1. a pattern of spirals or concentric circles.
“Shelley drew larger and larger dark whorls on her notepad”
synonyms: loop, coil, hoop, ring, curl, twirl, twist, spiral, helix, arabesque
“elegant whorls of wrought iron”
a small wheel or pulley in a spinning wheel, spinning machine, or spindle.
1. spiral or move in a twisted and convoluted fashion.
“the dances are kinetic kaleidoscopes where steps whorl into wildness”
2. To revive a pornographic blog that had been abandoned for years.
“Billy Watson, who hasn’t had a thing to say since about, oh…2011, is gonna try to start blogging on a regular basis again; however, knowing his history with starting up whatever it is he thinks he wants to revive — only to lost interest in it almost immediately — means it’s doubtful anything more than a few posts beyond this will see the light of day.”
In 1975, I learned to beat off by watching a kid called “The Hammer” do it in a fort made from refrigerator boxes behind an apartment complex that was under construction — but close to being finished. I was 11 years old, and I wasn’t the only one there. It was a circle jerk, and there were 5 or 6 of us — maybe more, cause that’s part of the memory I can’t recall exactly…but it’s something I’ll never forget. Just like you’ll never forget the way you learned how to masturbate.
Looking back at it now, I wish beating off was something I just kinda stumbled upon, which I think is the way most girls learn how to masturbate…but I could be wrong about that. Instead, on a nice day after school, I hauled ass to the apartment complex after dumping my school stuff in my room. It was directly across the street from where I lived, which was a suburb on the east side of Chicago.
We all hauled ass, because we walked home from school in a group, and everyone saw the immense pile of boxes piled high near the complex on our way home. It was a mountain of boxes, enough to make The Biggest Fort of All Time. Within an hour, we had The Great Room, various wings that lead to smaller rooms; there were even enough boxes to create an outer wall, and we were certain that outer wall would protect us from any and all dirt clods — cause we knew it was only a matter of time before we came under attack.
Instead of dirt clods, it was The Hammer who came crashing in. He was a freshman in high school, but we all knew he was held back a grade or two. He made us nervous, cause the rumor was he belonged to The Burnham Boys, and no one messed with them. Ever. We’d never met a real Burnham Boy, but no one dared asked The Hammer if he belonged to that gang. And we didn’t ask him why he wanted us all in The Great Room, but when he told us to get in there, we did.
And he wasted no time: “You guys wanna watch me pop sperm?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, and I don’t think my friends did, either. But we all nodded yes. So he pulled out his dick, and suddenly I felt an overwhelming urge to cry. But no way am I gonna cry in front of my friends — and certainly not in front of The Hammer. So we all sat there, kinda dumbstruck. “Come on you guys, do it with me!”
I watched for a few minutes more before scrambling out. I ran home as hard as I could run, and as I looked over my shoulder, I saw I was the only one. I also saw The Hammer had a whole bunch of hair between his legs, and his wiener was gigantic. What was that all about?
So that night, sitting in the tub while Aqua Man floated by, I tried to pop sperm. And the only thing that happened was the worst headache I’d ever experienced. It was obvious to me then that Jesus was punishing me for that dirty behavior, so I stopped right away and told Him I was sorry. But it sure did feel good before my head started to hurt, so it was only a few weeks later before I attempted to pop sperm again, which I managed to accomplish that day. I walked around for weeks waiting for something bad to happen to me, cause I was certain Jesus knew what I was up to.
No one ever spoke a word about what went down in the fort, and not too long after all this went down, and I was popping sperm on a regular basis, I found a book in a dumpster. I was in the dumpster looking for beer cans, which was the first thing I ever collected, and I was obsessed beer cans. The book was a pulp novel called Come Swim in my Hole, and on the cover an older, bikini-clad lady sat by a pool watching a younger dude jump off the diving board. At least that’s how I remember it, and now that I collect pulp porno novels, I always look out for it. Cause it was my first masturbation fodder. Before Come Swim in my Hole, I have no idea what went through my head while I was poppin’ sperm, cause I don’t remember. It was just something that felt good.
