Chambermade

CHAMBERMADE MOVIE

By Zachary Neiman

INT-INNER SANCTUM OF HER FILTHYNESS IN THE FLESH, CHAMBERMADE-DAY

Everything happens as she speaks to wicked ambient music.

CHAMBERMADE

From red veins to picture frames to screaming torn apart horror rock star dames, come games of skin

etchery. War wisher blades of treachery in my RPG. People say these games are dangerous, but

it’s a way to help turn your child into a hero. A couple of zeroes fired the vigilantes, but I have

muscular hands and skin piercing phalanges. My origin is of a dark nature, shipped literally from

a country no one is allowed to see legally. Somewhere off the coast of New Guinea. In the

epitome of a pit of actualized danger, dangles mangled flesh entangled with mechanized

stranglers ranging from expert gamers to the point of rampant sociopathic deranged anger.

All out hack and slash.

Should’ve put it in your trailer. Should’ve shot it into space. Stuff another twinky in your big

stupid face. Should’ve put it in your trailer. Should’ve fit it in your house. Stuff another twinky

in your big stupid mouth…And sick columbine kids scribe it down in their unrolling scroll time capsule

daily journals. Sadist meats masochist, and sees if you can take a fist, fifty times for the album cover’s

benefit. Amorous bashfulness angel faced apocalypse, she nips my face with a kiss. (sample-Are you

scared of girls?) No just a little shy. In this environment of metal tribes, alias hives. Alive with one of the

lord’s wives. Dig her out of this dive. But what would we strive for if it wasn’t just to see them die?

Only my enemies, the ones on different teams that came from worldwide shops of hobby in jalopies and

spacecraft under one blood drenched flag, all with the click of a mouse pad.

Should’ve put it in your trailer, should’ve shot it into space. Stuff another twinky in your big

stupid face. Should’ve put it in your trailer. Should’ve fit it in your house. Stuff another twinky in

your big stupid mouth. On an island of garbage, the cursing mantis uses it’s hooks to fling the

weaker competitors into trash reserves. Herds of other metal bugs inching toward the incendiary

factory, capturing contestants to make room for others. Filtering buffers allow some to view

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and some to participate. No kicking the dick. No punting the cunt. Buck naked cheerleaders to

entice. Held at the point of knives. Secret weapons unveiled and handed out at night. Every

day someone new dies, maybe twice after we bring em back to life. Everyone who wins gets their

belongings and the wife. Mega game boarder, beast hoarder, oh the horror. Making multi-headed

villains of mortar. See a submissive in the field. Trample those that yield. No taking the women.

No stealing the gold. Mastery of the game is something you learn instead of hold. Pulse and ion

guns stuns, dirty nukes, and pain nulling meditation. This is your wickedest sick bondage

vacation. The women make you whole, and they keep your heart racing.

NARRATOR

JENN HOWITZER was one of those women. Not just a woman, but everything to everyone.

If she could fuck them all, she wood. If she could feed them all, she wood. She had seen it all, and

right now, she’d just like to take it easy. If it could be done from home, she’d just call every

provocative desire over, get them high, and fuck. At one point she could’ve, but all her so-called

friends were off the coast of New Guinea, in The Submervisive Colony, with it’s own low flying

moon and sun. It is impossible to see from space. All they ever wanted, was to get fluffed for

battle. After, they all but ignored her, so she left, and went to America.

EXT. RAVE (RISE)-NIGHT

JENN is just standing in line, while everyone gawks at her stunning exterior and clothes.

JENN HOWITZER

Fuck me. Fuck me. Anybody fuck me. Everybody gets laid at my party. There’s a rocket in my

pocket, wanna blast off? I got cash. Live fast. Frickin stickin it to whoever rebel’s ass. I’m a

straight shooter, like an arrow on a fishing line headed right for the target. See how far I get. I

been selling more cheap quality shit than a friendly flea market. Little parties in each booth,

half the people come just for the company. They’re all chonged up, except for one. From

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over-stuffed fanny packs to cucumber colored cumber buns, there’s something fashion

forward about these aliens. Anyone who is this stylish, has to stay at our planet.

He is seen by the camera gliding and spinning down his frame, showing every bit of his clothing and .

shoes.

CHAMBERMADE

The bunker that leads to the bomb shelter. Everybody gets laid, til the foreground starts

to fade.

CONTRA-VERSE-YO

Yeah where we can brand em, and send em on a dumbo drop tandem to the violent island

while I’m smiling.

HYPER KID/VERBAL HEMP

Could turn em into mechs, beam down, and have extraterrestrial sex. Spread human doll

legs. Eat the placenta, and dregs of her eggs.

ABUTJAM

Our world or theirs? Solar flares on the side of the highway, to guide into your girl’s black

hole and her hairy foxtail interdimensional vaginal tear, scares me unbearably. I can see

omnisciently cuz I’m apparently in every PC, hub, cloud, and tv. Corner and alley, from

here to timbuk 3.

