RIP Greg Giraldo
1
Monthly Archives: September 2010
Squeal Happy Whores (starring Jenna Haze).
Introducing Da Booty Hitta.
Lilly Le Beau…and Wilco!
Super Fun e-Mails: Black Cock Sluts — Fact or Fiction?
As I consider you to be the Cecil Adams of porn (Cecil, of course, authors the long-running “Straight Dope” column) I want to know something about Black Cock Sluts, specifically, do they really exist in Porn Valley, or is a paycheck a paycheck?
Having watched far too much IR porn for far too long than I usually admit, I will from time to time run across various references in blogs and such to certain porn actresses as being a “black cock slut”.
Not one to accept blind assertions without evidence, I will search my trusty IAFD database to see if true. My contention is that yes, they do exist, but they are often not the names usually mentioned. Let me illustrate by example: the adorable Bree Olson is often referred to as a black cock slut. True, she is credited with 21 IR appearances, according to IAFD. But Bree has been a busy girl in general, having notched a grand total of 140 appearances during her relatively short career. So while Bree is surely not adverse to working with The Black Man, I think it’s a bit of a stretch to hang the BCS tag on her.
I know this is a topic you have discussed in general terms on your blog from time to time, but if you could elaborate a bit it would be appreciated. Names would be nice, though I’m aware you have a level of discretion you must maintain. Personal experiences or vignettes you can share would be also be nice.
And, lastly, it would seem that if 90% of one’s B-G work involves interracial, one would almost have to deliberately go out of one’s way to work with tha’ brothas – mere random chance or simply checking the box labeled “IR” on the talent agent’s bio card couldn’t possibly lead to a 90% rating. True?
Thanks for all you do, you dirty smut peddler you.
——————————————————-
Wanna hear something funny, Jimmy? I mean, beside the fact that I waited about a year and a half to answer you?
I actually wrote to Cecil Adams, once. It was a long, long time ago, and it was the first and only time I ever wrote a letter to the author of an advice column, and I did it cause I loved Cecil Adams back then…so I take your “Cecil Adams of porn” label as a compliment. I just wonder how many others know about Cecil?
As far as Porn Valley goes, let’s get one thing straight: we’re all here for the paycheck. Cause, after all, this is a job. You expect a pay check after a long day’s work, right?
Sure, there’s some Porno Princesses who do it for the check. And there’s some who are really into the brothas, so I guess you could call them Black Cock Sluts, and I might as well mention they’re not limited to Porn Valley. Who knows, you might be living next to a BCS. I’ll also add that it’s not limited to gender, either. Are you a BCS? After all, you admit to watching “far too much IR porn for far too long”.
I know, I know. You could say the same thing about me. I’ve been shooting IR porn now for 8 years — this month. But No Way Am I Gay.
Speaking of that, you know one of the most common e-mails Blacks on Blondes receives is something that goes like this: Dear BOB. Hi! My name is Jimmy, and I want to tell you guys that I can suck that big black cock better than the girls who are on your site!”
Hence, Blacks on Boys.
Speaking of that, you know one of the most common e-mails Blacks on Blondes receives is something that goes like this: Dear BOB. Hi! My name is Jimmy, and I want to tell you guys my wife can suck that big black cock better than the girls who are on your site! In fact, she wants to get gang-banged while I watch! Please set it up!!! I’ll even pay!!!”
Hence, Cuckold Sessions.
Speaking of that, you know one of the most common e-mails Blacks on Blondes receives is something that goes like this: Dear BOB. Stupid monkeys. This repugnant zoophilic site and those contemptible whores with AIDS really make me puke. I have bashed one of those bitches yesterday, it was very funny and I have the project to create a site called nigger-loving-whores-bashed.com, and in a few years it will be dead-nigger-loving-whores.com. I hope you will all die in horrible suffering, this is your destiny. Luv, NiggerKiller.
We haven’t started that site yet.
But I digress.