Four years later, I’d see my first hardcore porno, which was projected up against a wall in my best friend’s older brother’s bedroom on a Super 8 projector. A woman named Seka fucked a dude named John C. Holmes, and his wiener was so big I thought it might be fake. We all laughed as the movie rolled. Since there was a crowd, I couldn’t pop sperm there, so I took the little poster that was folded up in the Swedish Erotica box the movie came in, slipped it into my pocket, and went to the bathroom to piss. Of course I had to announce I was simply going to piss, and no one cared or even looked up at me, cause they were all watching Seka get railed.
When I unfolded it, there were lots of pictures of women with sperm all over their faces, and they were smiling! I couldn’t believe a woman would ever let a man pop sperm on her face — let alone smile about it afterwards. I thought — Do women like that really exist?
Up to that point in my life, I hadn’t had sex yet, but an older girl named Diana I met at a Rodeo Parade would come over to my house “to do homework”, and she’d always wind up blowing me. And she’d always swallow. It never dawned on me to ask Diana if I could blast her face, and even after I saw Seka take that her facial, I’d never work up the courage to ask any of my girlfriends to do anything that naughty…until I was maybe 25 or 30. And never a girlfriend — always a random hook up.
Cause, up to that point in my life, that sort of shit didn’t happen in the real world — and certainly not in mine.
From Wikipedia: “In literature, an epigraph is a phrase, quotation, or poem that is set at the beginning of a document or component. The epigraph may serve as a preface, as a summary, as a counter-example, or to link the work to a wider literary canon, either to invite comparison or to enlist a conventional context.”
Part of the reason I got into the Porno Biz was to write a book. I got out of grad school in ’98, and even though I had written a screenplay (which was sold), and a novel (that didn’t get published), and some short stories (a few of which ended up in some really little lit mags you’ve never heard of), I never considered myself a “writer”.
After grad school I taught, and I did consider myself a teacher. For close to four years I worked hard for tenure. When that didn’t happen, I got into the adult business. And when I broke that news to my mom, it went something like this: “hey, um…mom, so, um, since I didn’t get that tenured-track position at the community college which would have made you really proud, I’m gonna go ahead and start shooting smut for a site called Blacks on Blondes…but don’t worry, I’ll be out of the biz in a year, and then I’ll write a book all about it, and then you’ll be proud!”
Fourteen years later, I’m still shooting smut…and not ready to quit. But maybe it’s time to attempt a book? That means work, and work means time, and the older I get the more I truly realize the Value of Time. Whether it’s my time or your time, there ain’t a lot left. We all value our free time. I like to take pictures and read and look at art and listen to music and travel and all that would be way easier than attempting a book.
I tend to think in a linear fashion, which means if I attempt A Book, my brain thinks beginning / middle / end — in that order. And while I have vague ideas about all three of those things, it means lots of time — with no guarantees about anything other than a tiny slice of hard drive space on my laptop no longer available for pictures or music.
I’ve even got an idea for my book’s epigraph! One of my heroes once said: The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There’s also a negative side. — Hunter S. Thompson
In my head, I’d have HST’s great quote, and then this, right below it: The music porno business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There’s also a negative side. — Hunter S. Thompson Billy Watson
One small problem: HST never said it. He did say, “The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.” but that doesn’t quite work as well, which throws me off, and then I get blocked, and then I can’t write, which means I seriously doubt I can whip up the 100,000 words (give or take) it’ll take to get A Book done.
Did I mention no guarantees if I do manage get through it?
So who wants to meet in Denver September 2nd to catch the original Misfits play Riot Fest?
Yhivi swung by the studio to blow our Stunt Cock after a couple successful runs at The Dick Sucker’s sister site, ManoJob. Finally! In this seven-minute behind-the-scenes clip, Yhivi covers a wide range of topics –from her “super agent” Mark Spiegler to how to find her on social media. Click on her pic for the BTS!
1) Ignoring The Blog: Let’s face it, I don’t have a whole lot left to say. The whole porn industry — from the barely-legals jumping off the bus at the Porn Valley Stop to whether or not we should be using condoms on Stunt Cock — is really a broken record. Oh sure…I could blog about my brand-new, age-inappropriate Porno Girl Friend, Mentally Challenged Stunt Cock’s feeble attempts to get back in my good graces, drug-addicted Porno Princesses, my somewhat-recent European adventure, CAL OSHA, et al…but I’m afraid that might bore you to tears. Well…Budapest was kinda cool, I don’t think I told you about the LA County’s inspection of my Smutty Studio, and, if history proves itself to be right (which you know it almost always does), my relationship status will again be “It’s Complicated” — which we all know is a fancy way of saying “I’m a Crazy Single Person”. The only way to make ISP a little bit interesting is maybe finally get around to attempting a book and posting excerpts here as I churn them out. The churning part is what’s so difficult.
