new Interview with me online now!

Thanks to Shashwati Talukdar for interviewing me on Dhvani (a literary e-zine based in India). You may check the interview here.

56 Two Lovers in India (video)

My newest video, TWO LOVERS IN INDIA, is online now. Please have a watch and pass it on to your friends.

55 I Want My Mom Dead

I Want My Mom Dead
a 10 Minute stage play written by Sabina England



CHARACTERS
FAIZA, 25 yrs old South Asian woman
MOM, in her 50s
TAXI DRIVER

TIME
The present

PLACE
Living room, somewhere in good ol’ U.S.A

The light comes up.

We are in the living room. We see MOM tied up to a chair. She is dressed in a shalwar kameez. Her daughter, FAIZA, dressed in Western clothes, watches her in silence. A minute later, Mom awakens to find herself tied up. She can't move, extremely shocked and angry.

MOM

Hey! Untie me now!

FAIZA

No.

MOM

Don’t be silly. Come here and untie me.

FAIZA

No, I won’t untie you because I hate you, Mom. You've been nothing but a shitty, abusive, cruel mother and now I'm taking you out.

She aims her .45 Colt at her mother.

MOM

Why are you taking me out? Of course I'm a shitty, abusive, cruel mother. I'm your MOM!!!

FAIZA

I wish you’re not my birth mother.

MOM

(egging her on)

Come on! Go ahead! Shoot me! I am a shitty mother! I make you cry and I humiliate you! Go on.. KILL ME!

FAIZA

I'm going to kill you. Oh yeah I will.

MOM

Do it now.

FAIZA

No, not now.

MOM

Do it.

FAIZA

No.

MOM

Do it NOW!!!!!!

FAIZA

I SAID NO!!! I’ll shoot you whenever I feel like it, so don’t tell me when to kill you!

MOM

If you kill me, you won't have a mother anymore. Who will cook your eggs and wash your panties?

FAIZA

Mom, for fuck's sake! I'm 25 years old! I can cook and I do my own damn laundry!

MOM

It's not the same.

FAIZA

Look, you do nothing but piss me off. You try to control my life, you tell me what to wear, what I can’t eat, who I can’t date, and if you don’t stop, I swear I will fucking EXPLODE!

MOM

I think you already exploded. You tied me to this chair and you're aiming a GUN AT MY HEAD!!!

FAIZA

BECAUSE I’M SICK OF YOU CONTROLLING MY LIFE!

(Beat)

MOM

They'll send you to prison for murdering your mother.

FAIZA

No, they won't, because I already have my passport and plane ticket in my bag. The moment I blow your brains out, I'm taking a taxi to the airport right away and board the plane for Brazil!

MOM

Brazil- Brazil?!?!? You're Pakistani, not Brazilian.

FAIZA

Fuck Pakistan!

MOM

Don't you dare insult my country!!

FAIZA

You haven't been back to Pakistan since you moved here to the States in the 70s. You eat nothing but greasy steaks and hamburgers! You spend all your day watching American TV and reading American garbage! So don't give me that shit. You're American now, not Pakistani. You’re just white-washed.

MOM

Fuck America, fuck white people!

FAIZA

Fuck America? FUCK AMERICA??? THEN WHY ARE YOU LIVING OFF WELFARE!!! You're leeching money off the American government!

MOM

I'm forcing them to repay us back for what they did to us Pakistanis back in the old days!

FAIZA

What are you talking about?

MOM

White people. What they did to India before the 1947 Partition.

FAIZA

That was the British, not Americans. Americans never had anything to do with India or Pakistan! Anyway, you weren’t even born until after the Partition!

MOM

I don't give a bloody toss about that. When will you kill me?

FAIZA

Okay look. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to leave you right here like this, while I quietly sneak out to the airport. Okay?

MOM

No, it's not okay.

FAIZA

Why not, Mom?

MOM

I'm your mother and I don't want you to go to Brazil. Stay here with me and look after me.

FAIZA

Don't you get it, Mom? I DON'T want to look after you anymore. I don't give a SHIT about you. I don't CARE if you're dying from cancer. I want to be free, like those white people are. They don’t care about their families. They just go out and live their own lives. I want to be like that.

MOM

You’re the one who’s white-washed, not me!

FAIZA

At least white people are more free than I ever will be. I want to be selfish, I want my freedom, my independence, I want my own life!

MOM

Go to hell.

FAIZA

Oh Mom, don't say that.

MOM

Go to hell!!!

FAIZA

Mom, don't--

MOM

I SAID, GO TO HELL NOW!!!

FAIZA

Okay. I'm going to hell, then. Goodbye.

MOM

Where are you going!

FAIZA

You told me to go to hell. So I'm going there.

MOM

Don't leave me here!

FAIZA

Shut up, you stupid woman. I can't take another minute of your bullshit.

MOM

You can have as many lovers as you want, you can make new friends and enemies, you can do whatever you want with your life, but there's only ONE MOTHER who gave birth to you!!!

FAIZA

You're vile.

MOM

So are you! I'm a vile woman who gave birth to a vile monster!

FAIZA

Exactly! Who the fuck turned me into a monster? You did! YOU DID!

MOM

I need to go to the bathroom. Untie me now.

FAIZA

No.

MOM

UNTIE ME NOW!

FAIZA

I SAID NO!!! Stop telling me what to do. That’s exactly what you’re doing. I’m sick of it!

MOM

Stop acting as if you are 12 years old.

FAIZA

Why the hell do you think I act 12? Because you treat me as if I am 12!

MOM

No, I treat you like you're 12 because you act like it all the time!

FAIZA

Whatever.

