Tuesday Cartoon Madness
All posts by Billy Watson
Super Fun e-mails (and more Riley Mason…cause really, who can get enough Riley?)
Dane writes:
Billy,
So I’m writing you again as a professional porn man for your input. I was watching Voyeur’s “The Gauntlet 2” the other day and in the charming extras section there was an interview with Ms. Riley Mason. She let it slip in there that she did… dun Dun DUN… escorting (AKA prostitution). It came up because Voyeur and Ms. Mason were having a chat about what a whore is and Riley thought it was someone who had sex for money, and she did, and Voyeur thought it was someone who would sleep with anyone anywhere (which Riley seemed to admit to, which was hot, but not the point).
So my question to Mr. Billy Watson is thus… what do YOU think a whore is? Do you see a difference between prostitution and pornograhpy? Is Riley Mason a whore, a whore, or a whore?
Also, totally unrelated: hire Lexi Belle and Gwen Diamond as soon as possible.
Your faithful reader,
Dane
Heya Dane!
Take a look at the very first pic I took of the lovely Miss Mason. It was in the make-up chair, maybe just an hour before James Deen pummled her silly for one of her very first scenes ever – a Riley Mason spunkmouth. And after that, it was a Riley Mason Jizz On My Glasses …one of the worst facial obliterations I’ve had the pleasure to partake in.
But you really didn’t ask about that, did you Dane?
Whenever you need to know what a word means, your default place to go is the trusty dictionary…a place, I’m sure, you hated to go while you were in school. Shit, all kids hate to consult the dictionary. Why do that when your teacher – who’s standing right in front of you – can do the same thing, and much more quickly, too?
According to dictionary.com, a whore is “a woman who engages in promiscuous sexual intercourse, usually for money”. Now, I really wanted to see how dictionary.com measures up to the mother-of-all-single-volume dictionaries – Webster’s Second Edition. (Note: I can’t afford the 32 volume “OED” – Oxford English Dictionary).
Webster’s says a whore is “a woman who practices unlawful sexual commerce, esp. one who prostitutes her body for hire; a harlot”.
This, of course, is completely different than how the judge in California v. Freeman decided. See, there was this dude named Freeman, and he did pretty much the same thing I do, and the state nailed him on a pandering charge. This was just another attempt by the Right Wingers to shut down my business. Pandering is, for the most part, finding someone to have sex with someone else, which is how a pimp functions with his whore. In the state where I live, pandering is a class 6 felony. In California pandering is a felony, too…I think. Might be a misdemeanor, but a naughty, naughty one. I’m not sure. I’m not a lawyer.
Are you following me here Dane? Or am I rambling?
Cause here’s one of your answers: Riley Mason is not a whore. She’s an adult motion picture actress, and she’s protected by law to appear in movies in which she’s compensated to engage in non-obscene sexual acts with other people as long as said motion pictures are produced soley in the state of California.
Whew.
You can always count on me for fancy jargon…just don’t ask me to define obscene.
But I still really haven’t answered you, have I Dane? You asked what I think. And what I think is the Judge in the Freeman ruling was a very, very smart person, and it doesn’t really matter what I think; it matters more how the courts ruled…cause not-too-long ago shooting an adult movie was a very risky thing that could have cost you a lot, and now it doesn’t. As long as you do it in California.
And Riley Mason is one of my very favorite whores ever. Which doesn’t make her a slut, cause a slut just fucks a whole bunch of people for free.
Whores are smart business people.
Sluts are dummies.
And as long as the camera is rolling, we’re all just fine, thank you very much.
Your pal – Billy
PS: I’ve been trying to hire Lexi Belle, but with no luck. I’ll ask around about Gwen Diamond…just for you.
Barbie’s New Boobies
I’m starting to crush on Barbie Cummings.
The first time I shot her was for Spunkmouth, and I think it was 3 or 4 months ago. I even interviewed her that day.
Then, of course, I blogged about her the other day…when we had our little slumber party.
Now she’s sending me cell phone pics of her new boobies. That’s right: 34D’s were not enough for Miss Cummings…she wanted more.
Much more.
So she doubled them up. 400-and-something-CC’s to 800+ CC’s…of pure mammary love.
Big Fat Mammary Love.
I used to be kinda down on cosmetic surgery, and I still am…but not as much as I used to be. It’s important for people to feel good about themselves, especially in a society that does its absolute best to put people down at every opprotunity. So if Barbie doubles her tits and the end result is she loves herself twice as much as she did before, then that’s a good thing, and that’s all that matters to me.