Oh yea, you want some names: off the top of my head, Sophie Dee is BCS, Tara Lynn Foxx and Cameron Love, too; Kimmy and Chayse and Leenuh and Jada Stevens for sure is BCS; and finally, Jaelyn Fox is the biggest BCS of all. She’s Queen of the BCS.
Anyway, Jimmy, I’ve babbled too long. For the record, BCS’s do exist. Just like panty-sniffers exist. There’s piss drinkers and shit eaters, men who like to wear ladies’ panties and women who like to wear men’s underwear. There’s men who jack off on Barbie dolls, women who like to get choked out during sex, and pervs who like to look at pictures of beautiful naked ladies wearing nothing but a panda mask whilst performing mundane tasks.
When I first got into this business, I thought there were like 4 things that made people moan really loud; now I know there’s a million different things. And I have no idea what happened to them during their formative years to make them moan at what they moan at…but it happened.
I know what happened to me.
Just try not to judge…cause, after all, that’s not the Christian thing to do — right?
Your pal — Billy
Lil’ Miss Kitty, The Actor, and Me (Part 1).
It all started with Kitty.
The first time I shot her — back in the summer of ’03 — I remember being totally freaked out when she showed up at the cheesy motel I shot at back then. When I opened the door, I thought I was looking at a 7th grader.
I booked Kitty through her agent; she was one of the first crop of girl coming out of a new agency called LA Direct. I knew when I booked her she was a barely-legal Asian, cause I saw her pictures, and she looked really cute, and I know barely-legal Asians are a big hit with pervy porno surfers. But I had no idea how young she really looked until we met at the door.
“Um, hi. So…you’re…Kitty.”
She smiled, said hello, and walked in. My heart skipped a beat, and if I hadn’t have booked her through an legitimate agency, I wouldn’t have gone through with the shoot…even though all her ID’s were legit.
But this isn’t really about Kitty, but I’ll say the shoot went great; I made a new friend in Kitty, and after the scene wrapped, we went along our merry way, and since then she’s shot hundreds of scenes…and so have I. And we’ve maintained a friendship to this day.
Fast forward to the fall of ’05. A fan e-mails me about Kitty. Actually, I get all sorts of porno-related e-mails, most of which are from dudes who don’t read any of the ads I’ve posted looking for hot chicks who wanna bang on camera, or they’ve read the ad and the part about how I’m not looking for single dudes, but they don’t give a fuck: each and every day a dozen or so dopes write to me, “Hey I’m a dude and I can fuck those girls good! Gimme a chance. Please! I’m the best ever! No one can fuck like me! Here’s my phone number! Call me OK!?!?!”
But I digress.
The e-mail for Kitty is from a fan, and he’s claiming to be an amateur photographer, and he wants to shoot pictures of Kitty, and was there any way I could set it up?
I get silly e-mails like this all the time, too; fans wanna meet some girl I’ve shot, and they really think I’m gonna hand over phone numbers and e-mails. I delete these…most of the time. But this was different. I took a look at the person claiming to send it, and his name was familiar. It looked familiar because it was an actor’s name, and I knew the actor’s work.
You might, too.
This wasn’t an A-List guy or anything, but he’s been in enough stuff that you would know him.
If you don’t know him, your wife does for sure. That’s not meant to be some sort of silly joke; said actor had a recurring role in a cable TV series your wife, or your girlfriend, or your sister used to watch all the time. They made a movie from the series, and then they made a second movie, too. But I knew his work from a super cool indie film a favorite director of mine made a while ago.
And even though he didn’t say he was an actor in the e-mail, I spotted him right away. And I thought — for a split second — that maybe it was a fake. But if you’re gonna fake being an actor, wouldn’t you fake being someone with a big name? George Clooney or Ed Norton or Tom Cruise?
I was curious, so I did something I never do when I get e-mails like this: I replied. I said Kitty might be available for work, and then I just asked if he was who he said he was.
And almost immediately he replied; it was The Actor. Or at least someone who claimed to be The Actor. I asked a few friends if I should meet The Actor, cause I was dying to know if it really was The Actor, and even if it was a crank, I’d like to at least see a jerk that claims to be a relatively obscure actor in order to take a few naked pics of a Porno Princess…which would make a good blog.