MOM

You're not really going to Brazil, you know. You're too scared to walk out of this house. I control you and you know it. You will never be free.

FAIZA

I'm not taking this shit from you anymore. I’ll fly to Brazil and I can do whatever I want with my life. Just you wait.

MOM

So what's holding you back?

FAIZA

I'm waiting for the taxi to take me to the airport.

MOM

Oh really?

FAIZA

Yes, really.

MOM

We'll see. We'll fucking see.

KNOCKING ON THE DOOR

FAIZA

Just on time.

She approaches door and opens. CAB DRIVER enters.

CAB DRIVER

Excuse me. I’ve come to pick up someone for the airport.

FAIZA

My taxi is here, Mom.

(to the Cab Driver and hands him the .45 colt)

Take this. Remember what we talked about on the phone.

MOM

Go on. Move to Brazil and abandon me!

FAIZA

First this man will kill you.

MOM

So you really want me dead, huh?

FAIZA

Yes.

She motions for the Taxi Driver to shoot Mom. He aims .45 colt at Mom.

MOM

Astaghfirullah. Allah will never forgive you for this. If you kill me, you’ll burn in Hell!

FAIZA

I don't believe in Hell. Just because you’re a Muslim, doesn’t mean I have to be one, too.

MOM

You don’t believe in Allah? You’re not a Muslim anymore? What are you, a whitey atheist wannabe?

FAIZA

Fuck Islam! Fuck Pakistan. Fuck Muslims! I’m sick of brown people looking down at me and telling me how to live my life, what to believe in, and how to act. Fuck you all.

MOM

You're not going to kill me. This is a farce, just to scare me silly.

FAIZA

Mom, you WILL die today. Got any final words to say before your death?

MOM

Get the damn gun off my head!

FAIZA

Any final words?

MOM

BURN IN HELL!

CAB DRIVER

Shall I pull the trigger?

FAIZA

Uh, well- let me say a few words to her-

CAB DRIVER

Hurry up. I haven’t got all the time in the world.

FAIZA

Uh- goodbye, Mom. It was a real displeasure knowing you. You’re better off dead.

CAB DRIVER

Are you certain you want me to kill your mother?

FAIZA

Yes- yes! I-I want you to shoot her! Will-will it be quick?

CAB DRIVER

I will shoot your mother in the heart. It will be a quick and painless death. Alright, I’m going to shoot in 10 seconds. One, two, three-

MOM

Put down the gun. My daughter’s an idiot. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

FAIZA

I’m the one in control here, not you-

MOM

If you’re hungry, I made lunch and I’d hate for it to get cold. There’s curry and rice in the kitchen-

CAB DRIVER

Is it like Indian food?

MOM

Yes, yes.

CAB DRIVER

Well- I haven’t had any for a long time.

(to Faiza)

Let me know when you’re ready. I’m going to eat-

FAIZA

Listen, old man. I paid you to come here, kill my mother and then drive me to the airport!

CAB DRIVER

No, you listen here, lady. I’ve been a pro killer for 20 years in my career and I’ve met certain people like you. People who ain’t got thirst for blood. I don’t see vengeance in your eyes. You claim you want your mother dead, but you can’t do it. You’re just miserable. You know what? Talk it off with your mother. You’ll feel better about it.

(takes money from his pocket)

Here, I’m giving hit money back to you. Now I’m going to the kitchen.

He exits.

FAIZA

(despaired)

I-I wanted to go to Brazil- I wanted to be free-

MOM

You can’t do it. You’re too scared. You will never make your own life. I control you and I’ll always control you. Even if you kill me, my memory will haunt you forever. This is your life.

FAIZA

I saved up my money to make this happen-

MOM

Come here and untie me. I want you to wash your hair and when you’re done, put on some clean clothes and come down to the kitchen and have lunch with me. We will discuss your future marriage goals.

FAIZA

I don’t want to get married-

MOM

What, you want to be single all your life? Don’t be stupid. I’ve signed you up on an Islamic matrimony website. We’ll find you a nice, rich Pakistani doctor to marry.

FAIZA

I want to die.

MOM

Stop sulking and untie me, silly girl.

Faiza turns around and stares at Mom. A few moments of silence.

MOM

Faiza?

Faiza suddenly runs to Mom and strangles her.

MOM

STOP IT! SOMEBODY HELP ME! I- CAN’T-BREATHE!

Cab Driver rushes back onstage to see what’s the commotion. Upon seeing the strangling, he wrestles Faiza away from Mom.

FAIZA

(crying)

I hate you! I’m tired of this life! I want to go away and never come back!

The Cab Driver un-ties Mom. She gets up from the chair and rubs her neck.

CAB DRIVER

Are you alright, ma’am?

MOM

This is just a game. My daughter’s a fool. She’s lonely. I’m going to find her a nice husband and she’ll feel better. How are you enjoying your lunch?

CAB DRIVER

It’s delicious.

MOM

Masha’allah.

(approaches Faiza)

Stop crying.

(no response)

We have a guest here. Don’t make noisy sounds, it’s very rude.

Faiza still sobs madly. Mom raises her arm and smacks Faiza, Faiza falls to the ground.

MOM

She’s hysterical. She’ll be fine. Come on, let’s go into the kitchen. I’ll make you a cup of hot chai.

Mom and Cab Driver exit. Faiza still on the ground, sobbing madly.

Light fades out.

BLACK-OUT

END.

54 The Tragedy of Jack O'Lantern (Revised)

The Tragedy of Jack O'Lantern
a Halloween short story written by Sabina England



Jack O'Lantern was very unpopular.
He had no friends.
All the English kids hated him.
They liked to taunt him,
Because he was Irish, he was different, and he was poor.