When does it backfire? Well, if Barbie’s doing it to please someone else. And from what I know about her, she isn’t.
Now that I have all the polite talk out of the way, just take a look at those babies. Holy Christ. I wanna squirt them down, right now, with whatever baby-batter I have left in my ball sac after rubbing one out just a little while ago. I wanna grope those big ol’ fun bags, and then, after some melon munching, I want to just get lost in them completely, for at least the next day or so.
I wanna fuck those titties silly.
I wanna walk around KMart with Barbie, rushing to a Blue Light Special, her barefoot and giggling and in daisy duke shorts, with nothing but a wife-beater covering up those over-stuffed pleasure pillows. A white trash hoe-down, not cause Barbie’s white trash – not by any means – just cause I think it would be funny to see such a sight…as well as everyone else’s reaction.
Um, what else? A haiku?
Oh Barbie Cummings!
I bet your new tits are so
soft Fifi will bark!
How’s that for a little bit o’ poetry on your otherwise boring Friday?
Gianna…again.
The first time I met Gianna was on a Spring Thomas set, and it was at least two years ago.
Tonight she was shooting at my pal Nicky’s studio, and I wanted to show her my new place, so after she wrapped with Nicky, she came over to my place for a soda pop…and to talk shop.
First thing I told her was, “you know, it’s funny Gianna, cause I just got some fan mail about you the other day, and I blogged it.”
This made Gianna happy. All porn stars love their fans. I showed her the fan mail, and we chatted a little more.
Turns out Gianna wants her own website, and she wants to own it. The whole thing. And this is great, cause I see so many of these girls practically give their money away…but not Gianna. She’s an owner, and she’s gonna have a great site – very soon. Maybe even by AVN’s.
Gianna liked my new pad – especially the shower. “You know,” she said, “I’d love to have you shoot me in there. Like, right now. Are you up for it?”
What a silly question, Gianna.
Silly, silly girl.
It’s days like these – shooting pictures of Gianna taking a shower at my place – that make me wonder how I got so lucky in this life.
Allen Ginsberg’s Howl.
In 1987 I was a college student, and – like most kids in school – I was very confused about which way my life was headed. I came into my senior year with a GPA only a college jock could be proud of, too. Which was true, cause I was a jock, and I played that role very well. Problem was, my time was almost over. I had to declare a major, and my athletic counselor suggested history…cause it was “easiest”.
Her words.
I chose English. I liked to write, and I like to read – biographies on all the people I looked up to, mostly. So why not English Lit? Problem was, none of the books I read were curriculum, of course.
I had no idea about Beowulf, or Chaucer, or almost anything Shakespeare ever wrote – and I really still don’t; Milton and Dante and Blake were a mystery to me; I kinda liked the 19th century American writers – specifically Stephen Crane; I threw away Absalom, Absalom! in disgust – I mean literally…like, in the trash can; however, Hem and Steinbeck and Scotty Fitz were cool; and then, one day, I walked into a movie theater cause Mickey Rourke was playing a down-and-out poet, and I still liked Rourke enough back then to cough up 6 bucks and watch him act.
This was, of course, before “Harley Davidson and The Marlboro Man”.
Rourke played Charles Bukowski; the movie was Barfly. After it ended, I walked out of that theater and immediately to the used bookstore across the street, where I scored a rather dog-eared copy of Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame.
A book that would alter my life for the next decade or so. Maybe even to this point.
From there, I found the Beats, and Kerouac, and Corso, and Old Billy Boy, and sure enough, Allen Ginsberg. Devoured a lot of it, although Burroughs maddened me, and Allen was too homoerotic most of the time for my tastes, and Corso kinda bored me, and sure, On The Road was great, but, to tell you the truth, I liked Visions of Gerard more.
Until I reread On The Road.
50 years ago today City Lights published Howl. It got Ferlinghetti into a lot of trouble. It was a dirty book, and some people don’t like dirty things, so they use all their might – political and otherwise – to control everyone around them…because that’s the kind of shitty people they are. The conservatives ruled then, and a Senator named Joe McCarthy was lying his ass off and ruining peoples’ lives in the name of battling The Enemy (then called “Communists”) in order to increase his power. Most Americans were afraid about almost everything, cause that’s the way the government wanted them to feel.
Funny how some things never change.
