For the sake of decency!

19 05 2008

If there’s one thing we should all agree on, it’s that all porn performers have their expiration dates. John Holmes got AIDS, Jenna Jameson got her face seared off and sewed on wrong. Some just decide it’s time to hang up the jizz towel. Those are the ones whose old scenes are still worth watching. Some pornstars meet their expiration dates with a strange kind of dignity and grace, then fade out to become late-night shills for male enhancement products.

Then again, some porn stars die, and yet new footage of them continues to be released to the jerking viewing public. This is not okay. No. Scratch that. That is very not fucking okay. Do any of you have any clue how uncomfortable it is to watch a porn scene of someone who’s actually pretty impressive, only to find out that not only are they dead, but they were fucking murdered?

Jesus God! I understand that the porn industry is a little lacking as far as common decency is concerned, but there has to be a limit. This girl:

is dead. Only moments ago, I saw a scrolling advert blazing across the screen with her as the cover model. Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this? It’s not like Heath Ledger, who was an actor for “entertainment value only”. You can still watch his movies, and while you might think “Hey, he’s recently deceased.” it won’t exactly fuck you up. Porn–come on, we all know it’s true–is a two-way avenue of entertainment. Hardly anyone watches porn for the storylines. It’s interactive, up to a certain point. 

Okay, fine. Here’s the problem, in plain words: jerking off to dead girls is almost like necrophilia. 

That, along with the theft of infants for personal gain, is not okay with me. 

Just remember: if you’re watching porn, this girl:

is dead. I’m sorry.


And the eighth rule…

18 05 2008


I just finished reading Fight Club about twenty minutes ago.

Contrary to what I’ve been told, it’s noticeably different from the movie, in that it contains more of that Palahniuk philosophy that rings so fresh and yet so flat on the ear. That notion seems to be that we can never truly be a part of the great landslide of human existence unless we give up and allow ourselves to be reabsorbed into that which has already shat us out…that murderers want to be caught, because the detectives on the case are their saviors, and so on.

Okay, well… Bullshit. I’m not buying it. By definition, a landslide is an event which drags whatever is in the way along with it. In much the same manner, humankind is an unavoidable catastrophe bearing down on every single one of us from points above. The only way to avoid a total landslide is to be above it, on higher ground. The problem is, each generation is born further down the hill, deeper into the flood plain. Each generation is more fucked than the last. All told, there is no discernible difference between the dead on the bottom of the pile and those nearer the top, except that crows and coyotes can’t dig very far.

From the movie, one might assume that Chuck Palahniuk is out to destroy society, which has been marked irredeemable by those at the head of the landslide.

Ayn Rand was probably closer than Palahniuk on that end.

He seems to believe that we can only truly excel once the old ways have been torn down, and the new guard is allowed a truly fresh start. A sort of slash-and-burn sociological experiment. That’s all well and good on paper, but my question is: how can we ever expect to start fresh? You can tear down an old barn, but there’s still a big pile of shit left over, not to mention the foundation. Do we dig that up and destroy it, too? Do we waste our formative, fast-burning years on cleaning up after people long-dead and utterly blameless?

Fuck that noise. The only valid philosophy for this day and age is the Jackrabbit Principle: stay as far ahead of the brush fire as possible, and when it’s too late to run, lay low and eat the young.

The Eight-thousand-pound BM

17 05 2008

Believe it or not, but I just sat still for two-and-a-half hours while an old man shat all over me. With the exceptions of Ghost Rider and Spiderman 3, Iron Man was the cheesiest, corniest load of next-generation superhero crap ever dumped on America. Holy shit.


Don’t get me wrong—I like Robert Downey Jr. He’s a good actor who seems to have a taste for the edge work that I so enjoy (mostly destruction of property and abuse of prescription narcotics), but no man should be subjected to watching Stan Lee sweat through what had to be the jagged-peanut ass-ripper of a lifetime. Fuck you, you old cocksucker.


Let this be my last word on the subject, then: I will never see another Stan Lee movie ever ever again. I don’t care if Samuel L Jackson is in the damn thing. It isn’t worth it.

Rummaging in the attic of dirty politics

15 05 2008

Let it never be said that I am above cheering at the sight of a fistfight between a woman and a nervous black man. If there has ever been an uglier race for the presidency between two surer losers in our national history, I haven’t heard of it. Aaron Burr might disagree with me, once we’re both in whatever place is reserved for bad men who fully believe that what they’re doing is right, but until then I stand firm. Hillary and Obama are rats too stupid to jump ship, and too self-concerned to do anything more than chew the flesh from the other’s ears. 


Everyone who’s anyone knows that McCain is today’s first-stringer. Likewise, everyone knows how this next Presidency will turn out: McCain, the war hero, dying in office and allowing some half-retarded geek to take his place. And then? Christ, who knows? All-out war with our closest allies, underhanded dealings with shady foreign dignitaries… Jesus God. 