2) NOBUNNY’s November 2 Gig: It was billed as “Night of the Living Dead Fest“: “an all-ages event showcasing artistic talent from all over United States. There will be national and local bands, live art, interactive coolness, unique wares and local vendors, a hand-crafted miniature golf course, rides, and much more..”. It was staged at Old Tucson, an old-tyme ghost town in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, and while a whole lot of interesting bands played, you know who I was there for. I’ll be the first to admit there’s something terribly wrong with me, and his name is NOBUNNY. Here’s the funny thing — the show sucked. His backing band was barely-ok, and I’m pretty sure the Love of My Life was sick — cause he hocked up some pretty gross loogies…the kind you can only spit when you’re under the spell of an extremely nasty chest infection. But the show must go on! And in the olde-tyme “Gamblin’ Saloon” I made a very important decision in my life — as NOBUNNY jumped on stage around 9 pm, the Meat Puppets were a song or two into their set on the Main Stage. OK…I just lied. There was no decision to be made. I sent a few text messages to my old buddies who were front-row center for The Pups, but how many more times do I really need to hear “Lake of Fire” or “Lost”? Don’ get me wrong — 25 years ago those tunes brought tears to my eyes. Anyway, my texts went unanswered, so I was all by myself when NOBUNNY pulled off his tighty-whiteys to reveal a shiny gold G-String…just as he ripped into “Chuck Berry Holiday”. It was then I knew I was in truly in love. But No Way Am I Gay.
3) Dallas Buyer’s Club: Hands down the film of the year. But who was better? McConaughey’s faggot-hatin’, dope-shootin’, rodeo hustler…or Leto’s cross dressin’, T-Rex lovin’ faggot? Oh yea…just once more: no way am I gay.
4) Disclosure’s Settle: From their Wiki page: “Disclosure are an English electronic music duo, consisting of brothers Guy and Howard Lawrence. The siblings grew up in Reigate, Surrey.” That sums up Disclosure. Now I’m gonna sum up my latest dilemma: my lovely, beautiful Porno Princess Girl Friend wants me to accompany her while we both do some Molly. My only experience with anything remotely similar took place in 1986, when, after a night of tossing drunks out of the uber-hip night club where I worked, my bartender buddy handed me a pill, told me to swallow it, and then drive to a near-by house party. In what might have been the dumbest moment of my life, I swallowed the pill after asking just one question: “What’s this?” “MDMA,” he said. “It’s brand-new. Legal in Texas! And it rocks!!” I had no idea what MDMA was, but I took it anyway (cause it was legal in Texas), left work, and failed to find any house party. I drove for hours. This depressed me more than anything ever had up to that moment in my life, and somehow I wound up at my parent’s house…silently weeping to late-night reruns. I was very worried they were going to wake up. And I cried hard when Otis the Drunk got tossed into jail. No lie. Anyway, if I make another dumb mistake, I’m just gonna make sure this record is on instead of TV.
5) Budapest, Hungary: The only reason Budapest makes my list is it’s the Porn Valley of Europe. That’s it. Nothing more. Cause if you’re not worried about a goddamned gypsy using their Shape-Shifter Majik to get your wallet, better keep your eye on the cabbie’s meter! And then once you jump out of your cab, watch your back cause the neo-nazi skinheads wearing English football jerseys will probably stomp you. Especially when chillin’ with a couple of my Blacks on Blondes co-workers. My ex-pat friend who lives there blames the country’s history on all the rude people. I’ll blame the amount of red meat in their diet. That and the weather.
6) The N Word: I get a lot of shit from some the dudes at the discussion board over at IR-Tube. They love to complain about my camera work and my cheezy porno story lines, but the thing that really drives them nuts is when the Porno Princesses drop the N Bomb on my set. I can’t blame the IR.Net dudes for that one. It’s an ugly word that needs to go away. But, like other terrible things — the national deficit or a Wendy’s Triple with cheese and bacon, for example — it’ll always be with us. Especially when all the hip, cool black dudes use it. The members at Black on Blondes go crazy for it, so much so that a girl who would normally score an “8” (out of 10) rating might get another point and a half if she calls her co-star that magical word. How in the world can I use “magical” to describe that terrible word? Well, cause the ONLY OTHER group of folks who love the N Word more than the racist bigots I refer to as “members” are the black guys my boss employs. Works better than Viagra, I’m tellin’ ya.
