The G Men: a fable by Billy Watson.

G Men
When I was in junior high, I had a Social Studies teacher who was a total hippy. He’d play records on one of those small turntables you’d get from the A/V department at the school’s library, while we were working on whatever it was we were working on that day. One of his records was “The Worst of Jefferson Airplane”, and I’d always wonder why anyone would name anything “The Worst” of…until now.

Could this be a true story, dressed up as fiction?

This blog’s original air date: February 19, 2006.

Once upon a time, there lived a man named Billy Watson. He lived in the land of Smallville, and he was pretty much your average guy, except for the way in which he earned his money. You see, Billy was in the adult entertainment business. Well, some called it that. Some also called it porn, or smut — or yet another reason why society is in the shitter.

Billy Watson was just on the cusp of middle age, and this made him kinda sad. He felt he was losing any sort of excitement about life, and that each day was just churning into the next. But excitement was just around the corner, and he didn’t even know it.

One morning, his phone rang. Very Early. Anyone Billy knew – and wanted to talk to – knew he doesn’t like getting up early in the morning to chat — about anything.

“This is Detective Dicksucker. From the Smallville Police Department. Are you Billy Watson?”

Poor Billy was still in Dreamy-Dream Land. He was having a great dream that morning…a dream about making love to a beautiful woman.

Billy’s a fan of beautiful women. He’s not a fan of cops.

Detective Dicksucker didn’t even give him a chance to reply. “Did you send an Overnight Package to Little Brother?”

Indeed, Billy had just sent Little Brother a package just the previous day.

Billy was still in wake-up mode, so he slowly asked again, “Who is this?” and after Detective Dicksucker repeated his name, Billy asked him to spell it.

The detective shouted, “I’m Dicksucker! It’s spelled like it sounds!”

Billy asked for a call back number, and Detective Dick Sucker barked the same question — Did you send an Overnight Package to Little Brother? — so Billy asked again for a call back number, and The Detective, in a very angry tone, gave a “cell number”.

Billy hung up right away.

Then Billy does what he does every morning when he first wakes up – he went pee pee. While he was whizzing away, he cleared his head, then left the bathroom to call Little Brother and find out which one of the dummies Little Brother worked with was playing the silly joke on both of them.

But when Billy called Little Brother, Little Bro was already on the phone…with Smallville’s finest. And Detective Dicksucker was grilling him, too; and just like Billy Watson, Little Bro wasn’t answering a thing. Our fine Detective had quite an attitude problem, and both Billy and Little Bro wondered is this how police are supposed to talk to people on the phone?

You know what else was weird? Detective Dicksucker also knew Little Bro’s home home address — even though it was nowhere on the Overnight Package — which triggered Billy to think maybe this isn’t a joke someone is playing on us…

Shall we flash forward to the white van pulling up in front of Little Brother’s office, in the very heart of Smallville? Or the 3 guys in black suits who got out, holding the Overnight Package?

Or shall we flash back to all the obscenity cases in Smallville that had to do with sending adult materials through various forms of delivery services, mostly the Postal Service?

Oh, flash backs and flash forwards! Such interesting devices used in fiction which can sometimes be very effective!

Wait. Our fable gets better. When Billy Watson makes dirty movies in La La Land, a place where it’s perfectly legal to make dirty movies, and the movies he makes there are perfectly legal, and when he gets a lot of dirty movies made, Billy sends an Overnight Package to Little Bro. Little Bro gives the package to a fine fellow named Creepy Q, and Mister Q processes the dirty movies and turns it all into little files that websites can use so all the pervy bastards in all the land can beat their meat like monkies at the zoo.

This, of course, makes the world a better place.

So now let’s flash forward to Billy’s now-fogless brain processing what Little Bro just said, then hanging up and logging on to Overnight Package’s website, and tracking the Overnight Package, and seeing that, indeed, it’s being held at the “Distribution Center”.

That means no one was playing a dirty trick on Billy Watson and Little Bro and Creepy Q.

And that’s when Billy Watson called The Producer.

And that’s when The Producer called The Lawyer.

And that’s when Detective Dicksucker called Billy Watson back, wanting to know why Billy hung up on him.

And that’s when Billy Watson’s make-up artist walked in to his studio in LaLa Land, with his female talent for this day’s dirty movie.

And that’s when Billy asked – again – for a name spelling on “Dicksucker” and a call back number, which he got.

Billy hung up. Poor Billy’s head was spinning, and he didn’t know what to do, so he walked the talent and make-up artist to the make-up room and pretended that everything was mighty fine in the land where they make dirty movies.

