Chris Bridges Interview :: Sliptongue Magazine

Sliptongue Interview: Chris Bridges, proprietor of the erotic humor website, HootIsland.com; author of the newly published book of erotic humor, Giggling into the Pillow.

by Robert Scott Leyse

Erotic humor is perhaps one of the most difficult things to encounter on the Internet, and the reason is simple: most attempts at it end up sounding like English language instructions on Chinese products: funny, in the sense that one's laughing at the utter ineptness. But Hoot Island, founded by Chris Bridges in May 1996, not merely brings it off but is arguably the most relentlessly funny erotica site in existence; in no location of Hoot Island -- not even the Privacy Policy and About Us sections -- does the humor let up. Bridges provides much of the material -- whether it be conducting interviews in Haiku, writing articles (50 Things to Do to a Tied-Down Lover), tales, or parodies -- but is also an enthusiastic collector. The EroticHa archive of bawdy ballads, poetry, and stories spans the classics (Aristophane's Lysistrata) to the present. Likewise, there are lists of quotes from the ancient world to the present dealing with foreplay, virginity, tits -- nor to forget the comics and photos of naked cuties engaged in drollery. If it's erotic and funny, Bridges will find it: a greatly appreciated public service.

So to show my appreciation for the invaluable public service which is Hoot Island, I thought I'd give Chris Bridges an opportunity to wax poetic about it, spout his philosophy, whatever he wishes in an interview -- as well as allow him to tell us about his new book, Giggling Into the Pillow (trade paperback edition (ISBN 0-595-25430-6) available through any online bookstore; hardback edition (ISBN 0-595-65170-4) available through iUniverse.com).

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Robert Scott Leyse: Chris, why Hoot Island? Why make bedfellows of sex and silliness? Are we supposed to start laughing every time we reach for a cutie's smooth, silky, firm, lasciviously gyrating behind?

Chris Bridges: Depends on the cutie. And the behind. And not every time -- sometimes, you want to make tender love, sometimes you're out to break some sort of heroic record, sometimes, as Hanne Blank once said, you just want to get thrown on the couch and get pounded like a cheap steak. But there's definitely a place for laughter in the bedroom, and I can't think of any sex I've had in recent memory that hasn't had a few giggles here and there, usually from the attendants.

Hoot Island is a response to the gazillions of websites and porn movies and magazine layouts that seem incapable of displaying a beautiful naked woman in the throes of anything but a writhing, painful-looking orgasm. Most of the time it just looks like she's having stomach cramps. There is nothing sexier in the world, to me, than a laughing naked woman. And, come on, sex IS silly. Have you ever watched yourself? My own, most passionate sex acts resemble Buster Keaton routines, especially the ones with all the cops chasing him.

RSL: So why are healthy women commonly shown undergoing stomach cramps during orgasm? Is it because a strong undercurrent of Puritanism still causes sex to be portrayed as something painful? Is portraying sex as something silly and fun and refreshing the greatest subversion of all? Does Hoot Island have a grand mission to shatter taboos with swells of laughter?

CB: Nah, I just like giggly naked chicks. And guys. And groups of up to twenty (more than that and it becomes impossible to decide where to eat afterwards).

Admittedly many people have weird orgasm faces. I'm reliably informed I myself resemble a man trying to pass a billiard ball. And if the images are of women actually climaxing it can be a beautiful thing. It's the fake ones that give me the creeps, the one where you can just tell the photographer yelled out "Look sexy for me!" and that's what they came up with. And the ones who just look bored. But when I see a laughing person, it's much easier to believe the feeling is genuine, that I'm getting a look at the person and not just the tits.

RSL: In your carefully considered opinion is sex silliest in: 1) the ladies' room, 2) a confessional box, 3) the record's room of a respectable law firm, 4) a rowboat on a crowded lake, 5) if one of you is wearing a nun's habit, or 6) silliness is a matter of fortuitous chemistry between the participants and can take place anywhere at any time?

CB: I suppose "all of the above" is out of the question? Because there was this one time in Milwaukee...

RSL: All of the above in Milwaukee at one time? Perhaps I'm dwelling in the wrong town!