7) Valentina Nappi: Valentina Nappi is one of the few European Porn Stars who make their way to Porn Valley for work. She’s Italian, and when I tell you she out-fucks her male co-stars, she really does. In fact, she’s the only Porno Princess I’ve seen in the 11+ years I’ve been doing this who’s made Stunt Cocks tap out. No joke. After you watch the DP scene I shot with her, you’ll know Valentina’s The Real Deal.
Usually I blog a particular topic, but today I feel like blabbing about all sorts of shit…so, each paragraph of today’s blog is its own “topic”, whether it’s a current event, or a rant, or a rave…or showing you some of what the fans are asking for:
Please help me to find DVD or VIDEO as per following situation. I have tried but could not find on your esteemed site.
1) Please suggest SITE or DVD or videos where in black masters tie white slaves , torture nipples and pussy, spank them with metal rods and punish them with bottle in ass…and then fuck them
2) Please suggest SITE or DVD or videos where in where in white slaves are reforming and punishing their master, by tie up master with tree and fuck master. White Slave torturing master..
3) Please suggest SITE or DVD or videos where in black master first torture white slave , force cat to lick white slave cunts and then fuck her.
4) Please suggest SITE or DVD or videos where in white teens are inserting live small animals in holes.
As you probably know, there’s a halt on production in Porn Valley. A performer named Cameron Bay has come forward and ID’d herself as the performer who has tested positive for HIV. I’m not sure if the follow-up test has confirmed her HIV status, but no one is shooting. Or should be. Rumor is that Cameron has a boyfriend, or a partner, or some sort of fuckbuddy “friend” that’s gay-for-pay. And rumor has it he’s been in straight flicks, too. Like I said, other than Cameron’s first test coming back positive, all the rest are rumor and speculation and should be treated as such. My deepest sympathy to Miss Bay in this terrible situation, and I am hoping for a good end to it all.
This HIV crisis comes immediately after it was learned a male performer named Alex Gonz has been running around Porn Valley for God-Knows-How-Long with Hep C.
Which came immediately after another male talent named Clover had a false positive for Syphilis.
Ready or not, dear fans, condoms are on the way.
Speaking of that, I went to a Porno Meeting at my Porn Lawyer’s office to discuss how we’re going to comply with the new law requiring condoms. It was a hoot. Lotsa fun. Since it was a closed-door meeting, don’t expect me to blab about what went down, other than I’m doing my best to follow a law that’s impossible to follow.
Speaking of that, the LA Department of Health folks dropped by my studio to check it. They liked my place, gave me a thumbs up, and afterwards we chatted a bit. It went something like this: Me: “So, how do you guys like your new responsibilities with the porno stuff?” Them: “We didn’t vote for this.” Me: “Do you think all this is warranted?” Them: “We’re more concerned about a potential health crisis at, say, Belmont High (local LA inner-city high school) than all of Porn Valley.”
I caught NOBUNNY Sunday night at Echo Park Rising, which is a local music fest. Great show. Fun night for all. Should I mention that I was particularly fond of his tight, red underpants that night? And No Way Am I Gay.
I just shot Gauge, who hasn’t really been in a skin flick since 2005. I say “really” cause she did a scene the day before she came by my studio. Gauge was super cool. No diva here. I interviewed her from my YouTube Channel, and I opened up with “What happens to Porn Stars when they leave Porn Valley for good?” cause that’s what lotsa fans ask me. “Whatever happened to SOandSO? I loved her scene with FillInTheBlank!” I’ve kept in touch with some of the models I’ve worked with in the past, and if I had to take a guess, I’d say over 50% of them remain as Sex Workers, but in a different capacity, whether it be stripping, escorting, or maintaining their Sugar Daddy’s happiness. Some do go get educated, and then head off into the “normal” workplace…only to be haunted by their past. It’s such a shitty situation. People love to out their favorite Porn Star in the workplace, but almost all the time it ends with the employer either terminating ex-Porner…or ex-Porner leaves the workplace after being harassed. I do know a few girls who have maintained a normal job, but not many.