After a minute that seemed like an hour, Billy called The Producer back. The Producer still couldn’t locate The Lawyer.

Billy hung up and called Little Brother to verify if what was happening was indeed happening – which Little Brother verified.

Poor Billy. Poor Little Brother. Poor Creepy Q.

Billy walked around the studio in La La Land, freaking out. So he called Little Bro back and they made a plan…a plan which included how to handle things when the cops show. And sure enough, that’s when a white van without a license plate pulled up and three dudes in nice suits stepped out, and one of them was holding the Overnight Package.

Billy’s phone rang. He was still on the phone with Little Brother, going over what to do when someone’s arrested and placed in handcuffs and read their rights, and sure enough, it’s Detective Dicksucker! The Good Detective wants to know why Billy’s not returning his calls.

So what’s Billy do?

Put him on hold.

Little Brother wanted to know what was about to happen. See, Little Bro’s a good person. A very good person who’s never been in trouble once, except when he went pee-pee in public and got a ticket for doing so. Other than that, he’s never dealt with cops before. So this type of game isn’t one he knows too well.

Poor Billy doesn’t know it much better…it’s just that he’s had more time on this planet than Little Brother…so he knew a bit more. Just a bit, though. And Billy was almost afraid to verbalize what he’s about to say to Little Brother at this very moment in time: Bro…if they arrest you, just tell them your name and that you want to talk to your lawyer. That’s it. Don’t tell them a fucking thing. Not a thing. Don’t answer a question. Don’t get upset. And we’ll get The Lawyer over there and everything will be just fine.

Little Brother asked Billy Watson to stay on the phone with him; Billy agreed, of course.

In a last-ditch attempt to call The Lawyer, Billy picked up the studio phone in La La Land. Little Brother’s in one ear, the lawyer’s office is in the other. The office lady who worked for The Lawyer answered the phone and said, “He’s in court. I’m sorry.”

The Lawyer had an Assistant – and The Assistant was on another line. Which meant no one could talk to Billy Watson.

Billy said, “It’s 911 time, and I need to talk to The Assistant!”

So what does Office Lady do?

Put Billy on hold.

One very long minute later Office Lady came back, and Billy pleaded, “Can you please get up and walk into the office? Because we have A Situation here.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t leave my station.”

So what can Billy do but leave a message? Then Billy hung up with Office Lady and talked Little Brother through The Situation. Billy said to just walk out there and introduce yourself. Tell them that’s your package, and just be honest. That’s all we can do. “We’re not breaking the law, that’s for sure. I mean nothing we’re doing here is illegal…at least nothing to my knowledge. I’ll hang up and call Detective Dicksucker and talk to him as you walk out there. I’ll tell him the whole deal.”

So that’s what Billy did.

And that’s what Little Brother did.

Funny, but when Little Brother got to the other office, the package was already opened. Another employee opened the package because Detective Dicksucker said it was “OK for someone else besides Little Brother to open the package” — even though it was addressed to Little Brother.

That doesn’t sound right to me!

And Detective Dicksucker turned out to be part of Smallville’s “Homeland Security”, and the package turned out to be “one of 18,000″ randomly searched that day, and when Billy Watson wouldn’t play nice with Detective Dicksucker, and when Little Brother wouldn’t…well, that’s when “protocol” was initiated.

How does our fable end?

Turned out our Detective found the whole thing kinda funny. He apologized and said he didn’t want to spell his name cause, well, he deals with terrorists and drug dealers and he doesn’t like his name being spelled out over the phone. He also told Billy Watson people talk way too much over the phone, and that Billy did exactly what Detective Dicksucker would have done, too. He thanked Billy Watson over the phone, shook Little Brother’s hand, and wished them both good luck.

All three sharply dressed G-Men got into their white van and sped off down the street.

The End?

A Hooker in Las Vegas

Jackie Daniels P O V handjob videos
You know just this past weekend the AVN’s went down in Vegas? You might know, but you might not..but I’m sure (especially if you’re a regular reader) you know about the AVN’s, although I think they call them the AEE’s now.

Who knows.

Who really cares.

Well, that’s kinda harsh. Some of you care. I care cause one of my Porno Pals — Eric Swiss, AKA “Swiss Balls” — won best actor for his role in Not Married With Children. Some more of my Porno Pals won, too:

Best Double Penetration Sex Scene
Bobbi Starr & Dana DeArmond’s Insatiable Voyage

Best New Web Starlet
Lexi Belle

MILF/Cougar Performer of the Year
Julia Ann

What’s better than learning some of my pals won awards? A phone call.