Anyways, reading Bukowski and The Beats made me turn back to Beowulf, and Chaucer and I reread them, and this time I liked them – and almost understood what they were saying. I still avoided almost anything Shakespeare ever wrote – as well as Milton and Dante.
But not Blake or Faulkner.
I haven’t read anything in almost four years…about the same time I’ve been making dirty movies. I did go out and buy Charles Frazier’s new book, and The Best American Comics for 2006 – the R. Crumb story about his brother Charles made that book worth every cent.
I haven’t scouted for used books in almost four years…about the same time I’ve been making dirty movies. I’ve scored some beauties, too, over the years…bought and sold them lots of times, my all-time favorite being a Ray Johnson book that had a piece of his art laid into the front page. Or maybe some of the Bukowski titles that had original paintings by him, tipped right into the book itself, too. Ed Abbey and Tim O’Brien and Thomas Pynchon and Toni Morrison and Flannery O’Connor and William T. Vollmann; Hem and Steinbeck and Scotty Fitz and old James Joyce in Paris, with Gertrude Stein making sure they were all OK.
And you scurvy fucks think I’m a dumb pervert…which is entirely untrue: I’m the smartest fucking pervert you’ll ever get to know.
Tuesday Cartoon Madness
Super fun e-mails.
DN writes:
you may think you’re a “gentleman” because you didn’t fuck Barbie Cummings but she is at this very moment telling her friends that you are too “gentle” and not “man” enough otherwise she wouldn’t have needed to masturbate while in your bed, let alone blogged on myspace. Fifi was right : piss on this!
DN
You guys don’t know this, but DN loves to hate on me and my blog. I get all sorts of hate mail from him. Just got two more today…one calling me a “coward” cause I don’t allow comments on the blog anymore. (I got tired of weeding spam out of them). DN has also taken time out of his day to slam me in past about gloryholes, and the fact they “don’t exist”.
It’s kinda fun, actually, getting hate mail. I wish more of you scurvy bastards would send some.
I try to answer all my hate mail, too. In this particular instance I told DN the truth, which is DN wished he was, in fact, me. DN wants very, very badly to be Billy Watson. I said something like Dude, you wish you were me, and you love my blog, and my life, and you wish it were yours, and blah blah blah. I wanted to goad something out of him, and boy, did it work!
man, I like your blog for the same reason people like to drive by car wrecks. A shameful, if understandable fascination for scenes of human failure. You serve a purpose. You remind us that when we became ungrateful for what we have, we can always look at guys like you and say to ourselves, “at least I don’t have to watch high school drop-outs give each other infectious diseases all day and never get laid myself.” Then we go back to our careers and families and future with a more balanced outlook.
DN
What does this poor sap fail to realize? DN is describing himself. Exactly. To a T.
DN – you do watch high school drop-outs (and graduates…and college drop outs and graduates) give each other infectious diseases all day and you never get laid…huh, DN?
See, like most porn haters, DN can’t stand porn cause he can’t stand himself, and porn controls his life.
I bet DN has a list of porn girls he’d love to bang – all of which, according to him, never even got their high school diploma. Thank God you don’t need to graduate high school in order to have sex!
DN sneaks off to the computer room after Wifey is fast asleep, and he pleasures himself endlessly…and hates himself for it as he wipes his own cum off his fat stomach and sneaks back into bed, fearful he might awaken The Beast.
If DN actually got laid, he wouldn’t be surfing porn. He wouldn’t know about this blog, or Gloryholes, or any such nonsense. His lucky wife would have drained those tiny balls for him, and DN would be snoring next to her, instead of scouring the internet for as much free porn as his hard drive could hold.
And taking time to engage me in debates about gloryholes? I bet DN is – or was – a member of Gloryhole.com. And he loves my work. Your computer is crammed with some of your very favorite scenes, isn’t it DN?
DN loves his hard drive more than that balanced outlook and career and family he claims to have.
Newsflash – pornography doesn’t create an addiction to porn anymore than a pint of Guiness creates an alcoholic. We all know it goes way beyond whatever substance the addict is abusing.
I’m not here to offend anyone – DN included. That’s never been the purpose of I Shoot Porn. I do, from time to time, take a second or two to defend porn. Cause it deserves to be defended. Imagine life without our 4 beloved legal vices: booze, gambling, tobacco, and porn. Imagine how bored we’d all get.
Imagine having to watch a football game without throwing back a few cold ones.
Imagine having to watch a football game without betting on it.