Breaking Bad is winding up to be the greatest television show ever produced. Even better than Walking Dead, which is great in its own way.
Wanna hear another funny Stunt Cock story? So I’m shooting a scene the other day, and Stunt Cock is still new, and definitely unpredictable. Here’s some examples of Unpredictable Stunt Cock behavior on a porno set: Can Stunt Cock speak so others understand him while he’s “acting”? (Note I’m not even concerned with how bad Stunt Cock’s acting might be). Will Stunt Cock maintain wood? Can Stunt Cock hold his nut til the end of scene? Will Billy Watson even get his scene? And, up to the transition from first position to second position, Stunt Cock was doing great. Except maybe with the Mumble Mouth problem. He even kicked ass through the pictures, which is the hardest part of the whole “work” day. (I take all pictures first, before we go to video, for a number of reasons: talent gets to “know” each other better before video; we get all the pictures out of the way so they can just perform during video; etc etc). So Stunt Cock kicks ass through photos, then kicks ass through position 1…then he just stops. Rubs his head like he’s got a headache. “What’s wrong?” I ask, fearing the worst. “Come here. I need to whisper something in your ear.” Knowing the worst is about to come, I walk over to him. “My girlfriend died Sunday.” This revelation makes my head spin, for two reasons: 1) if he’s telling the truth, why the fuck is he on my set in the first place? 2) if he’s telling the truth, which I highly doubt, how can he get through the hardest part of the scene (pictures) and first position and then suddenly stop? After he tells me, I keep calm, tell him things are gonna be OK, and he says something like, “I’ll try to finish”, but by then I know it’s over. Now it’s time to reschedule the whole thing and pay out kill fees. And I call him out for being a liar. Which is risky on my part, and I know that. And I know he’s gonna flip, which he does. It’s not til a few days later The Truth is told: Stunt Cock lost his load during first position, didn’t tell anyone, then threw the dying GF drama in my face. Poor Stunt Cock! He was so distraught he could only make it through the first position before premature nutting whilst grieving (silently, of course) for his lost love. Nice, huh?
Oh, how I love my business! Almost as much as NOBUNNY.
With all the ranting and raving I do about the crazy girls in this biz, I really don’t say much about the dudes…who might be even crazier.
I don’t talk much about the Stunt Cocks — cause let’s face it — almost on one cares about them. I’m sure there’s a handful of fans who pay some attention, but no where near the amount the average Stunt Cock thinks. And with the exception of maybe 3 or 4 Stunt Cocks in the history of the biz (John Holmes, Peter North, Ron Jeremy, and now, James Deen), none of these dudes really even deserve a name.
OK. Add Manuel…and maybe Nacho. Vince Voyeur? John Leslie? PT? Lex Steele? Dingo?
Don’t get me wrong. I could never be a Stunt Cock. There’s no way I could walk on to some director’s set, meet a Porno Princess, and drill her for 30 or 40 minutes while the camera rolls (after taking pictures, too). I’d either lose my nut (in a matter of minutes), if I could even get my totally average ween up at all. So, when I say these dudes don’t deserve a name, it’s not due to to anything more than this: fans wanna see, hear, and feel the girls.
They don’t want to hear Stunt Cock, listen to Stunt Cock commentary and/or jokes, and they certainly don’t want to hear Stunt Cock blow his load. Which why I said they don’t really need a name, and why I don’t really talk about them — until now. So, as I sit here, watching a Led Zeppelin show (1970’s Royal Albert Hall from the DVD set), I thought I’d tell ya a Stunt Cock story.
Cause I have so many.
I could tell you about Paranoid Schizo Stunt Cock, who once told me I wear t-shirts to purposefully distract him to the point of failure. “Which t-shirts, exactly?” I asked. He replied, “you know which ones!” I said, “why would I want you to fail on my set when I have to turn this in to my producer? If you fail, I fail…and none of us will get paid.” He couldn’t really answer that…but it didn’t stop him from texting me the next morning at 5am to let me know he was across the street from my studio, and “didn’t know what he was about to do.”
I could tell you about Angry Stunt Cock, who showed up an hour late for a blow bang. “You’re over an hour late, bro…sorry. We started without you. Maybe next time.” He yelled, “YOU TOLD ME TO BE HERE AT 12!” I said, “no, I didn’t.” He screamed the same thing at me again…just in case I didn’t hear him the first time. “I sent out a group text to everyone. You and the other 8 guys. How did they all manage to make it on time?” He left angry, and then continued to fight with me over that one for weeks. And weeks. Via calls and text messages. Before he finally just left me alone.