A Stunt Cock I hire just called to tell me he was walking the strip right after the award show when a super hot Vegas hooker hit him up. You know how to tell if they’re hookers, right? If not, next time you’re in Vegas, and you see a single woman walking down the strip or wandering around the casino, just make eye contact with her and smile. If she maintains eye contact with you, and then stops and says anything at all, she’s working.

Always remember this, and don’t fool yourself. You’re not all that. Just cause she’s making small talk doesn’t mean you’re Brad Pitt; it means her pussy is for sale.

But all pussy costs something, right?

Anyway, my buddy struck up a conversation and eventually asked her, “How much do you charge?”

“It starts at $500 for a hand job.”

My buddy was totally blown away, and he got kinda pissed. “$500 dollars! For a hand job! Holy crap! No hand job is worth that kind of money!”

She then told him, “Do you see that Denny’s on the corner?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see the Denny’s about a block further down?”

“Yes.”

“And beyond that, do you see that third Denny’s?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” she said, smiling, “I own those. And I own them because I give a hand job that’s worth $500.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. This dude gets work a lot, so why the fuck would he pay $500 for a handie?

“What the hell, Billy! You only live once. So I gave it a try.”

You realize most of the male talent in this biz are sex addicts? So what. I’m pretty sure 90% of the dudes walking the face of the Earth are, too. Anyway, they went back to his room at The Venetian. Twenty minutes later he told me he was sitting on the bed, realizing that he has just experienced the hand job of a lifetime, worth every bit of the five hundred he paid. He was so amazed, he asked, “I suppose a blow job is $1,000?”

“$1,500.”

“I wouldn’t pay that for a blow job!”

She said, “step over here to the window, big boy. Do you see that casino just across the street? I own that casino outright. And I own it because I give a blow job that’s worth every cent of $1,500.

My buddy, still sitting there in total disbelief over the hand job, said, “Sign me up, but let’s go down and gamble a bit and then come up and go for round two.”

They go down and play craps and he hits the casino for the cost of the BJ — and some more. And three hours after the mind-blowing hand job, he is sitting on the bed more amazed than before. He can scarcely believe it. Top BJ of his life — and he’s been a stunt cock for almost 6 years. In fact, it’s better than any porno BJ he’s ever gotten, so you know what’s coming next: “How much for some pussy?”

The hooker said, “Come over here to the window, I want to show you something. Do you see how the whole city of Las Vegas…laid out before us? All those beautiful lights, gambling palaces, and shows?

My buddy readies himself for the number. He knows it’s gonna be big, so huge he just wanted to know so he could laugh about it later…but he never expected what was about to come out of her mouth.

“If I had a pussy, I’d own it all.”

…and no, Jackie Daniels has nothing to do with this tale. I just like the picture a whole bunch. This isn’t original material, either. But I liked it even more than the picture of Jackie Daniels, so much so I tweaked the original joke a bit and passed it off as my own. So don’t go hatin’, yo.

Super Fun e-Mails: Name Your Sled.

Avy Scott P O V sex videos
The Jedi Knight writes:

I was wondering what kind of car you drive? Being a self-employed porn producer, do you find it difficult to obtain financing? How do you provide proof of income, for instance?

America – the only country where everyone drives a car but no one can afford to buy one!
————————————
Wanna hear something funny?

Every once in a while I leave my body while I’m shooting a scene. I know this sounds kooky, or metaphysical, or hippyesque…or just plain crazy — but it happens. Example: I’ll be in the middle of shooting and suddenly I can see myself from outside the set. I get kinda tingly and I have a hard time concentrating. It comes on kinda quick and passes almost as fast. Then, while it’s happening, I’ll also think how weird and whacky my life is, and the absurd way in which I earn a living; furthermore, I think how life is absurd, and money’s even more absurd than life, and even more absurd is the fact we can never really quit wanting things we certainly don’t need…things that really don’t add to the quality of life. Of course this is nothing more than human nature; hence, this whole thing is even more absurd than money or filming something like an interracial gang bang or a girl sucking off someone she doesn’t know through a hole in the wall or even what I call a “love making scene”. Suddenly, I’m back in my body. It’s a process that takes about 10 seconds — from start to finish.

When I explained this to my banker as I was applying for the loan to purchase my Toyota truck, she leaned back into her chair, pulled out whatever girls hide in their hair to let it fall on to her shoulders, slowly removed her glasses, and softly told me to go shut the door to her office.