You've written an article entitled, O! O! O, I die!, the gist of which is that English is a constantly evolving language and that there's no reason why erotic terminology be restricted to the familiar terms of "fuck," "cock," and "cunt": love-talk can readily be spiced up, the article states and cites "flowery descriptions of torrential explosions of love-matches" from erotica of a few centuries ago as an example. At the end of the article you provide the reader with a list of Victorian terms; for instance, for "fuck," you list -- among others: "sheath'd to the hilt, a trial of parts, sweet transports, velvet thrusts, cleave, storm of heaves…" Now, as far as I can tell, your article is a manifesto of sorts and seems to indicate Hoot Island is on a crusade to encourage vivid wordplay and vocabulary in erotic writing: true or false?

CB: Not necessarily erotic writing, although I could see that as a result, but average everyday sex cries. Things yelled during sex, porn scenes, and especially intensive office Christmas parties are, frankly, repetitive. "Oh, god, oh god, etc etc." I've actually heard someone say "etc, etc." It's a sad state of affairs. Think how cool it would be to scream something that catches your lover off guard and lets them know that they've affected you in a way that no one else ever has. Try "You've cleaved me!" or even such modern utterances as "Great Krypton!", "By my beard, you've milked me dryer than a Republican National Convention!" and "Take it all, stud, for I am an American!"

If Hoot Island is on any crusade at all besides being a virtual dumping ground for my stuff, it's to spread the message "Sex is fun, woo hoo" and everything I've written is an extension of that simple belief.

RSL: "Sex is fun" is readily comprehensible, but the "Woo Hoo!" part of your message mystifies me somewhat. Could you elaborate on what you mean by "Woo Hoo!"?

CB: Certainly. It's a bastardization of the ancient Polynesian term "wu'u'hu'u'hu'oo'uu'ooie," which, loosely translated, means "Holy crap, how did you do that thing with your tongue?" It shares a common root with Oahu, which, loosely translated, means "Hoot Island," probably. (Jenkins' Guide to Ancient Polynesian Fuck Words, Harcourt & Sons, 1903)

RSL: A good friend has sent a scrumptious escort to you for your birthday. She's brought five costumes, but will only wear one of them and insists on doing so (otherwise no nookie for you): which one would you choose, and why? The five costumes are 1) Meter Maid, 2) Cleopatra, 3) Russian Militia, 4) Catholic Schoolgirl, and 5) Vestal Virgin.

CB: I'd ask for the cap from the Meter Maid, the makeup from Cleopatra, the crossed gun belts from the Russian militia, the skirt from the Catholic schoolgirl, and the sandals from the Vestal Virgin. Failing that, I'd ask her to wear the Cleopatra outfit, but I would don the Catholic schoolgirl outfit so we could play "Lesbian Time Travelers from St. Barnabas." I love that.

RSL: I had more than one attractive teacher in junior and senior high who enjoyed teasing with skimpy skirts and unbuttoned at the top see-through blouses, and striking captivating poses -- the French (was rumored to have done a spread in Playboy, although we never managed to locate that particular issue) and Algebra teachers being most adept. Did you have such teachers? If so, what did they teach? To what extent did you fantasize about them?

CB: I rarely fantasized about my teachers. My big thing in school was peeking down necklines, through sleeves and armholes, up skirts and big-leg shorts. Never in a creepy manner, I didn't look through third story windows, drop pencils, or keep massive and carefully maintained scrapbooks of voyeuristic photographs hidden in my floorboards (except that once) but I was fascinated by how much of a girl I could manage to see naked if I was patient and pieced it together, a glimpse at a time, in my mind. I mean, sure, I banged my teachers, but I never fantasized about them. That's just weird.

RSL: Well, the grass is always greener, right? I banged all the trailer trash in high school and was envied by those who did the teachers; and, of course, I envied those who made the teachers, as I do you!

But let's turn our attention to historical preservation matters: you've assembled a number of classic bawdy ballads in the EroticHa archives of Hoot Island: do you view yourself as a champion of classic literature and consider that part of Hoot's mission is to keep these works fresh in the minds of modern readers?