Imagine having to watch a football game without sucking down that nicotine and letting it nestle in your lungs.
Then, imagine coming home to your boring old slice of pie you call a wife and having to either fuck her, or go hide in the closet from her and jack it like a monkey in the zoo…cause she quit fucking you after kid number 3.
Or coming home to no one at all and being alone, again, for another night. And you end up jacking…but not to porn, cause the Conservative Right has ended it all. So, you end up wanking to the same images you’ve been wanking to, over and over…the same ones stored up in your brain for years and years – maybe it was the first girl you lost it to, or maybe spying in on your neighbor’s mom whilst she showered after a long day at work.
The only thing worse than not being able to jack to porn might be actually having to bang your wife.
Or DN’s wife.
How about watching that same game, getting buzzed, covering the spread and winning a few bucks while giving all your pals second hand smoke? Then going home and hitting the computer to watch a brand new scene featuring those well-known high school drop outs like Bella Donna or Spring Thomas or Barbie Cummings, or…well, you get the picture.
DN, do not pity me. My future, my career, or whatever else you may dream up next time you sit down to bang out another hate mail. My future and career are all as balanced as yours. Even more, I bet. And don’t hate me either, dude…just cause you want my life. Oh, and wait till you see what I’ve been having the girls do at the gloryhole – they’re swallowing now!
Swallowing a stranger’s jizz.
Every last drop.
FOR REAL.
So renew your membership, DN, cause you’re gonna love every second of it.
Your pal – Billy
Super fun e-mails.
JG writes:
I was kinda surprised to read that you saw the Pogues at the Wiltern. I flew to NYC to see them in March. Shane was pouring gin down his throat all night but never fucked up, even through the tricky verses of “Bottle of Smoke” that I can’t recite stone-sober. Like you, I’m glad I got to see him while he’s still around.
Oh, I do have one question for you. What do you think of Gianna? I know you shot her for a Spring Thomas scene, but I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her on your blog.
Hey JG!
Damn…I got a lot of e-mails on The Pogues show, but never one about Gianna, which never made any sense to me, cause I think Gianna’s as close to flawless as you can find in my biz. She’s a woman, too…I mean look at her. She’s not waifish, but when someone describes a girl that way, the first thing you think is she’s fat.
Not Gianna.
She’s a woman…the kind Rubens would have loved to paint, if he could have found a woman in the 17th century built like Gianna. See, as fas as I’m concerned, Gianna’s a rare gem. Shit brotha, you should see her in real life! I mean she’s curvy without being fat, she’s beautiful, and she’ll do naughty, naughty things on camera. I dunno why she isn’t more popular.
And here’s a weird thing – I’ve only shot her twice: once for Blacks On Blondes, and once for Spring Thomas. Here’s a couple of pics from the Blacks On Blondes shoot.
Gianna’s a great person to work with, too. She’s genuine, a real treat, and I think I’m gonna call her up and book her tomorrow for whatever it is I can book her in.
That’s how much I like Gianna.
As for Shane MacGowan and The Pogues, well, they were great, too.
Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest guy in the world, and life is nothing short of spectacular…and it’s things like Gianna and seeing the Pogues play “Fairytale of New York” live that make me feel this way.
Your pal – Billy
A Barbie Cummings Slumber Party
Barbie Cummings is the next Eat Some Ass update, and boy, does she do a great job licking a butt. Simply put – an amazing performer, but also a great person – but I’ll get to how I know that in a second.
An amazing performer. The girl should have her own site. Something like maybe she’s Barbie Cummings by day, but at night she turns into something – something very sexual and something that not every other girl on the internet is doing. Kinda like a Jekyll and Hyde sort of thing.
After we wrapped, Barbie decided to stick around my new studio…to small talk, and have a popsicle, and just hang out. Her agent couldn’t pick her up for a while, and I just called and told him I’d take Barbie back to Porno Valley – after she finished her popscicle.
Barbie loves to suck on popsicles.
She also loves chocolate, and to bake all things chocolately in the stove, and guess what? My new studio has a stove, and the next thing you know Barbie is showing me her favorite Toll House recipe and whipping up these amazing cookies. They were amazing cause they were tender, yet firm, and they were the biggest cookies I’ve ever tasted…they were so big and yummy, in fact, that some people might think they’re fake cookies…and to tell you the truth they tasted so good I don’t give a fuck if they’re real or fake.
Barbie loves her cookies. So do I.