NEIMAN 4

CONTRA-VERSE-YO

You’re a trailer cop lackey, vigilante, whatever get away from me. But he has a point;

branded island, extraterrestrial mech sex, and finally flying away at night, their world,

our complex. Kind of like my place or yours.

INT. CHAMBERMADE’S FLYING CONDO-NIGHT

As she sits there naked in a bright light, chameleons crawl on her, through her pits and orifices,

camouflaging and reappearing. Her tentacle glass bowl’s smoke turns into tats, and animations of

letters, nude new school cartoon women, and alien writing melting into a sloppy trip on her tits and

scantily clad armor/helmet. She has a coochie critter/cutter armor vibrator. She opens cabinets and out

pours piles of candy bars and marshmallows. She uses her stomach as a hot plate for smores without

the graham crackers. CONTRA-VERSE-YO crawls over and licks up everything CHAMBERMADE hasn’t put

in her own mouth. CHAMBERMADE dispenses chewable new wave pez to her provocatively massage-

fucking, graffed out vibrating and mildly electrical devices.

There is like a rolled-out Tupperware party with all kinds of effervescent salv being tested on

lots of homemaker betties. A graffitit transformer turns into a symbiote and sucks out of her vagina

what CONTRA-VERSE-YO does not. The graff-bot, VAGINAL becomes her lover just enough time to have

her vagina be violently gnawed out and bled to death by CONTRA-VERSE-YO. VAGINAL melted out under

the door, maybe to be seen again later. Seeing her snarling violent outburst, they threw dick in CONTRA-

VERSE-YO from every angle. She tried to squirm(dick in her but). She tried to yelp(dick in her mouth).

There was so much cream puff and muff everywhere, it looked like ‘Debbie Does The North Pole’.

Hungry and embarrassed, she starts sucking up stuff out of the fridge like an Electrolux.

Satisfied, she sits on her crystalline encrusted geo rock crater with a cushion in it, made of shag

velour, tagged and tatted all over by aliens with fingers tipped in tattoo guns and spray nozzles, using

their own pigment as paint. She starts hacking away at the keys of her floating laptop, moving the

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mouse, and wickedly smiling.

CONTRA-VERSE-YO(TO HERSELF)

When you gonna get a job, heartthrob? The mobs gonna make you a kabob with their

knob in your slob. You love it though. Kiss the pictures and wish they were fictitious

bullshit. They’re on my shitlist, but it’s hard to be tough while you’re a chick that’s

shirtless.

CHAMBERMADE

Mitches be falling for it, though. Fending off fellows for camel toe. I give em fake

masturbatory afterglow, with the crinkle of my nose. I bombard guys from all sides

with the insides of my thighs til it’s sticky like a deep fry, til they think it’s normal.

I get gift cards and gas money from people who’ve never even seen me. I’m the eighth

dwarf, GREASY.

CONTRA-VERSE-YO

Really?

CHAMBERMADE

Heck no, that shit’s far beneath. Now come on astral lover. Where do you want us

to be? Pick any backdrop holodeck scenery in 3D. I’m gonna fuck you so hard, it’ll take

a runaway lane to stop me.

CONTRA-VERSE-YO

How about The Galactic Gadget Smash It Palace in zero gravity graffiti VFX/

Compositing?

NEIMAN 6

CHAMBERMADE

That’s like buying groceries from the movies, when we could sprawl out in our skivvies.

CONTRA-VERSE-YO

Watch this.

Tendrils of mine connected to delighted euphoric bodices, engorged in penetration. My

vegan cupcake, give me a sign, a batting signal, graffiti with your hands. Show the lace

maker the insignia I permanently painted on your back, so she can work around it.

Future motif patterns adorn quiet quick weavings making lingerie right down to the button

barn door. A slobbering wolf with popping eyes I become, twanging on my heart’s

twelve string guitar; wired to a melancholy effect pedal whose amp lead is jammed

into a blaring scream queen Elvira; gory and eerie. Barry White’s bellowing big brother

is personified as a subwoofer put together by beings who put pillars in place by hand;

gods among man, goddesses too. Goth lettering wound around death fortresses.

Hindu temples that tickle the sky, inviting onlookers to warm themselves under

kama sutra positions with stone diadems. Diamonds line the path of our religious

pilgrimage. Equivocal proximity, meaning instead of blind faith, learn all religions

and thy will see. Neighbor’s gentle quirks now seem heavenly; a sense of

community. I hear low tones of dark chanting as I visit the Tantrick booth. First

in line and smiled at by fellow tourgoers, I am joined by these women for sex magic

classes.

CHAMBERMADE

We’re going to Regal. Put on your regal clothes, the one your girlfriend loathes. The exquisite

one look you have. I call it Leatherface betrothed.