I could tell you about Whispering Stunt Cock who called me one cold winter day and told me to leave LA immediately. “Why?” I asked. “Cause some serious shit is gonna go down.” I asked, “what kind of serious shit?” He replied, “mass power outages. Then riots. Then murderous rampages that will cost thousands of lives. It’ll be bloody and brutal. Please leave Billy. I’m telling you this cause I care about you.” I said, “I appreciate your care. When will this happen exactly?” He answered, “immediately after the Super Bowl.” So I said, “when this doesn’t happen, is it OK to give you shit about this phone call…and the fact you’re whispering all this information to me?” Lowering the whisper even more, I could barely hear “Yes”.
I could tell you that Whispering Stunt Cock showed up at my studio, not long after the Superbowl, begging me to put down my camera and quit porn, cause he just had a conversation with God. “You just spoke with God?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. This time without whispering. I asked, “and God told you to tell me to quit porn?” He answered, “yes. He wants Spring Thomas to quit, too.” Then he sprinted into my studio, where I was about to shoot a 10-man blowbang, and he started asking everyone to leave. Which is when I asked him to leave. Which he did. Which, to this day, I can’t believe he did…and I only had to ask him to leave once.
Which is my cheap segue into the story I really wanna tell you, cause it just happened the other day. This is the story of Mentally Challenged Stunt Cock. I’ve decided to name him that because I think he may be. How else would you explain someone showing up late — and with a civilian girl — after years and years of being told specifically not to? This isn’t an exaggeration. Since 2006, when he first did it, I said, “Why are you bringing three girls to set today?” He replied, “These are nice, sweet girls.” I said, “I didn’t ask you that. No more bringing strangers to my set. EVER.” And then, as the years raced by, there would be times when he’d only show up late. Then with girls and late. Then just late. Then late, with girls. Then just late. Over and over and over: always late, sometimes with a girl…or girls. And looking back at it all now, I’m at fault for letting it go on as long as I did…but last week I decided it was over. When he walked in late with his newest girl, I put my foot down. “Leave,” I said. Mentally Challenged Stunt Cock refused. We went back and forth another 10 minutes or so.
“Leave.” “No.” “Leave.” “No.”
It didn’t matter if I yelled LEAVE or not, he wasn’t going anywhere. It was another one of those crazy blow bangs, so I pulled the shoot. “Everyone go home,” I said. “No shoot today.”
This is when the group turned on him, which I knew would happen. I was secretly hoping someone would take a swing at him, but no such luck. But as the yelling continued, Mentally Challenged Stunt Cock finally had had enough. “I’m going out to my car and getting my gun, and when I get back here I’m shooting the place up.” Which is when Porno Princess started crying.
I didn’t take his threat seriously, but that didn’t stop me from dialing 911. What if today was The Day? What if he decided it was his turn to pull a Steve Driver? That’s something I couldn’t have on my conscience.
“I’m calling the cops, please leave.” He said, “I’m calling the cops, too!” I said, “That’s interesting. Let’s see…you’re trespassing and you just made a terroristic threat. I’ve done nothing but ask you to leave after you’ve done something I’ve asked you not to do for 6 or 7 years.”
Mentally Challenged Stunt Cock finally did leave my studio, but he didn’t go home. And when the cops showed, he did too. Which is when he shouted, “There he is, officers! There’s Billy Watson! He’s the one who’s shooting underage girls! You also might want to check for his shooting permits!”
I forgot to mention that, before the cops showed, Mentally Challenged Stunt Cock texted me: The cops are on their way! I will guide them to ur studio. U are shooting minors, u don’t have a permit and I wanna use a condom
When I got it, I didn’t think Mentally Challenged Stunt Cock would really do that…but he did. In fact, the first two squads that arrived were responding to Mentally Challenged Stunt Cock’s 911 call. How do I know that? Cause they told me. “Hello Officers. My name is Billy Watson. I was the one who called 911. That individual refused to leave my workplace and told everyone here he was going to shoot the place up.” Officer Friendly said, “We’re not responding to your call. We’re responding to his. We need to see her ID” and the officer pointed at Porno Princess. (She’s 27).