We got to know each other a whole lot better that day, and it was really nice. She even stuck around after the sun went down, and we went out to dinner, and Barbie even brought her dog – the infamous Fifi Le Fluff. Fifi is a Pomeranian, and Fifi even has a stage name: Kibbles Cummings. The reason Fifi has a stage name is cause she’s going to be one of the hottest barely-legal doggie starlets – once she gets to Paris – cause dirty doggie movies are legal to make in France.
And soon the world will know about Kibbles Cummings…just you wait and see. And Barbie is going to be Kibble’s European agent.
After dinner I needed a Starbucks fix, and Barbie wanted one as well, and so did Fifi, so we stopped to enjoy yummy over-priced coffee-based drinks. And as if Barbie’s delicious cookies weren’t enough, I snacked on my favorite over-priced Starbucks treat: the low-fat banana chocolate chip coffee cake.
Yum.
Even Barbie had some…and, of course, Fifi went beserk over the tasty treat.
Back at the studio, we chatted the night away on my big, overstuffed brown sofa that’s yet to see a porn scene shot on it, so we were safe from any DNA stains that always end up on porno sofas. On that sofa Barbie told me all about her life back home, and her best friend, and how they like to go drinking, and how Barbie loves to take off her clothes once she’s had a few too many, and Barbie told me all about herself and what she likes and doesn’t like: Barbie loves racing people (and the cops) in her pink car; she loves long walks on the beach; Barbie likes her burger to be centered on her bun; she doesn’t like to hear anyone chew their food loudly; Barbie likes a strong, decisive man. We talked about Fifi’s new career, as well as training Fifi to quit making wee-wees and boom-booms on Barbie’s bed; Barbie also loves to make things grow; she’s really into her flower garden, and she works very hard to grow the very best flowers she can.
Barbie loves her flower, and so do I.
Suddenly, we realized it was very late, and I sheepishly asked her if she and Fifi would like to spend the night.
“I’ll be a gentleman,” I promised. “I won’t try to do anything to you at all. Let’s just get some sleep.”
Fifi barked very loudly, and I looked at Barbie. Barbie can translate Fifi’s yip yaps.
“Fifi said, ‘I’ll try my very best not to make wee-wee on your bed, Mister Billy!'” and we both said Awww.
So the three of us went up to my bedroom loft, and the very first thing Fifi did was make wee-wee all over my bed. Then Fifi looked at me and barked loudly again, but Barbie didn’t translate this time, cause Barbie was very, very angry. But that’s OK, cause Barbie fixed it.
I have a feeling Barbie can fix anything.
And then we all went to sleep.
I can’t sleep through the night anymore. I could up til I was about 38 years old. Once I hit 38, no sleeping through the night. Weird, huh? Did I tell you that at 40 I lost about half of my sex drive? Which is to say I beat off 50% less than I used to…which now comes to about every 3 and a half days out of the week – instead of every day of the week. And at 41 I could no longer read my morning newspaper without wearing dumb reading glasses? Soon I’ll probably have to eat blue pills to make my weiner get stiff, and it will be at that point in my life that I will hang myself from one of the rafters in my porno studio.
Anyways, I woke up at 4 am, not because I couldn’t sleep, but because someone was moaning…moaning very loudly, I might add. Loud enough to wake me up. I looked at the foot of the bed where Fifi lay in her fluffy pink bed, and nope…it wasn’t her. I looked over at Barbie, who had the covers pushed down around her knees, and her hands were in her panties, going as fast as her pink car goes when she’s running from the cops.
What would you do?
This is all real, by the way, so don’t fuck with me, sending silly e-mails about how all my stories are bullshit. Cause this one, for the most part, is very real. (I lied about Barbie translating Fifi’s yaps, and the dirty doggie movies).
Anyways, you’re laying in bed, next to a porn star, who’s rubbing one out in her sleep. Do you:
1) Jump her bones
or
B) Remember the promise you made…the one about being a gentleman and all.
I looked up at my ceiling and thought about it. I thought about it long and hard, and suddenly, it was 11 am, and I rolled over to see Barbie myspacing on the laptop next to my bed, because she’s a myspace junkie, and it was then I smiled. I smiled cause I woke up next to Barbie, and I smiled cause Fifi LeFluff came up and licked my face, and I smiled cause I realized I’m a gentleman.
I am a gentleman, goddamnit, no matter what any of you motherfuckers think or say.
Tuesday Cartoon Madness