I did as I was told.

As I turned to go sit down again, both her feet were up on the desk. She was wearing sexy black hose and a garter belt, and she was spread eagle, her panties pulled to one side as she furiously rubbed her clit. Her hips were slowly gyrating — her head pulled to one side. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily.

Quite suddenly — and without an sort of warning — she squirted all over my 1040’s. She had three years’ worth, cause I’m self-employed and that always raises The Banker’s Brow, and trust me when I tell you all three years were covered in her sweet love juices. My credit report was drenched, too…so much so you could barely read the big “660” on it, as well as the list of notorious slow-pays I have from the Thorns-In-My-Side I refer to as student loans. Which, of course, was right next to the deposit check, which I had to have reissued cause it was so covered in her gush.

She moaned quite loudly as the gusher of cum erupted from her cunt — so much so I was surprised no one from the adjacent offices didn’t come rushing in to see what was going on. She then told me to pull my cock our so she could taste me.

I did as I was told.

Of course this was almost four years ago, when almost any chump could secure a loan from a bank.

While I’m quite sure if I returned to my banker today to apply for a loan she’d play with herself and suck me off, I’m not too sure I”d secure the it; money’s tough to come by these days.

Finally, why call America the only place where everyone drives a car they don’t own? You think the Frogs drive around in their shitty paid-off Le Cars? Or the Germans pay off theirs? Certainly America has way too many people driving around and not using public transportation (I’m guilty, your honor) but to think the rest of the world is driving a car with a title paid-in-full is as silly and stupid as this post.

The Pope Goes To Alaska.

The Pope went on vacation for a few days to visit the rugged mountains of Alaska. He was cruising along the campground in the Pope-Mobile when he heard a frantic commotion just at the edge of the woods. There he found helpless Democrat wearing shorts, sandals, a “Vote for Obama” hat and a “Save the Trees” T-shirt.

The man was screaming and struggling frantically, thrashing all about and trying to free himself from the grasp of a 10-foot grizzly bear. As the Pope watched in horror, a group of Republican loggers wearing “Go Sarah” shirts came racing up.

One logger quickly fired a 44 magnum slug right into the bear’s chest.

The two other men pulled the semiconscious Democrat from the bear’s grasp.

Then using baseball bats, the three loggers finished off the bear. Two of the men dragged the dead grizzly onto the bed of their pickup truck. The other tenderly placed the injured Democrat in the back seat.

As they began to leave, the Pope summoned all of the men over to him.

“I give you my blessing for your brave actions!” he proudly proclaimed. “I have heard there was bitter hatred between Republican loggers and Democratic environmental activists, but now I’ve seen with my own eyes that this is not true.”

As the Pope drove off, one logger asked his buddies, “Who the heck was that guy?”

“Dude, that was the Pope,” another replied. “He’s in direct contact with Heaven and has access to all wisdom.”

“Well,” the logger said, “he may have access to all wisdom, but he doesn’t know squat about bear hunting…by the way, is the bait still alive or do we need to go back to Massachusetts and get another one?”

Clean up — Aisle 5.

The Mask and Minion Porn

A man was in a long line at his local Safeway store. As he got to the register he realized he had forgotten to get condoms, so he asked the checkout girl if she could have some brought up to the register.

She asked, “What size condoms?”

The customer replied that he didn’t Know.

She asked him to drop his pants.

He did.

She reached over the counter, grabbed hold of him and called over the intercom, “One box of large condoms, Register 5.”

The next man in line thought this was interesting, and like most of us, was up for a cheap thrill. When he got up to the register, he told the checker that he too had forgotten to get condoms, and asked if she could have some brought to the register for him.

She asked him what size, and he stated that he didn’t know. She asked him to drop his pants.

He did.

She gave him a quick feel, picked up the intercom and said, “One box of medium-sized condoms, Register 5.

A few customers back was this teenage boy. He thought what he had seen was way too cool. He had never had any type of sexual contact with a live female, so he thought this was his chance. When he got to the register he told her he needed some condoms.

She asked him what size and he said he didn’t know. She asked him to drop his pants and he did. She reached over the counter, gave him a quick squeeze then picked up the intercom and said, “mop and bucket to register 5!!!”

Interview with a Porn Star (#14) — Spring Thomas

Spring Thomas
If you think, for one second, that Spring Thomas would agree to any sort of interview, well…you don’t know Spring like i do. So, I decided to make up an interview with Spring and publish it here.