All my pals suggested meeting in a public place, which went without saying; I set it up at (where else?) Starbucks — my very favorite Lowest Common Denominator Corporate Entity.
Sure enough, The Actor showed up.
I didn’t want to admit this to him, but in this weird, kinda freaky way I had been following his career since I saw his first big movie in the late 70′s. I had to sneak in the movie, cause it was rated R, and I loved the character he played. I remember walking out then and wondering what he might show up in next. Sure enough, a few years later, I’m at the movie that made Eddie Murphy huge, and there he is. He starred in a movie one of the all-time great directors made, which came out a year or two after, which was right around the time he fell from grace in Hollywood and started working in low budget and indie stuff.
So it was kinda weird to meet The Actor, I’ll admit, especially when it’s in this sort of circumstance. Besides, since we hold up celebrities so ridiculously high in our society (any society, really) that unless you’re in the movie-making business, I’d imagine most anyone would be kinda freaked out and/or excited to meet an actor…especially if you’re a fan of the work.
And I was a fan. But I couldn’t let him know that, right?
I’ll be the first to admit nothing gets me giddy like a celebrity sighting…giddy like a little girl: once Kevin Spacey and Sean Penn walked right by me while I was in one of my very favorite used bookstores in Berkeley. I was combing through the stack of new arrivals, and I got so excited I thought I was gonna make boom-boom in my pants; once I was at James Frey’s book reading, and I sat near Kirsten Dunst, and I got so excited I thought I was gonna make boom-boom in my pants; once I watched Forest Whittaker sitting in his director’s chair when he was shooting a movie on the street near my studio, and I got so excited I thought I was gonna make boom-boom in my pants; when Dennis Rodman visited my studio while he was shooting his latest movie about a bunch of midgets that play basketball (he’s their coach) I didn’t get very excited at all cause Dennis Rodman doesn’t do much for me; and, in fact, he didn’t even let me take his picture in my studio cause he thought it wouldn’t be “good for his image” to be in a porno studio, which is about the dumbest thing he could have ever said.
Oh yea. The Actor. I was — and still am — a fan of his work. Over the next few months we became fast friends. We talked about the movies he’s been in, and the people he’s worked with, and the actresses he’s banged, and all his substance abuse issues; we talked about the stuff we have in common, and the stuff we don’t have in common, and for the first six months or so we got along quite splendidly.
I’ve only surfed once in my life, but to me, friendships are kinda like surfing. Friendships are waves, and eventually you’re gonna fall, and then it’s over. Some rides are really long and fun, some are short and sweet, sometimes you fall right away, and sometimes you don’t even make it up on the board to ride the wave at all.
Watching My Daughter Go Black.
Kinda ballsy in this climate — starting a new website. Anyway, I thought for a second. “How about an interracial foot job site? I don’t think there’s many of those around. Call it “WhiteFeetBlackMeat.com.”
“That would be kinda cheap to produce…I like it, but I want something dirtier. Really dirty.”
“How dirty?” I asked.
“Depraved. Completely wrong. Something that’s highly offensive and lacks any and all merit…beyond jerk-off material.”
I agreed. “That’s what it takes to sell nowadays,” I said.
So I went to my old stand by…one that I’ve voiced many times, but no ones ever really produced — to my knowledge. “Black dudes doing Asians. The teeniest, tiniest little Asian girls we can find. Call it SpooksonGooks.com.”
“I don’t think VISA will let that fly. Anything else?”
I was stumped.
“Tell me what you think about this,” he said. I winced as he blurted out, “Let’s have dads forced to watch their daughters bang negroes.”
“So we’ve got the dad in a cuckold role?” I said.
He answered, “In a sense, yea.”
I asked, “Are the negroes angry…like The BroBangers?”
“No. Make them smart. They’re the boss. They’re in charge.”
“How do we force the dads to stick around and watch as their daughters are getting plowed? I mean any did I know would pull out a gun and start shooting up the place.”