Anyway, shit on that craziness. The world is in such an ugly way right now that politics of any sort are beneath the concern of most thinking people. Florida is on fire, for reasons known only to people learned in those matters. Asia is being swept up in a storm of brown-yellow faces and ruined shanties. And the Almighty Dollar is looking more and more like the humble peso on the world markets. Canada and China are the next-in-lines for our current place of 2nd on the economical scale, while we backslide further into fat apathy.


Politics and weather be damned, I’m beginning to wonder if this oddball little town isn’t just what the doctor ordered for me. Being Summer, the collegiate crowds are thinned considerably, which is just as well, since I don’t get along well with sycophants and asswipes who still think that Kierkegaard is a source of valid philosophy. That’s a common symptom of people who are only just learning to think for themselves: they tend to grasp at whatever’s closest and most far-out. Which further explains why college campuses are breeding grounds for Leftist stupidity and date rape. Testosterone and politics are both ugly reasons for people to congregate, and usually result in the same sad end.


It’s a pleasant thing to know that whomever you meet on the street isn’t going to automatically turn you in to the police for being Out of Place. In this town, I blend in like brown on black. Nobody notices me, and that’s for the best. There is good beer to drink, pretty girls to see, and not a little LSD around, in the event you want a pick-me-up. It’s nice here. 

I Quit My Job Today: a Dramatization

8 05 2008

I’m standing at the urinal at work today, when the Big Boss comes walking through the door all in a huff.

“Thompson!” he yells, clearly meaning me, even though my name isn’t Thompson.

“Yes, boss?” I reply politely while trying whole-heartedly not to piss all over the floor.

“What the hell is all that–Jesus God!” he exclaims, pointing at my crotch. “What the Holy Mary is that thing? Did the Salvation Army have a closeout sale on artificial limbs?” 

“Well, yes they did, actually,” I answer sheepishly.

“Jesus man, put that thing away! I need to speak to you.”

“Okay boss,” I comply, turning to speak to him while pissing all over the floor. “What is it?”

Ack!”  he screams, jumping back. “You idiot, you’ve pissed all over the floor!”

“I see,” I say. I’m still not sure where he’s going with all of this.

“Anyway, I need to ask about what Little Boss told me earlier. Are you really quitting?”

“Why, yes sir, I–”

Before I can finish, he jumps on me and begins pounding me about the face and head with a hammer I did not notice him holding. As it punches neat little divets into my face, I can see with my good eye that it says “The Defector Defeater” along its handle. “Defector”… That’s me.

Later on, once the beating has ceased, he’s walking me back to my station, where I will sit, politely silent, until and only until he says that I can go. Along the way, I slyly pick up a long sharp piece of steel laying on the floor.

“Alright Johnson, you’ll stand right here until, and only until, I say you can go. Is that clear?”

“Yes b–”

“Goddamn it! You’ll be quiet when I’m talking!” Several quick blows from The Defeater remind me who’s in charge. “Davis, I’ve been pretty lenient on you so far, but if you don’t shape up, I’m taking you to see Big Big Boss.”

I nod, blood dripping from pretty much every square centimeter of my face, and wait for him to come to the point.

“And the point of this little exercise, Mabutu, has been–ACK!”

He finds it somewhat difficult to speak with ten inches of steel driven upward through his soft pallet.

“Yes, boss?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer, only meekly swings the Defector Defeater at my face. I deftly snatch it from his hand and drive another piece of sharp metal through his face, just for good measure.

Later on, as I’m signing my letter of resignation, I pause to reflect on how poorly the day has gone. Big Boss didn’t have to die, but he forced my hand. Further, I didn’t have to urinate all over his bleeding face while he lay gasping on the floor, but again with the hand-forcing. The stapled eyelids may have been my fault entirely.

Just as I walk out the door on the last day of my employment, a tall blonde secretary runs up and exposes her enormous breasts to me in a gesture of friendship. I’m not buying it.

“You tell Big Big Boss that I’m not falling for his tricks anymore!” I tell her quietly as I beat her about the face and breasts with my artificial arm. “You tell him!”

The last thing I see as I drive away from the building is Big Big Boss stepping out of his blonde ladysuit, shaking his fists at me and swearing: “I’ll get you, Thompson!” 

Too Hot for Porn: Five Women Who Don’t Have to Go Double-Anal

5 05 2008

Hot women and pornography go together like, um, hot women and completely ignoring guys like me. It’s pretty difficult to find an unattractive chick in today’s dirty movies, unless you still consider Jenna Jameson to be female. There are all kinds of gorgeous gals in skin flicks these days that you’d think there’s some kind of Perfect 10 assembly line out in the San Fernando Valley. Or that maybe Satan is loose on the Earth and is defiling everything we hold dear in life and love.