“Throw Jack in the lake!” they yelled at him every morning whilst he walked to school from his home.

“Burn Jack at the stake!” they shouted at him every afternoon whilst he made his way toward home from school.

“Dirty Irish dog!” Villagers liked to holler at Jack while he and his mother wandered into the town to buy fresh milk and cheese.

Poor Jack-- he was widely hated, loathed, and despised!

Little Jack lived with his mother in a broken down shack at the deep end of the forest in County Durham, England. He had no father— since his mama, Cecily O'Lantern, was a professional whore who slept with lots of men in exchange for money.


County Durham, 1857

One day, many years ago, Cecily had sex with a drunken English soldier who impregnated her with bastard Jack. At first, Cecily despaired at having a baby in her womb. She tried to abort the fetus by drinking poison, but failed. So she tried snatching out the fetus from her vagina with a soldering hot iron, but that also failed. In spite of all these failed attempts, little Bastard Jack was born and Cecily raised him in the woods of County Durham.

Cecily so deeply loved her son yet she also feared him. Jack was a boy and soon he would grow up to be a man—an abusive, cruel, violent man! Cecily was determined to mold Jack into a docile, unsuspecting, harmless soul who wouldn’t hit a woman, a child, or an animal. Her mission was a tremendous success—for Jack was one of the greatest, weakest, softest wimps to ever live in County Durham.

It was easy to beat up Jack- he never fought back. He didn’t know how to throw a punch or stand up for himself. Stupid Jack! He eventually died, having been murdered at the hands of three bored English youths. He was only 10 years old.

On a damp October afternoon, Jack O'Lantern was sitting at home, with nothing to do. His mother wasn't home, since she was busy whoring herself to the Spanish sailors who were stationed at County Durham.

Alas, he was bored and didn't want to be cooped up in that tiny, cramped shack, so he left for a walk into the town, in hope of seeking a good adventure. Unfortunately, he ran into three large, terrible English boys—Alden and his gang.

Alden was notorious for being an awful, cruel bully who would kick little puppies and tower over small girls, threatening to choke their necks unless they gave him their boiled sweets. He also hated Irish people and often enjoyed going on bog-bashing trips whenever he could. Alden was a horrible boy, full stop.


Victorian thugs in London, late 1800s.

As usual, Alden taunted him for being Irish, for being poor, and for being different. “You filthy mick!” he jeered at him, “you bloody bog!” He prompted his two friends to join in the taunting.

“Get on your knees and lick my boots!”
“Hey, Jack, when’s your mummy comin’ home? I want her to suck me off!”
“Bend down and bark like a dog!”

Jack was frightened; he wanted to run away. He tried to turn around to leave, but Alden and his two pals grabbed him too quickly. They carried him to the woods. Poor Jack O'Lantern screamed, kicked and thrashed around, trying to get away. He knew something awful would happen. As soon as they dropped him off onto the grass, Alden took out a large, gleaming knife. It looked lethal and sharp.

Jack started crying. He knew he really was in trouble now. No turning back.

Alden then stabbed Jack in the guts. Jack gasped and howled, grabbing his guts. Warm blood gushed out of his stomach. His hands turned crimson red.

Virgin Mary, please save me, Jack tearfully cried out. Amused at this, Alden shrieked with laughter.

“Look at this dog babbling like a fool!” Alden yelled at his two friends, while they pretended to snigger, but in truth, they were scared. Jack writhed around on the grass as more blood poured from his guts. While watching on in amusement, Alden had an idea to worsen Jack's suffering.

“Go get that large pumpkin!” he ordered his two pals, “and bring it over here.”

They grew nervous. They didn’t like being ordered around by Alden but they feared him. He could be brutal and violent if he wanted—it was best not to cross him.

There was a small pumpkin patch tucked away in the woods, abandoned and useless. Nobody ate these pumpkins, since they were moldy, eaten to the core by insects. One of the two boys hurried over to the patch and picked up a medium-sized pumpkin. He brought it down on the ground next to Jack.

“What are you going to do with the pumpkin?” they asked Alden. He smirked.

“Watch. I’m going to trade his head for the pumpkin.”

Alden sharpened the knife and then carefully swiped it across Jack's neck, in a vain effort to behead Jack. Poor little Jack screamed and begged not to be killed.

“Shut up, Irish filth!” Alden shouted, “you disgust me! You all deserve to be dead!”

Alden’s friends exchanged glances at each other. They didn’t like this at all.

“Stop this,” one of them urged their crazed leader, “we don’t want you to hurt Jack anymore.”

“Quiet!” Alden screamed, “get out of here if you don’t want to watch this!”

The two boys were too scared to turn around and run. Cos they knew Alden would charge after ‘em and wrestle ‘em to the ground, maybe even break their necks. So they stayed glued to their spots, quietly watching on as their leader struggled to behead Jack.


Victorian killer in London, late 1800s.


Alden kept swiping his knife across Jack's neck. Jack's neck was thick and sturdy—still not beheaded yet. Jack was babbling like a baby, his face streaked with heavy tears. Virgin Mary, save me! he wailed between his choking sobs, Virgin Mary, save me!

Alden was frustrated. He really wanted to behead Jack, but his neck was too thick to be cut with a knife! So he decided to position his knife carefully and with full force, he whammed his knife across Jack's neck, this time faster and stronger!!!

It worked!

Jack's head fell off!!!
It splashed to the ground! Massive blood poured everywhere!
Jack’s blood was an awesome deep shade of dark red, nothing like none of the boys had seen before!

Alden clapped and jumped up, cackling with laughter.
His two friends were horrified, terrified, and mortified.
They looked away, their eyes welling up with tears,
Their hearts thumping against their chests.

