Available On Demand By Joe Hakim

Watching a girl called Erica Yates masturbate on my mate's mobile phone. 'She's from Bransholme, and on this bit you can actually hear her moan,' he says as his face displays a twisted grin - if he looks any closer he might fall in, as the screen blurs pink and my heart sinks and I try to think of something witty to say.

Faint disgust lingering as I catch a glimpse of fingers moving, as my morals dissipate - want to look away but it's too late, hate the way the world's available on demand on a tiny screen in the palm of your hand, a young girl frigging downloaded to entertain me, but it drains me - making me face up to the the acceptability of the truly obscene, images captured and sold - a snapshot look at ordinary people as they fuck and hit each other over the head with blunt objects.

And now there's nothing left; every aspect of our existence rendered in pixels, as we take in our fill of all the plebs and dregs destroying themselves for a laugh. And as we reach the film's climax I have to face the fact that a ten minute segment of brutal truth is proof indeed that within our hands lies the seed, of perversion, or salvation, or something that should matter, and then my mate turns to me and says: 'Now that's what you call a happy slapper.'

Copyright © Joe Hakim 2006

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