Repeat: this is an entirely made-up thing. A thing I that came directly from my own head. Like fiction. In fact, I’m categorzing this interview under “Fabulous Fiction” as well as “Interview with a Porn Star”, cause, well…that’s what it is. However, I know Spring pretty well; in fact, I think I know her so well, I bet I can pull this off just like it was the real thing. Pretty cocky, huh? But after shooting her for 3+ years, I think I can back my shit up.

I Shoot Porn: Wow! Spring Thomas giving up an interview. That’s a pretty rare thing.

Spring Thomas: It is. In fact, I’ve only really done it one other time, only it was over internet radio.

ISP: I remember. You were really nervous.

ST: I know! Right?

ISP: Yes mam. Like when you did your very first scene ever. That BJ scene. At that amatuer site.

ST: I don’t want to talk about that.

ISP: Um, ok. Wanna talk about Sweet Apples? That was really the first time you were on camera, ever.

ST: I know! I like Sweet Apples! I was Ryan. I had fun. It was solo stuff, and some girl-girl stuff. Really innocent. And fun.

ISP: Then I found you.

ST: Or I found you.

ISP: That’s right. You called the ad we placed looking for talent for Spunkmouth. Remember?

ST: How could I forget? We met at Starbucks. It was summer, almost fall. Going on four years now.

ISP: Can you believe it? And we haven’t murdered each other yet. Well, I almost murdered you once.

ST: Yea, I remember. I think I almost murdered you like three or four times.

ISP: Maybe. You brought me doughnuts to fend off a beating once. Remember? You and Sophia did, actually. At like 10 in the morning. I shoulda still killed you two. Or maybe at least spanked you guys really good. Silly rabbits. Why don’t you bend over now and let me take a few whacks at that ass?

ST: Shut up!

ISP: Enough of this. Let’s talk porno. Who’s your favorite guy to work with?

ST: Shane Diesel. And lately, Jason Brown.

ISP: What about Mandingo?

ST: Eh.

ISP: Jack Napier?

ST: Eh.

ISP: Mr. Marcus?

ST: Yuk.

ISP: Double Yuk. Billy Watson?

ST: I won’t work with you. You’re white. And you have a really small dick.

ISP: Excuse me! I have an average-sized penis. 6 inches, no cheating, either. That’s base to tip. Not measuring from my butthole, and certainly not measuring from San Diego.

ST: Like I said. You have a really small dick. I’m a Size Queen sweetie. You should know that by now.

ISP: So size matters?

ST: Um, yea. Duh.

ISP: What’s the craziest scene on your site?

ST: This new boyfriend of mine and the scenes we’re shooting with him are hands-down the craziest stuff ever.

ISP: Yea, it’s gonna make people rip us off even more now.

ST: Totally.

ISP: Your poor boyfriend. You’re so mean to him.

ST: But he loves it so.

ISP: I know, huh? So what do you like to do in your spare time?

ST: I’m not answering that.

ISP: Wanna talk about your family at all?

ST: Nope. Not going there.

ISP: Your best friend?

ST: Sophia.

ISP: School?

ST: No thank you sir. Won’t talk about that.

ISP: The kind of guys you date?

ST: None of your business, man!

ISP: Can you tell me if you’re dating anyone at all right now?

ST: No sir-ee.

ISP: Do you party a lot?

ST: I like Saki Bombers and Bud Light and Kettle One. That’s about all I’ll say there.

ISP: Favorite color?

ST: Pink.

ISP: Who’s your favorite porno director?

ST: Um, wow. That’s a hard one. Lemme think on that.

ISP: Favorite song?

ST: Well, I dunno if I have a favorite. I love country music. I love pop music. I liked that Ashlee Simpson CD when it first came out. And 50 Cent, but that was a long time ago. I know I love to drive you crazy with my CD’s when we drive to LA. I like Napster and my lap top.

ISP: Remember when you wanted to be J Lo?

ST: I never wanted to be J Lo.

ISP: Favorite food?

ST: Beer. Fried rice. Beer. Sushi. Beer.

ISP: Beer isn’t a food.

ST: Says who?

ISP: Um…well, let’s see. What else…hmmm. What day is it today?

ST: You know what day it is today.

ISP: I do. How could I ever forget? May I?

ST: Of course darlin’.

ISP: (drops to his knee in song) Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happppy birrrthday dear Spring…happy birthday to you!

ST: Awww. Thank you hun.

ISP: Did you get the flowers I sent?

ST: I did! I love them. Thank you sooo much!

ISP: OK. Now just admit 6 inches isn’t small.

ST: Not on your life, shrimpy.

Spring Thomas