Alden cut Jack's eyeballs out of his skull.
He carved two large holes out of the pumpkin.
He inserted Jack's eyeballs inside the pumpkin.
He put the pumpkin on Jack's neck.
He ordered his two friends to help him carry Jack O'Lantern’s limp body intto town.

“We shall show off his corpse and his new pumpkin head to everyone!” Alden proudly boasted, while his two friends remained silent, afraid to their bones.

They went into town and showed his corpse off to everybody.
English villagers were shocked.
Men stopped in their tracks and stared.
Women gasped and shielded their children’s eyes.
It was truly a disturbing sight—
A headless child’s body,
A pumpkin on top of his bloodied neck,
Two eyeballs gaping out of the carved holes.
The villagers, they couldn’t believe it was real.


Image Courtesey of Tate Etc., London

“Arrest that boy!” they shouted.
Everyone came after Alden and wrestled him to the ground.

“I did what everyone always wanted to do!” he shouted, “and that’s me taking care of a filthy mutt! One down! Now it’s all of your turn to take care of the rest!”

Everyone turned their heads away.
Sadly, they knew Alden was right.
Everyone often tauned and mocked the Irish.
And he eliminated one for the team.

Cecily O'Lantern was in bed with her 5th Spanish sailor. She was physically exhausted and wanted to stop, but she had to keep earning her pay. It most certainly helped if alcohol was involved-- so she took a swig of home-made Irish whiskey that she brewed at home-- a special family recipe passed down to her by her great-grandmother.


Victorian prostitute

Intoxicated and determined, Cecily seduced the sailor with her giggles whilst he groped her breasts. He found her dashing, even though her face was lined with wrinkles, worn out by many years of selling her body to men. She was dressed in a lovely white corset, which the Spaniard found rather endearing. He promised himself to buy a similar corset in Londontown for his wife, before his ship would sail back to Spain. Cecily and her client were about to engage in drunken sexual congress when one of her fellow prostitutes burst into the bedroom and broke the tragic news.

Cecily, come outside quickly!
There's a dead boy with a missing head
Alden attacked him
We-we think it might be Jack...

In disbelief, Cecily jumped out of bed.
“No, it can’t be true,” she shouted.
She ran out of the whore-house,
She raced into the town
And that was when she saw her son.

His limp corpse slumped against the tree.
She recognized his corduroy pants which she had lovingly sewn months ago for him.
His muddy shoes and worn out vest confirmed Cecily’s worst fear it was indeed her son.

JACK! She screamed, MY CHILD!

She raised her arms upward and wailed to the Heavens-
Why did Jesus allow this to happen?
Why couldn’t the Virgin Mary have protected Jack?
What did she do to deserve this?

In a tremendous act of grief,
Cecily threw herself off the hill
Tumbling, tumbling, tumbling down toward the river
The rushing stream carried her body away
And that was the last the villagers saw of Cecily O’Lantern.

Jack was given a pauper’s funeral and buried somewhere in the woods.
Alden went to jail and served 3 months before he was eventually bailed out by his rich father.
He was driven mad to insanity, constantly terrorized by nightmares.
He ended his inner torment by blowing his brains out.
Alden’s two pals carried out a suicide pact due to extreme guilt for allowing such a horrendous murder to occur.
Each boy disemboweled each other in the guts with a sword.

Every October, the villagers witnessed a faint shadow of a pumpkin boy walking through the woods, his eyeballs illuminating bloody red: Jack O’Lantern.

53 My Bloody Asian Passion!

My Bloody Asian Passion!

written by Sabina England

It wasn’t supposed to end like this, you goddamned bitch!

Miyako’s bloody legs quavered as she got up from the floor and walked toward me with the bloody steak knife.

“NO!” I shouted, “you’re not playing it right! You’re supposed to be my girlfriend! A good, loyal girlfriend!”

I thought Asian women had a reputation for being quiet, submissive, obedient, and playful. Not violent, insane, or psychotic!

“I’m not your girlfriend!” she screamed, “I barely know you.”

Stupid woman. You know you want me. Why don’t you marry me for the green card? I’ll have sex with you whenever I want, while you can spend my money and be my little good Asian wife.

“You-you think I’m some kind of a plaything?” she whispered, her voice trembling with anger, “you think I’m one of those weak, timid Asian girls you can control?”

For many years, I’ve masturbated to countless and countless porn videos of Asian porn stars, Asian fetish porn, and imported porn from the Far East. Asian women are known for being more womanly and submissive than American women. I hate white women. I hate black women. Asian women are the only ones I find desirable and worthwhile. But this bitch broke my dreams, she ruined my fantasies.

“I thought you were a nice American man!” she screamed as she smacked my head repeatedly. I groaned. My dick was hanging off my flesh. There was blood everywhere. The dumb bitch almost castrated me real good, but not quite. It was still there, but detached from my skin, like a tree stump. It hurt so fucking much. I’ll kill the little bitch…

She wasn’t who I thought she was.

After chatting with her on the Internet for seven months now and after I convinced her to come visit United States, she agreed and finally came to visit this country for the first time from Osaka. She’s always wanted to visit USA, she told me. She wasn’t visiting America  just to meet me, she insisted. She wanted to see the country and while she was at it, she’d visit me, too. She flew down St. Louis, where  I lived, to hang out with me for a few days.