We went over a few scenarios; the best one was to put the daughter/father team in a “counseling session”. A session that would be started by a white guy, and after a few minutes the white doctor would call in his associate. The associate would be the black dude, and that’s when the fireworks would start.
“Give the doctor a smart name,” my boss said.
“How’s Dr. Harvard? That’s the smartest name I know.”
“Great. Go online and print out a diploma and put it on his desk. Make the girls barely-legal, and make sure they’re smart alecs. And no matter what dumb shit comes out of their mouth, have Dr. Harvard agree with them. The daughter is always right. Then, march in the associate, exit Dr. Harvard, and have her get railed.”
As I shot the scenes to start the site, the scenarios expanded, but the theme remained the same: pure, unadulterated filth; its sole function is masturbatory fodder.
And, as always, only the very best fodder at that.
Super fun e-Mails: Lie Your Ass off, Billy!
I had a professor who found his wife on match.com. He is a devout Christian (allegedly) who teaches Tort Law, which he never seems to really understand or be able to explain in more complex terms than “A hits B, B sues.” She is a psychologist who seemed like she was fed up with her Jewish mother telling her to get married, so she got married. Where I’m going with this is that “what do you do for a living” was the first and probably only thing they could have possibly asked each other considering that he can’t put a sentence together and she has nothing in common with him.
You would have to either tell her before you ever met her what it is that you really do, or come up with better lies.
I think you should just come up with better lies. For example, “I write a blog about entertainment.” You don’t have to be Perez Hilton for people to respect it. And it is true because people watch porn for entertainment and well, you do write a blog. I guess you would have to eventually confess your employment situation, but that could be years from now. And if she wants to read the blog, tell her she’s gotta find it herself. Nothing wrong with that.
——————–
So I registered with OK Cupid a few weeks ago, after I blogged about wanting to find a non-whore girlfriend; and upon signing in creating a user name, a sudden wave a depression hit. I can’t really explain it, but all of a sudden I felt an overwhelming need to log off and walk away from my lap top.
Then, after a few minutes –and still feeling mighty blue — I logged back in.
Actually, I can explain it now that I think more about it; the whole idea of creating a user name drove me nuts. And completing a profile made me wanna jump off a bridge.
Not really, but you know what I mean.
User name: do I just give myself a straightforward name (Billy Watson) or something witty or fun or cutesy-pie? After reading through some of these ads, it seems like it’s all about being witty or fun or cutesy-pie.
Ugh.
I logged off and haven’t logged back in.
I was gonna blog about setting up a user name and a profile, and then address Lola’s advice about lying my ass off, but since that didn’t happen, why not tell you about the time I asked a Porno Princess to be my girlfriend? I mean it’s related, right? Plus, it’s a decent segue from setting up an OKCupid account to find a girlfriend…and actually asking one to be my girlfriend…so why not?
Porno Princess and I were pals for quite sometime — maybe even two or three years. In all that time we never banged. Never once fucked around. Never did anything but hang out as friends and enjoy each others’ company. Which I really liked, for the most part. Then, one night not that long ago, we were over at her house, drinking wine and watching Chelsea Handler. I’m not a huge fan of Ms. Handler, but she is — basically cause she kinda is Chelsea Handler, if you know what I mean: an aging, bitter chick who’s pissed at the world, and in order to cope with her issues simply makes jokes at everyone’s expense; in fact, the only real difference between my Porno Princess Pal and Chelsea Handler is Chelsea got her own show.
Anyway, we’re watching Chelsea, and I’m a little wine drunk and feeling…well, kinda like I wanted a girlfriend. Which is to say it wasn’t all about banging as much as “hey, we would make a good couple” — which, if I remember correctly, were my exact words.
“No room for old men!” she shrieked.
We were laying down on her bed, next to each other. I looked into her eyes and said, “excuse me?”
This time she shrieked a littler louder and repeated herself: “No room for old men!” Then, she jumped out of bed and scooped up her chihuahua and walked out of her room and out of her tiny apartment and down to the front yard. I was taken back, not because she declined my advance, but only because she played the age game.