NEIMAN 7

NARRATOR

So, CONTRA-VERSE-YO got her shit on. It wasn’t human skin and cashmere, it just looked like

it. Her dress was made by micro-organisms shitting out textile threading as they sleep. Totally

bypassing the loom and the cotton gin, huh? She even had a small chainsaw dangling from

her keychain, barely scraping the ground, making a terrifying screeching sound when she

walked. So, they loaded themselves into a double barrel restored hillbilly tank cannon with

wicked style robin breasted spiked regal vests. They shoot out like a spitfire contained in

one pyrotechnic shot. What do they see as they so recklessly endanger their own lives?

Like an acid trip, it starts out not knowing where they are, going through a spiral floaty area,

sloppy alcohol trip, then finally a bad trip; seeing botched pimple popper operations. Even the

oozy butt lower underbelly of the dead coming back from the other side; emptying out

cramped mausoleums, strutting like bad mother fuckers, seeing who could walk harder

without crumbling to the ground.

ZOMBIE

Brain. Gimme some brain.

So, some hot dope head chick runs over and sucks him off til’ his dick falls off. Then she

steals his backpack with all his needles and heroine.

DOPE CHICK

Sheesh, why did I ever get married?

Then she sits in a mushroom massage recliner, and pulls out a fantastic hookah, made of trippy

changing video glass. She dumps the whole backpack into a funnel into the bong, and tenses her

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muscles to form a human force shield. Other crowd members try to go near and befriend her but she

shakes, snarls, and foams at the mouth. At the launch and landing of CHAMBERMADE and

CONTRA-VERSE-YO, they slide into the nearest landing strip vending machine, take off their shoes and

kick their feet up.

CHAMBERMADE

Well, how’d you like the trip?

CONTRA-VERSE-YO

See I loved it because of the butt skuz way I felt at first, then I loves how it kills my buzz, like a

church dignitary, lecturing me about masturbation. Is it wrong to laugh when he fell down the

stairs the next day?

CONTRA-VERSE-YO saw a tough looking guy standing near the door, and smiled at him.

CONTRA-VERSE-YO

Watch how I get us in for free.

So she went on over, and pulled her skirt up over her head, and the guy’s jaw dropped to the

ground literally and cartoonishly.

CHAMBERMADE

That’s not security you idiot, and this is a mall. Everybody gets in for free.

CONTRA-VERSE-YO

Sorry, back in Alabama, that’s how we got into all the malls. At least that’s what they told

me. I’ll do whatever anyone tells me to do, if they’re security. You donut know how many

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guards I’ve fucked. Sometimes I think guys are just wearing the outfits to get me to go

to Dickwood Forest again. I get my thicket punked every time I go.

The camera zooms in on her tattoos. She has WELCOME BACK tattooed above her cunt, with a

vicious vampire vole burrowing down into it. On her thighs was an arsenal of futuristic feminine

color. On the left love handle it said, MIGNON. On the right it said, DAINTY, in tag letters.

CHAMBERMADE

The mad merciless mercenaries of mall maiden muff munching can already barely contain

kodaking your cunt. Punt the paparazzi. What more do they want? Even me(muncher of v)

have had all I can eat. Like pussy obesity, at Cactus Willies. Waitresses like Pokemon Go

in the park, jumping out at me. Granted it’s a treat, but I tweet, it tastes like durian,

armpits, and feet.

So the crowd made a space for the two lives of this party to enter the mall. The girls’ smiles

were gaunt evil and off kilter. They come upon a massive mic controlling, DJ rocking songs about food

like Eat It, by Weird Al, and Stuff Another Twinky, by VERBAL HEMP. The whole crowd was punk metaled

out, and throwing food. The food glowed, too. Some crews were catching the food(and wallowing in it).

They making Hindu temples, sky scrapers, and churches. Bullies try to knock over the churches, but they

do not topple.

There’s a frizzle fried canoodling booth(what the heck is that? We’ll tell you) where they shove as much

of each other’s jocks in their mouths as possible. Landscaping crews keep riding their lawnmowers and

weed whackers by just to catch a glimpse or maybe more. The funny part is there’s no grass to cut in a

mall, so they start running over the transgender section.

BLASTED FOOL

NEIMAN 10

Is he putting the blender to the transgender? Be what I want you to be, or we’ll kill you.

CHAMBERMADE

So what if I were to git a prosthetic sewn on dick?

And let all the adventurous hicks play with it and

my tits?

BLASTED FOOL

We kill you.

CHAMBERMADE

I thought men like boyish girls, not girlish boys. Guess they just love straight

from Japan ultrabendable prosthetic toys.

BLASTED FOOL

Just donut get original with your genitals. Eat your hospitalized vegetables and

have cock porn for dessert as I call your Mom for pleasure… in the land of

infinite labial deights. Side thought; if you were a masturbating adamantium

infused ipad user, would you cum-pewter on your computer?

BLASTED FOOL calls CHAMBERMADE’s mom on his bubble graffiti phone. She pops over on a sender

mongrel steroid mastiff, before he can even hang up the phone.

NARRATOR

Sender mongrels are the finest in delivery machines.. bred from Tasmanian Devils,

with elemental zirconium skin that someone figured out how to make solid instead

of powder. These rabid animals are both quick, efficient, and powerful. The only