I was very excited and thrilled about her coming to my hometown to meet me. I love Asian women. They were always my biggest wet fantasy. I’ve never personally known any Asian women, aside from annoying, loud-mouthed Asian American girls from high school and college. Those stupid broads wouldn’t shut their mouths and for a while, I hated Asian girls because of these sluts. They weren’t real Asians. They acted and talked like white chicks. I hated white chicks. They were loud, rude, and never knew when to shut up and sit down. I always preferred the traditional, polite, sweet Asian woman that I’d see in movies and TV shows. So far, I haven’t met any real Asian woman like that, here in St. Louis.

But this girl,  Miyako, she was supposed to be the real deal. She was born and raised in Japan. She was cute and giggley. I enjoyed talking to her online everyday for 7 months. I was determined to meet her and hopefully make her become my wife. Finally, a real, proper Asian woman. She had a nice body and a sweet mouth, like out of Asian porn that I’ve devoured and watched obsessively for many years.

When she arrived in St. Louis, I picked her up from the airport. I offered to show her the sights of the city, when the reality was, I had a different plan in my mind. This Asian babe got into my car, expecting me to drive her around the city. Instead, I brought her to my apartment, with one goal in my mind: to have sex with her.

Miyako became increasingly nervous in the car as she realized that I was bringing her to my apartment. When she understood that I wanted to have sex with her at my home, she refused to go any further. She fought me and tried to get out of the car, but I smacked the stupid whore and she passed out. After I carried her into my apartment, I undressed her and I admired her body. She was beautiful and had a sweet body like a ripe fruit, ready to be eaten and devoured. But I was starting to hate her.

She was a stupid Asian slut and was nothing like I expected from Asian porn. She was supposed to be soft, sweet, and shy, but no, she was crazy and disobedient. I put her in my bed and I was about to put myself inside her naked body, when she suddenly woke up.

The dumb bitch screamed and then attacked me. I pinned her down and I quickly put my dick inside her. She howled and shrieked. “Shut up, you whore,” I snarled and I pushed my hand over her mouth. She bit my hand and I yelped. Greatly angered by this, I smacked her face a few times. She sobbed as blood poured out of her nose.

Finally I understood. She was just playing along the role of a scared Asian girl who secretly wanted to be raped. Good job, slut. This is a game, so let’s continue.

“Stop crying and suck my dick,” I shouted at her. I learned that from a DVD I watched a few days ago, called Asia Mania! White Guys, Asian Honeys: Cum Overload, Part Five, where a white American man smacked a crying Asian girl who looked 18 and then she gave him head. Watching that, I had a real hard erection. I wanted that to happen to me. It was my fantasy.

Miyako still sobbed loudly as her nose bled some more. She wouldn’t give me a blowjob. Stupid lazy whore! So I forcibly mounted myself on top of her. I fucked her a few times while she cried and held her face down so that she wouldn’t look at me. I came about three times inside her. She ceased her sobbing every time I thrusted myself inside her. After she became quiet and limp, I rolled off her body and I put on my trousers. I was satisfied. My business had been done. My dream had come true—I fucked an Asian woman.

“Are you hungry?” I asked her, “do you want anything to eat?”

She said nothing. I shrugged and went to the kitchen. I looked into the fridge, searching for food. I was very hungry. I often felt hungry after I was done masturbating to Asian porn. Today, I had sex and now I was feeling hungry after I fucked an Asian whore.

There was left-over steak that I had yesterday for lunch, from the Cheesecake Factory. I took the steak out from the fridge and warmed it up in the microwave. After it was heated, I took it to the table and was about to cut the meat with a steak knife when Miyako walked into the kitchen.

Her face was streaked with tears. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Her nose was bloody, because I’d punched her. I let my eyes wander all over her pale yellowish body, absorbing in her supple breasts and her bushy vagina. I let out a whistle. Stunning.

“We’ll have sex again after I’m done eating my steak,” I told her, “I want you to get back into bed now.”

Stupid bitch wouldn’t listen. She came to the table and sat down on a chair next to me. She stared at me intensely. It bothered me a little, but I said nothing.

“Hungry?” I asked her. She nodded. I got up from my chair and went to the cupboard to search for food to feed my new Asian girlfriend. Maybe she’d like some Ramen noodles, since it was a Japanese dish. I took out a box of Ramen noodles and I turned around to face Miyako.

Startled, I dropped the box of Ramen noodles. I was taken back by what I saw. Miyako held my steak knife in one of her hands, upright in the air, the blade pointing toward my chest. She glowered at me, her eyes narrowed, as if she was ready to attack me and slit my throat open.

“Put that knife knife,” I ordered her. She refused to obey me. Suddenly she lunged at me. I ran out of the kitchen, but it was too late. She tackled me successfully, grabbing my legs, causing me to fall down to the floor. After we fought and struggled and wrestled around, she took dominance over my body and started stabbing my balls with the steak knife.

I screamed and hollered. White goo came gushing forth from my balls. She then raised the steak knife and brought it down, slicing my penis off. Actually, she didn’t slice my dick off-- she was trying to slice it OPEN, like when someone would cut open a tomato or apple. She kept stabbing my penis over and over with the steak knife! The pain was so intense, so great! I couldn’t believe it!

“FUCCCKKKKKK!!!!” I roared as I tried to push her off. Thousands, millions, gazillions nerves shot through-out my body. Pain. Bloody, messy pain. My dick barely looked like a dick anymore. It was mashed up into pieces, like a meat pie.

SHE CUT MY DICK OFF! I cried like a baby, holding myself tightly in a fetal position. I wanted to hold my penis, but it was floppy. It lied there on the floor, similar to a roadkill animal, muscles and blood mashed up like a run-over pizza. It was such a horrible, gruesome sight, that I leaned over and vomited all over my penis pie.

Soon, I’ll die from excessive bleeding.