Either way, the usual suspects in any given porn situation are, at the very least, sevens on the Babe Scale. I mean, some of these girls make anything Hollywood and Victoria’s Secret have to offer look like a baby shower at Luis Guzman’s house.

Having said that, there are a select few porn “actresses” who are so stunning you have to stop and wonder why they’re even in the industry to begin with. Sure, porn pays pretty well if you’re pretty and can’t type, but this is a bit much. Even if every single one of these chicks are in it because they really really like four penes jabbing them repeatedly in every available orifice, there has to be a point where they go “You know what? I’m too goddamned pretty for all this. I’m going to go make Bill Gates lick my dog’s ass.”


Jenna Presley

Now, her Google image results may shock and arouse most of you into painfully stiff convulsions, but if you didn’t know better, what would you say about Miss Presley? That she can take a wrist-thick dong all the way down to the top of her colon? Or that she’s probably a hot librarian’s assistant? Or maybe some really nice lady who teaches blind kids to read, instead of causing teenage kids to go blind?


Lela Star

Now, I’m not going to try and defend this choice and say she’s “too hot” for porn. I know she looks like your average internet yank site model, but there’s just something so wholesome, so open, about her. She certainly doesn’t strike me as a girl who’s had several cubic feet of penis inside her anus.

Teagan Presley

Remember when Britney Spears was the pinnacle of schoolgirl hotness? Well, neither do I. I read something about it five minutes ago, then made the mistake of looking at the above image again. I’ve even forgotten my first name, driver’s license number, and the name of my unborn child.


Ava Rose

If you don’t know who Ava Rose is, you’re among the few (and probably socially equipped and with an active sex life) who don’t. She’s the industry’s hottest rising star, and probably the number one candidate to take Ol’ Leatherface’s place as Queen of the Dicks. She is also, as you can see, incredibly classy looking. I could totally see her starring along side Clark Gable, instead of inside Carmen Luvana.


Jenna Haze

Holy bacon, Batman. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that Jenna Haze would give Jesus a hard-on. There is no woman on this planet hotter than Miss Haze. Further, there can’t even be someone equally hot on the planet at the same time as her. It’s mathematically impossible. The world would explode for very mathy reasons that I don’t have the time to explain to you. Just know it.



You might be asking yourself: “why the fuck should I care about these women? I’m glad they’re in porn. The guy who wrote this must be some kinda faggy asshead.” And you may very well be right. On the other hand, if you really think about it, at this rate, every single attractive woman on the planet will one day only touch penes that are ten-plus inches long, and are attached to someone whose name is also in the script.

Not all of us are so freakishly endowed–I am not throwing my hat into that ring with you peanut dicks, by the way–and hardly any of us could successfully maintain a porn career. Those who can, well, why don’t you go fuck something? Or maybe watch Mind of Mencia. For everyone else: caveat emptor.

Snowballs, and a few unrelated tips to the porn industry.

4 05 2008

Have you ever found yourself in a position where you’re spending all of your time worrying and waiting for something to happen, and when it does happen, it all comes barrelling menacingly at you like Harry Knowles on rollerblades? Well, my life is a constant stream of exactly those kinds of situations.

I’ve been steadily dragging useful favors out of people to aid the transition and job search. Things have not been going well on that front. Aside from the confusion and other madness, almost everyone seems to be too busy to help out. The job search came nearly to a screeching halt, as I have to figure things out at my current job.

Well, I got my new car on Friday, and since then the entire world has been slicing down the lane at me like a greased-up luger. New car, help with moving, and a surprise job interview tomorrow at 11 in Austin. Holy fucking cats.

Anyway, I’m terrified about the interview. It’s not that I’m unprepared; it’s more like I’ve never been hired on the basis of a face-to-face interview. My credentials, and general word-of-mouth, usually get me in the door. Now I have to actually show up and impress someone who is willing to pay me an exorbitant amount of money to do a job for which I have little actual applicable experience.

Whatever. Just wish me luck.

A Word to the Pornography Industry

1) There is no such thing as a “hot load”. Since sperm are stored outside the body in the testes, which hang (in most cases) away from the core of the body’s hottest point, they are kept cooler than the internal temperature of the ball-haver himself. This is to keep sperm viable and, more important, alive. I understand that “he shot his ever-so-slightly cooler load all over her heaving breasts” doesn’t sound nearly as sexy as “his piping man-lava sprayed her teased bangs and ruined her favorite duvet”.

2) The sight of another man’s anus is not desirable in hetero scenes. If it were, we probably wouldn’t have purchased the damn movie in the first place. There is nothing sexy about having some dude’s pimply asshole winking at you while you’re trying to rub one out.

3) Jenna Jameson is almost as bad as another man’s anus. Seriously. Could you guys talk to her or something? She looks like several old footballs held together by Scotch tape and self-loathing.