This coming from a shot-out Porno Princess who’s approaching 35.
I laid in bed for a second, feeling more awkward and silly than I had in recent memory. SO I left. And on my way past her in the front yard, I don’t remember what I said, but I wanted to say something like “really? I mean really?!” But I didn’t.
And I didn’t hear from her for a few weeks. When she did call, she let me know I had been put on a two week “probation” for my behavior, which, to this day, kinda befuddles me. I mean it would be one thing if I reached over and grabbed a tit and blurted out, “let’s fuck!”
“Um…all I asked is if you wanted to be a couple,” I said.
“You wanted to bang!” she quipped.
“No. Not at all. I asked if you wanted to be my girlfriend.”
She asked, “Isn’t that the same thing?”
Not even close. We all know that. Like I even need to explain the difference — which I didn’t. I just kinda bit my lip and just rolled my eyes as we ended our conversation, and not too long after this all went down, and in a completely different story that features a lot more bad behavior on her part and has nothing to do with what I just told you, I ended our friendship.
Funny thing is, I’ve kinda missed her ever since.
A Few Things I Love, Lately…
Maybe not…
The Flaming Lips (and Stardeath and White Dwarfs with Henry Rollins and Peaches) performing The Dark Side of the Moon: When I was in middle school, I used to turn on my black lights and lay in bed and stare at my black light posters and listen to The Dark Side of The Moon and wonder how 4 dudes could make such a thing. In high school, I used to invite girls over and bring them into my room and turn on the black light and play Dark Side and make out, and I’d wonder how 4 dudes could make such a thing…along with wondering how soft and great a girl felt. Until my junior year, when I first heard The Clash, upon which I immediately dismissed Pink Floyd and lost the black light and the black light posters and I’d sit in my room and listen to London Calling and wonder how 4 dudes could make such a thing. I haven’t really paid attention to The Dark Side of the Moon until I saw Flaming Lips doing it, and they hired Peaches and Henry Rollins to join along — and now that’s all I’ve been listening to.
Twitter: Yea, I jumped on the bandwagon late, but as for delivering information directly to me concerning all the stuff I love — live music and book signings and shit like that — nothing beats it. Maybe I’ll even start following people (as opposed to places) soon.
Skylight Books: The book — and reading in general — is on life support and not far from death. Last weekend, at The Santa Monica Book Fair, as I was pouring over vintage smut and rare beatnik books, one of the sellers told me his sales resembled “post-apocalyptic levels”. Which is to say he wasn’t selling a thing. And I have no problem with e-readers, cause it’s facilitating reading. I know, too, that it’s tough for a book about, say, killing zombies, to compete with actually killing them on your TV with joystick in hand. But I weep for the book, and I do every time I leave my very favorite neighborhood indie store, even after spending too much money there. Cause I’m one of the few left. Who knows though…maybe, in 20 years, people will start buying books again…just like they’re buying records now.
Naked Girls in Panda Masks: My porno pal Steve Steele, AKA Johnny Ampleseed, AKA Android, AKA Dr. John Harvard, AKA Dr. Mesmer, recently moved far, far away. Relocating from the US to an Eastern European country is no easy feat, and he gave away a lot more than he brought to his new home. On the top of his Give-Away Pile was a panda mask, which I immediately grabbed. Then started shooting naked girls performing mundane tasks wearing the panda mask, just cause I think it looks kinda cool. For some reason, I can’t stop now.
American Dreams: The United States Since 1945: HW Brands book doesn’t bore me, which most history books tend to do, mainly cause he hits each topic which a couple sharp jabs and then moves on to The Next. No getting bogged down with hairy details, which has always been my problem when someone’s lecturing me about our past.
The Mat: What’s gayer? That I love my new yoga mat — or I bought it at a store called LuLu Lemon? That’s right, I shop at Lulu Lemon. No Way Am I Gay! My new mat doesn’t get slippery when I’m sweating all over it, making Down Dog so much easier. And the packaging my new mat came in might be the gayest, most-Hippy packaging I’ve ever seen: “Friends are more important than money” and “Jealousy works the opposite way you want it” and “Stress is related to 99% of all illness” are just some of the friendly reminders printed all over the box.