“You sick bastard!” Miyako yelled, “I was happy about visiting this country but this has been an awful experience. I wish I never left Japan. I wish I never met you.”

My soul was about to evaporate from my body. Soon I would be dead. My eyeballs were starting to roll upward in my sockets. I could feel myself slipping away from the Earth. I wondered how hot the Hellfire was.

FUCKING WHITE BOY! she screamed as she punched me repeatedly in the face. This was how I was going to die—at the hands of an Asian woman. Fuck. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. I wanted to have a nice, sweet, timid Asian wife who would obey me and do whatever I tell her. Instead, I’m about to be killed by this psycho bitch. Asian women were even more brutal than I thought.

I wished I had a white girlfriend instead.

52 Serial Killer in Training (video)

My 2nd video, for my comedy sketch webseries, The Velma Sabina Show, is up on youtube right now! Please watch it and let me know what you think.



cheers,
Sabina England

a new article about ME!!!!

I met author and blogger Dan Holloway (the founder of YEAR ZERO), the other day at Tottenham Court Road and we hung out for the afternoon. He wrote an article about our meeting. He also had a chance to see my play How the Rapist was Born as well. I really appreciate him taking the time out to write about me. So why don't you folks check out the article/interview here!

New Photos of "How the Rapist was Born" now online!

Please check out the photos I have posted on my official website, for my play HOW THE RAPIST WAS BORN, which is currently running at Tristan Bates Theatre in London.

a review on my play HOW THE RAPIST WAS BORN

A friend and colleague was kind enough to see my play on the 2nd night and he sent me a following e-mail with his thoughts on my play. With his permission, I have posted his letter here below if anyone is interested in reading a review about my play.

From Richard Pierce-Saunderson:

30th September, 2009

Dear Sabina,

Great to see you last night. The play was excellent; I hope lots of press turn out today to see it.

The ending of the play was totally unexpected for me.

I liked the repetition of the opening lines throughout – it had the effect of act changes, which I thought was really effective. You may or may not know that Brecht is one of my favourite playwrights, and the effect of having the girls hanging around at the beginning of the evening (and of having Charley hand the cock to the audience and shaking the hand of the audience during the play) made me think of his alienation effect – drawing the audience into the play at the same time as making them understand it was a play.

The sexually provocative schoolgirl outfits was what I was referring to in my text last night about the conflict created for men watching the play, because making the girls “attractive” immediately created guilt/self-examination in male watchers – let’s face it, men always check out girls, consciously or subconsciously, and one of the central themes of the play, as I saw it, was digging down into the rapists’ self-justification (“she deserved it because of the way she was dressed” – ie denying women the right of self-expression and choice).

What interested me on a personal level was the choice of music, bearing in mind that you can’t hear music. The soundtrack was very effective.

And, of course, the play adhered to Aristotelian principles. The claustrophobia of the hospital room was emphasised by the increasingly agitated behaviour of Charley and her gang, and this, in turn, dragged the audience right into what you’d written.

And please understand I’m writing this because it’s what I think, not because I like you.

Right, better go have some breakfast.

Richard Pierce-Saunderson (www.tettig.com)

my play opens Monday night! Come support new plays

My play, HOW THE RAPIST WAS BORN, opens tomorrow night at 7.30PM sharp on a double-bill with another new play, JESUS CHRIST & CHOCOLATE PUDDING (written by Punam Ramchurn), at Tristan Bates Theatre, located in Covent Garden.

Please come support new plays by emerging playwrights. The theatre is tucked in nicely around in London's West End district, vying to get attention against big musicals. Don't waste your money on these cliched musicals! Come see two new challenging, outrageous, hilarious, offensive, controversial plays with unconventional storylines!

I hope to see some of you at my play.


-Sabina England

for all you haters (regarding BURQA AND BIKINI)

If you go on Google Reader and click on RACIALICIOUS's tag, you will find that 66 people "like" (and have shared the link) the article which highlighted my play (Burqa and Bikini), which is supposedly "controversial." I've been getting some hate on the article, from women (aka: crazy feminists who think they're right and everybody else are wrong). Someone on the post said that women are always the worst and harshest critics of other women, which is very true. I like to think it's because they are jealous of me.

I'm not offended, hurt, or upset. I am enjoying this. Like I said, please do keep talking shit about me. All of you are bringing a lot of attention to me and my plays, so I thank you for that. Besides, the fact that my play has caused a controversy means one thing: I ACTUALLY DID A GOOD JOB WRITING THE PLAY.

I love the fact that some of you idiots accused me of "slut shaming." That made me laugh so hard. Dumbasses, why dont you look at other stories and stage plays I have writen here, that are very pro-sex and pro-woman. 

Secondly, my play explores the two extreme opposites of each other: the WHORE and the SAINT. The WHORE (Bikini) sleeps around a lot, wears very "slutty" clothes and is seen as a bimbo by society. The SAINT (Burqa) is seen as a submissive, weak female with no sexual desires, someone who is considered oppressed and has no voice. These two are the exact, extreme opposite of each other. I think we can all agree that most American (or anywhere else in the world) women do not fall into either category. Even hijabis (Muslim women who wear the headscarf) do NOT fall under the Burqa category. The media always presents women as either category: the Whore or the Saint. What about women who are NORMAL, like you and me? We are ignored and society refuses to acknowledge our existence.


Also, one last thing for all you haters: kindly please kiss my DEAF BROWN ASS.



Thank you.

-Sabina England

51 An American Tourist in Paris (video)

I have launched my own comedy web-series, THE VELMA SABINA SHOW, which I will feature on my blog once or twice a month. I will write and perform my own comedy sketches which will include: mime, ASL monologues, and mock talk show episodes.

