A few months ago my aunt posted my new nephew’s first sonogram on Facebook. He’s almost 3 months but back then he was just a blotch. But Facebook being Facebook, my aunt went on and on about how beautiful her grandchild was. He was just a blurry blotch. She really took what makes Facebook annoying to a new level. I immediately thought about posting, “Yeah, but he looks like an asshole.” I didn’t because I didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of a public comment making fun of her and the miracle of life. It’s not easy for me to choke on a good joke but asshole in Spanish sounds a lot worse.
I didn’t get to call an unborn child an asshole on Facebook and somehow I felt like I needed to get that out. It’s not just the joke that never was. I’ve always been creeped out by child birth. Females carrying a living thing inside them is what horror sci-fi is made of. I’ve always been disgusted and freaked out about the whole thing. Maybe I’m alone on this, maybe not, but I’ve never heard another female admit to the freakishness of childbirth. I needed to work it out.
Almost every story starts with the writer asking herself, “What if?” What if, in fact, this fetus was an asshole and what if he decided to come out of his mother’s vagina and have a little fun around the house?
So I wrote it for me but submitted to a competition. I never thought it would get anywhere because the comedy is just too weird and creepy. Imagining someone’s reaction at reading it was satisfaction enough. I’ve won that competition three times already and writing a funny script is easy for me. There are too many people doing the same films with the same shots and the same acting. I want none of that. These days I’m only interested in making something that shouldn’t be comedy funny and blurring the lines of genre.
Yesterday I got notified that I’m a finalist. That’s nice. But if you know me you know that doesn’t matter to me. Only winning does. I’m pretty sure I was like this as a fetus.