“Water flushes unwanted toxins from your body and keeps your brain sharp.”
“Listen, listen, listen! And then ask strategic questions!”
“The world is changing at such a rapid rate that waiting to implement changes will leave you two steps behind.”
Ever think you’d be getting such awesome advice from a porno blog?
Interview with a Porn Star (#78) — Lynn Love
Lynn Love: It came from my mom’s side of the family. My mom’s got a big ol’ ass!
ISP: Does she know you’re in the biz?
LL: No. She would die. She’s very conservative, very “sex is bad”. She’s just the opposite of me. My mom would literally die.
ISP: What does she think you’re doing in LA?
LL: Visiting friends. I come to LA for a week or two and then leave. She really doesn’t ask.
ISP: Your friends know?
LL: Yes, cause they saw one of my scenes. A scene from 8th Street Latinas. I’ll never forget. I’m sitting in class and this guy walks in and says, “tight work on that new video, Lynn Love!” My heart just about dropped. I asked him, “what are you talking about?” He told me not to act stupid. All the perverted guys in class heard him, and they pulled out their cell phones and searched Lynn Love. They all knew saw it. All the girls in class were like, “ewwww!” They didn’t like it. The guys did, though.
ISP: What are you studying?
LL: I’m undecided. I have no idea what I want to study. Mayne Interior Design.
ISP: Why do you think Twitter is so popular?
LL: I dunno. Cause people are nosy and want to get in everyone’s business.
ISP: Gotta dude?
LL: Not now, but if the right guy came along…
ISP: Gotta girl?
LL: Yes, and she’s my best friend. We do everything together. We go to the movies together, eat together, we take showers and baths together…we shave each others legs.
ISP: Do you shave each others pussies?
LL: I don’t trust her to shave my pussy. She’d probably cut me. She’s clumsy. She’d probably think that would be funny.
ISP: You mentioned you’re in ass training.
LL: Yes. I want to start doing anal — maybe next week. So, I walk around the house with a butt plug. I’ll even go to the supermarket with my butt plug in. I fuck myself with dildoes.
ISP: Are you aware you’ve got a butt plug jammed up your ass while you’re, say…in the frozen foods section?
LL: I completely forget it’s there.
ISP: Which means you’re probably ready for A.
LL: If it was bigger. I need a bigger plug. Mine right now is about this big (she holds up two fingers) — but I need one about this big (holds up four fingers).
ISP: I can invade your colon with my dick.
LL: (Ignoring me) I want to be abe to fist my own ass. That’s all I want for Christmas.
ISP: Who do you hang out with?
LL: My best friend I was telling you about earlier — Vanessa Lee. She’s got a big booty, too. We have this rule — let’s say we go out to a club…if either of us picks up a guy, and we take them back home, he has to fuck both of us. Not just one of us. If he doesn’t want to, too bad. Fuck that. He’s out.
ISP: And you’ve actually had to kick someone out of your house for that?
LL: Oh yea. I chose this guy, and brought him home, and we were just about to start fucking when I told him: “You have to fuck my best friend, too.” He said, “What do you mean?” And I told you have to fuck me and Vanessa. He said he was only into me, and he thought it was weird…and he said no. I called him a faggot and told him to leave.
ISP: That makes perfect sense. He’s obviously gay.
LL: (laughs) And listen to this! If one of us isn’t in the mood, we still have to watch each other fuck. There’s no privacy in our house. One time, she was having sex with this guy and I had passed out from too many Jägers. So she’s banging my head while she’s riding the guy so I’ll wake up and watch. She was slapping my ass and pulling my hair yelling, “Watch! Watch! Look what I’m doing!” I’m pretty sure the guy though we were crazy. Guys normally think we’re too much.
ISP: Can I fly out to Miami and make that decision myself?
LL: Yea…we’d definitely fuck you! We can call it charity work. (She laughed — I didn’t).