All my videos will feature ME and only ME. It is an one-woman show.

Please check out my 1st episode, AN AMERICAN TOURIST IN PARIS, which is a 1920s silent film-style mime sketch, and leave me comments on the video! Subscribe to my channel and look out for more videos in the future. I also have a Halloween special video planned!



Thank you and God Bless.

-Sabina England

How the Rapist was Born!

The flyer and the website are now up. Please pass on the website and the flyer. I welcome you all to post the flyer on your blogs. Help spread the word-- help me get a large audience turn-out for a 3 week run!

Thank you all and I hope to see many of you London folks at my play.

-Sabina England






Two short sharp plays about the rites of passage of youth weave a spontaneous physical comedy with a thrilling Manga nightmare into an unsettling, original space with relentless pace and rhythmic precision.

Jesus Christ & Chocolate Pudding

by Punam Ramchurn
When racism rears its ugly head, can childhood friendship ever be the same? This funny and heartening play reveals how even with innocence lost, friendship can endure.

How The Rapist Was Born

by Sabina England
Charley is the daughter of a notorious rapist. When she grows up she wants to be just like her daddy… ‘She hates herself. She hates everyone. She probably hates you too.’
Childhood is not all fun and games.

Monday 28 September – 17th October 2009
7.30PM
Suitable for audiences 16+
Prices: £12/£10

At Tristan Bates Theatre 1a tower street, London WC2H 9NP Box Office 020 7240 6283
Buy tickets
In association with Kali and Arts Council England.

50 When Good Pets go...BAD!

Here is my cat yelling at me :-(



-Sabina England

49 Burqa and Bikini

Burqa and Bikini (Two Babes in a Bicker)
a 10 minute stage play written by Sabina England



CHARACTERS
BURQA, a woman dressed in a burqa
BIKINI, a woman dressed in a bikini

PLACE
The art gallery, somewhere in the United States of America

TIME
The present

The light comes up.

Two women are displayed on the stage. They are frozen in poses, with blank expressions on their faces. A few people scattered around on the stage, observe the two women. A few of them walk away. Minutes later, the stage is empty-except for the two women, who are alone now.

They break their frozen poses and stretch. While stretching, they look at each other with snide expressions, obviously with a great dislike for each other.

BIKINI

Oh my bones ache.

BURQA

Statues don’t have bones, dummy.

BIKINI

I’ll say what I want.

(clears throat)

Oh, my bones ache.

BURQA

(mocking)

Dear me, my bones ache, too. Oh, that’s right- I’m a bloody statue and I don’t have any bones inside me!

Burqa looks at Bikini with disdain, Bikini can’t take it anymore so she speaks up.

BIKINI

You think I’m a whore and a bimbo, don’t you?

BURQA

I never said you were a whore,

(beat)

Although you are most indeed a bimbo.

BIKINI

You’re jealous you’re not wearing a bikini like me. Look at you, stuffed in that horrendous burqa. Oh, what a heavenly life as a statue stuffed in a burqa!

BURQA

You probably think I’m oppressed.

BIKINI

Well, yeah. Aren’t you?

BURQA

No, in fact, I think you’re oppressed and I feel sorry for you.

BIKINI

How’s that? Here I am, wearing a bikini and showing the whole world my body. I can do what I want and nobody tells me what to do. You wear that thing because the artist, a man, forced you to!

BURQA

Nobody forced me to wear a burqa! I chose to wear it because I want to please my Lord! My body is a jewel and I want to guard my jewel.

BIKINI

I wear a bikini for myself- well because I like it. I see my body as a jewel, too. I want to show it off to the whole world to see! I’m a diamond, baby.

BURQA

(sneering)

Exactly. You feel the need to wear a bikini because you’re desperate to seek approval from males to feel beautiful.

BIKINI

What if I like to seek approval? What if I get the pleasure from having lots of men look at my body?

BURQA

Well, I happen to like wearing my burqa, too.

BIKINI

Doesn’t it get hot under there?

BURQA

Don’t you feel dirty when guys look at you like you’re a blow up doll?

BIKINI

You’re weird.

BURQA

I think you’re pathetic.

BIKINI

I think YOU are oppressed.

BURQA

You call this oppression, I call this my liberation.

BIKINI

Haven’t you ever worn a bikini? Not just once? Aren’t you curious what it feels like to be almost naked, standing on the beach and having all these guys look at you like they want to eat you-

BURQA

I’ve never even shown my hair in public.

BIKINI

Why not?

BURQA

I believe in modesty. I do what my Lord tells me to. It’s in my religion to tell me to cover my jewel.

BIKINI

That’s great but I don’t care about religion or God. I do what I want and you’re not going to tell me to cover my own jewel.

BURQA

I’m not trying to tell you to wear a burqa. If you’re gonna wear a bikini, I want to wear my burqa.

BIKINI

I just don’t want anyone to force me to wear a burqa. I like my right to wear a bikini!

BURQA

That’s why I love being in this country. I can wear what I want. But when I wear this, people call me a terrorist and they say I shouldn’t be allowed to wear it. Yet I thought we have freedom of expression here.

BIKINI

How is wearing a burqa considered freedom of expression?

BURQA

Freedom of expression means- the freedom to express yourself. In any style of manner.

BIKINI

I haven’t thought about it that way.

BURQA

Your bikini is your expression of being free. My burqa is my expression of devotion to Allah.

BIKINI

Well, I suppose that’s a good point.

BURQA

I will never wear a bikini and I think you’re better than wearing that awful bikini, but I’m not going to look down at you.

BIKINI

I-I sort of looked down at you. I assumed you were weak- helpless and oppressed. But you’ve got a loud mouth and you won’t shut up.