A couple more squads pulled up, and they were responding to me, and it didn’t take too long for LAPD to figure out who was lying…and who was telling the truth. Hours later, Mentally Challenged Stunt Cock was still dealing with cops as his female friend cried. “The lady has requested we take her back to the station,” Officer Friendly told me after I asked what was up, “so a friend or family member can come get her.” A few minutes later, I peered out me door, and everyone was gone.
Some good came from all this: Permits are on the way, and I’ve just added one more person to the list of people who are permanently banned from my set. It’s a list that’s three names long, which is one less that the four I’ve just told you about.
1) Tim Timebomb & Friends: I was never a Rancid fan, nor did Operation Ivy do anything for me. Tim Timebomb is another story. Just go check out his site, scroll down a bit, and then look for “songs”. He’s posting one a day, and I dare ya to find a dud. Click on the “mix tapes” to stream some while you work. Or jerk. Or work ‘n jerk.
2) Fart Sniffers: “Eproctophiles are said to spend an abnormal amount of time thinking about flatulence, and have recurring intense sexual urges and fantasies involving flatulence.” This from Professor Mark Griffith’s blog. While I can’t vouch for Dr. Griffiths, recently the “world’s recorded case” of so-called ‘eproctophilia’ has been recorded in a 22-year-old man from Illinois. This from UK’s The Metro. The Metro quotes “Brad” — the Fart Sniffer — picked up his fetish after “he heard that a girl that he had a crush on in school had passed wind during a lesson.” The Metro also pointed out Brad was pursuing his degree in the Fine Arts — so sniffin’ farts makes sense. I could have saved the British psychologist who interviewed Brad a lot of time by showing him the FARTING section over at Clips4Sale. My old pal Cinnamon Love made a nice chunk of change blowing big ones for her C4S clients. Urban Legend has a VHS tape featuring none other than Chuck Berry (Roll Over Beethoven) taking direct blasts from a blonde girl’s ass. Cause, as Professor Griffith’s blog points out, “Most people probably view flatulence as a disgusting behavior yet eproctophiles do not.” I always found farting kinda funny…unless they stunk up the joint too much. Then, I’d usually punch The Farter in the arm…and the worse it smelled, the harder I’d swing. You know…just like you.
3) “Just Drinkin’ Beer and Wastin’ Bullets“: Don’t ask me how, but Saturday night I wound up at a Luke Bryan concert. Florida/Georgia Line and Thompson Square opened. Collective audience IQ hovered around 85. I’m sure most spent their entire week’s pay on a ticket, parking, a tee, and a couple tall boys. The only thing that enabled me to endure the night was hanging out with my old high school pals. Wanna get 20,000 Country and Western fans to scream in delight? The lead singer just needs to mention whatever town they’re playing, followed by how big the titties of all the towns’ female inhabitants are. (I guess that goes for a Metal show, too, except instead of a mason jar full of moonshine (to the audience, no less), a Metal band would’ve passed around some blow.) Just when I thought it couldn’t get any dumber, I spotted a cute girl wearing short-shorts, a cowboy hat, and a tee that that read “Just Drinkin’ Beer and Wastin’ Bullets”. A day later I discovered it does get dumber…as she’s quoting the lyrics from one of Luke Bryan’s biggest hits.
4) Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me: From the site: “Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me is a feature-length documentary film about the dismal commercial failure, subsequent massive critical acclaim, and enduring legacy of pop music’s greatest cult phenomenon, Big Star.” I love this film, because I love this band. I love this band cause they’re great, no one paid any attention to them when they were playing together, and did I mention they’re great? If I had to get somethings inked into my skin, it would be the band’s logo off the first record.
5) Molly O’Dell: Last month, my porno pal Siri introduced me to a barely-legal girl who was calling herself Molly. Siri said, “you’re gonna love Molly…and when you do one of your interviews with her, you’re gonna discover something you’re really going to like!” Well, during the interview, nothing really came to light that I would call a “discovery”, so my last question to Molly was, “Is there something I didn’t ask that you think I should know about?” Turns out there was, and Siri was right. Turns out Molly’s mom is none other than Kelly O’Dell, a Porno Princess from the early 90’s. After our interview, I highly, highly recommended that Molly make her last name “O’Dell” and follow in her mom’s footsteps. And for once, a Porno Princess took my advice.