CB: Actually I consider myself a superficially normal looking person who has a vast collection of bizarre silly porn hidden in his basement, as all normal looking people do, and I'm keeping it hidden from everyone in the world except those few people with access to the Internet.

RSL: Do rainstorms uplift or depress your spirits?

CB: I love to hear the thunder, watch the lightning when it lights up the sky. You know it makes me feel good. Well I love a rainy night, it's such a beautiful sight. I love to feel the rain on my face, to taste the rain on my lips in the moonlight shadow. Although those goddamn mudslides put me right off, I can tell you.

RSL: Here's a situational question that's designed to yield a revealing psychological profile: you're at a co-op board meeting at a building you wish to live in that's reputed to have strict admittance standards; to impress the board you 1) declare you adore the building so much you'd like to bore a hole in the wall and fuck it, 2) assure them you'll never run naked screaming through the lobby unless it's in pursuit of a cat that's caught your fancy, 3) declare you'll play "Handyman Can" with every frolicsome female on the premises, or 4) dream up a more appealing reason why they ought to let you live there, such as…?

CB: 5) Seduce each and every member of the co-op board, individually and in groups, until each one is besotted with desire for me and I am voted in unanimously. Then probably get embroiled in a spiraling descent of complexity and intrigue as I play them off each other in a dizzying labyrinth of carefully-timed meetings and comedic mistaken identities and, if I work it correctly, flawlessly engineer what appear to be an amazing run of murder-suicides until I am the last tenant, at which point I can play my music as loud as I want. Or I'd buy 'em a nice fruit basket. I'm open.

RSL: What's the erotic appeal of a fruit basket?

CB: It's an excellent source of Vitamin C, natural fiber and potassium. You know, low levels of potassium can lead to irregular heart rate, muscles spasms, or even sudden cardiac death. There's nothing more erotic than a clean bill of health, my friend.

RSL: You've recently published your first book, Giggling Into the Pillow: what can we expect to find in its 242 pages?

CB: The last secrets of the Aztecs, cleverly encrypted in every third sentence, starting from a specific character somewhere in the table of contents. Includes methods to dramatically increase lifespan, desalinate seawater with ordinary pine bark, and power a city with processed coca leaves and crushed beetles. Fortunately there's lots of hilarious stories, articles, parodies and quizzes to keep you occupied as you pore over the book again and again, buying more copies as they wear out, and they're all about sex because, well, I like sex. Okay, one of the stories is mostly about meat, but it's sex WITH meat, so that's okay.

RSL: Is there any regional appeal to the book (reason why your neighbors should feel more compelled to buy it than someone in Australia), or does it pretty much deal with sex that can be had in any geographical location at any time?

CB: Some of it is based on American pop culture, but most of Giggling will appeal to anyone possessing any of the more popular forms of genitalia, and especially to those few people who have experienced strangeness in their sex lives. I'm sure that's no more than 20, 30 people tops, but demographics are demographics.

RSL: Now that you've published your first book, what's next?

CB: I sit back and watch that fat, fat movie cash roll in! Probably more of the same: more weekly columns, more stories, more how-to guides, more nekkid happy wimmin. I've got two more books in the works, and then there's my fulfilling work with unwed mothers, that takes up a lot of my weekend time.

RSL: Is the Catholic schoolgirl uniform an absolute masterpiece of female apparel that no designer's ever come close to equaling?

CB: Obviously, you've never seen a woman skydiving in a hoop skirt.

RSL: Care to conclude with a sweeping philosophical statement?

CB: Only the one who possesses enough copies of Giggling Into the Pillow" will attain true enlightenment and discounts on midnight bowling. Also, "Sex is fun, woo hoo."

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Chris Bridges is the proprietor of the virtual sex therapy resort HootIsland.com, which seeks to spread its vital message ("Sex is fun, woo hoo") around the world. His work has been published in CleanSheets.com, ScarletLetters.com, Erotica-Readers.com, and a bunch of other dot.coms. He has all his own teeth, but would prefer someone else's.

For more information about Giggling Into the Pillow click: HERE.

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