(she laughs)

BURQA

That’s what everyone thinks.

BIKINI

But it’s not different when I wear a bikini. Lots of guys and even some females assume that I’m just some stupid bimbo, too.

BURQA

Don’t a lot of males think that way about females, no matter how they dress, though?

BIKINI

Yeah, probably.

(beat)

BURQA

Sometimes I hate being female.

BIKINI

Why?

BURQA

There’s no way to win.

BIKINI

But you’re wearing a burqa to please your Lord. It’s your expression of devotion. Doesn’t that make you happy?

BURQA

Yes, but people won’t leave me alone about it. They would shout, Terrorist! Go back to Iraq!

BIKINI

Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t care so much what guys think of me.

BURQA

What?

BIKINI

I’m scared of getting old. I don’t want wrinkles or cellulite. I don’t ever want to become fat. Shit. I feel like I gotta have botox and plastic surgery when I hit my 40s.

BURQA

But you’re a statue.

BIKINI

Even statues get old. Cracks and yellowing, you see.

BURQA

Yeah. There’s always that pressure to look beautiful and young.

BIKINI

But you wear a burqa. I thought you wouldn’t have to face pressure to be beautiful.

BURQA

That’s IF I’m lucky to find a man who’s good enough for me and he’d always love me no matter how I look.

BIKINI

Good luck with that. Most guys are pigs and they only care about how a woman looks.

BURQA

No shit.

BIKINI

Did you just cuss?

BURQA

Did I?

BIKINI

I think you did.

BURQA

Oh- I don’t remember. If I did, I’m sorry-

BIKINI

Don’t apologize. I don’t care if you cuss or not. It’s just surprising coming from someone who looks so religious like you.

BURQA

Or someone who looks weak, oppressed, and helpless, right?

BIKINI

(blushes)

I’m sorry for thinking that way about you.

BURQA

It’s alright. I thought something bad of you, too.

BIKINI

What were you thinking of me?

BURQA

That you were a shameless, dirty whore who sleeps around with lots of men.

BIKINI

I DO sleep around sometimes.

BURQA

Oh.

BIKINI

Does that make me a whore?

BURQA

I don’t know.

BIKINI

Technically, yes, it does make me a whore. But why does it have to be a bad thing?

BURQA

Isn’t being called a whore supposed to be an insult?

BIKINI

Not if you won’t let it. I think it’s a badge of honor. I’m proud to be a whore. I see nothing wrong with being one.

BURQA

Fair enough, I suppose.

BIKINI

Have you ever had sex?

BURQA

No.

BIKINI

Have you ever done anything sexual?

BURQA

No- I believe in waiting for marriage.

BIKINI

Well, you do what you want and I’ll keep sleeping around with lots of men.

BURQA

Who do you have sex with?

BIKINI

Other statues. When it’s closing time and they close the gallery, I like to sneak out of my glass display window and have sex with other guys.

BURQA

Like who?

BIKINI

You know that handsome Greek statue by the front entrance?

BURQA

The naked man with a nice body?

Bikini nods and leans in.

BIKINI

Girl, let me tell you. He really knows how to pleasure a woman.

BURQA

You serious?

BIKINI

For real.

(beat)

BURQA

I’ve thought about sex.

BIKINI

We all do. It’s natural.

BURQA

I’ve always wondered what it’ll be like. I want it to be special when I do it with my future husband. But my husband has to be a virgin, too. I’m not going to put up with shit from guys just because I’m female and they’re male.

BIKINI

Good. I’m glad you’re not going to take shit from guys.

BURQA

No one ever should.

BIKINI

Are all other Muslim women like you?

BURQA

Now, come on. What would you say if I ask, are all white women like you?

BIKINI

Yeah, now that’s a very ignorant thing for me to say.

BURQA

There’s like 1.2 billion Muslims in the whole world. Do you have any idea how many Muslim women there are in this country alone?

BIKINI

No.

BURQA

Me neither but we Muslim women are not the one and the same. Anyway I’ve known some who wore bikinis and slept around with lots of guys. There was even one Muslim porn star I read about in the news once.

BIKINI

A Muslim porn star?!

BURQA

Yeah. But she wasn’t religious or anything. She was like you, I guess.

BIKINI

I see.

(beat)

I actually do believe in God.

BURQA

Oh?

BIKINI

Yeah. I mean, I don’t think much about God, but I do believe there’s a God out there.

BURQA

You believe we come from God?

BIKINI

God creates humans and humans make statues. But what are we statues made of?

BURQA

Clay.

BIKINI

And humans are made of what?

BURQA

Bones and muscles.

BIKINI

The answer is clay. Humans are made from clay, too. Human bones are clay. We’re all the same, humans and statues.

BURQA

Humans are like statues in so many ways. They’re desperate to pose and look good so they can impress someone else.

(beat)

So what about Jesus? Do you believe in Jesus?

BIKINI

I really don’t think about Jesus.

BURQA

So you don’t see Jesus as your Savior or something?

BIKINI

Not really.

(teasing)

Not all white people see Jesus as their savior.

BURQA

I know.

Sounds of footsteps approaching.

BIKINI

Quick! They’re coming back!

BURQA

It was nice talking to you.

BIKINI

We must have coffee sometimes later in the future.

BURQA

But statues can’t drink coffee.

BIKINI

Statues aren’t supposed to have feelings, either. Or talk and have a healthy conversation, for that matter.

BURQA

I’ll see you at closing time.

They freeze back into their original poses. Their faces are frozen. A few people enter the stage, observing the statues.

Light fades out.

BLACK OUT.

END.