What makes a man fart in the face of a cop? And what makes that cop arrest the farter on battery charges?

What really makes a US Senator “suspend” his bid for the White House? And what really makes that Senator choose an imbecile as his running mate?

I’m fairly confident I know what makes a bunch of frat boys vomit milk off a bridge. But did they know it would cause a car wreck? Ah, my alma mater — Go Sun Devils!

What makes a man buy a beer for his 4 year old son, and then encourage his son to share it with his little brother…who’s 2? And what was the state of Wisconsin thinking for not calling in CPS?

What makes a man die of alcohol consumption? Maybe a bad marriage, or being lonely…or maybe the fact that Chris Jericho is now WWE Champ. What makes him keep his 80-year-old mother in the freezer? (The cops found her after they found him). He needed her Social Security payments to continue, so why fill out a silly death certificate?

What makes a girl paint her face like a whore and commit to eating man ass on camera? And what kind of a person would actually film such atrocities?

What makes a man take off his pants before heading out to the Dunkin’ Doughnuts and expose his wiener to the poor doughnut lady? And what’s his preferred tasty treat? Apple Fritters? Chocolate Olde Fashions? Or just the doughnut holes?

What was God thinking when he made the spotted hyena, which was described by Bloomberg News: “(B)oth the male and female have penises. The female, it turns out, has a scrotal sack, too. For reproductive purposes, the male transfers his sperm through the female’s penis, which doubles as her clitoris.”

Doesn’t that sound hot?

No Way Am I Gay!

Speaking of God, how about the New Orleans pastor who stole his congregation’s hurricane relief funds? Pretty typical Christian behavior, huh?

While I’m on a roll with whacky Christians, some poor foolio felt he was the Anti-Christ and walked into a church in Rome and stabbed the poor priest repeatedly.

The funny thing is, if he really wanted to meet The Anti-Christ, all he’d have to do is spend a day in my porno studio.

Any day would do.

My morning routine is a simple one.

After I wake up and walk Maggie, I pour myself a cup of iced coffee and a bowl of cereal (high-fiber Cherrio knock-offs courtesy of Trader Joe’s, sprinkled with fresh strawberries and blueberries and some yummy dextrose and maltodextrin and sucralose (AKA Splenda)) and then I plop myself down in front of my iMac and read my e-mails, check my sales for Manojob and The Dick Suckers and No Way Am I Gay, and then I see what creep has mySpaced me, and then I read CNN, The New York Times, The LA Times, The BBC, The Christian Science Monitor (the only fairly accurate news reporting agency today) and then, for a good laugh, I skim through The Arizona Republic — my hometown newspaper — just cause it’s so just fucking awful.

(Sometimes I skip all this and meet Adrianna Nicole at LA’s finest coffeehouse).

So the other day The NY Times has a story about this cat named Ed Petit who argues Poe should be exhumed in Baltimore and his remains moved to Philadelphia, where he wrote all The Big Ones: “‘The Fall of the House of Usher,’ ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue,’ ‘The Masque of the Red Death,’ ‘The Tell-Tale Heart,’ ‘The Black Cat,’ and ‘The Gold-Bug’”.

Yep…all penned in Philly, where the cheese steaks are extra-extra yum, and you can get a full case of Little Nips right at your table, all covered in ice.

Since man has been beating his meat since his was Cave Man, this whole thing made me wonder what porn would make Poe’s Freak Flag Fly.

I’m thinking Meatholes. And Piss Mops. Any porn where the girl ends up crying.

Poe would go nuts over Max Hardcore!

And he’d be very bummed, too, since most of the particularly nasty Meat Hole scenes were pulled from the site…as well as the entire Piss Mops site.

Poe might have been good male talent, too; his parents were actors (ie attention whores), mom died when he was young, and dad took off.

Addictions to attention and parental abandonment: if it weren’t for all this fun, 80% of your porn actors / actresses wouldn’t be.

Or, be not.

Scholars are certain Poe was bi-polar, too; chalk up another great indicator to Porno Stardom!

Wonder if he was packing?

And take a look at the poor guy. If I’ve ever seen a Wall Flower at the middle-school dance, it’s Poe; hence, Meatholes and Piss Mops and Max Hardcore’s stuff woulda kept Poe holed up in his house for a long, long time.

Who would you rather get paid to bang — EA Poe or Dirty Harry? (Take a long look at Dirty Harry suckling Sindy Lange’s teet before you answer).

Where am I taking this?

I have no idea.

Oh! I guess someone in Philly offered up exhuming John Wilkes Booth instead of Poe. I’m sure it’s a joke, but I like the idea.

And if you weren’t paying attention in History class, JWB whacked Abe Lincoln — Sic semper tyrannis!

I have no idea what kind of porn Booth would enjoy, but since he was nutso enough to whack a President, I’m thinking Poe and Booth were kindred spirits…Booth just had bigger balls.

Cause, let’s face it — most writers are fakers…nothing more.

OK — how creepy is it that Kim Jong’s been dead for a couple years now, and the North Korean government is marching lil’ Kim Jong body doubles around in an attempt to fool everyone?

It’s even better that since he’s died, world leaders willing to meet with “Kim Jong” have been cutting deals with an impostor.

I guess Kim Jong always worried about getting whacked, so he hired some dudes that looked like him (don’t all North Koreans look alike anyway?!) and, in some cases, had the body doubles undergo plastic surgery in order to better resemble His Highness.

And just when people think he’s really dead, the North Korean government marches one of their Kim Jongs on stage to quell the masses.

I’ve always wanted a body double, and now I think I’m gonna hire one and march him around much the same way. Thank you for your inspiration, Kim Jong II!

Just think! I could just stay home while “Billy” shoots for Blacks on Blondes and Manojob and Eat Some Ass and The Dick Suckers. Better yet, no more traffic hassles or crowded places to deal with…just send “Billy” out to take care of all my silly errands!

And it’s perfect for those risky gloryhole scenes, too. No more worries about getting busted by the cops — that’s “Billy’s” problem now!!

Rumors abound, too, about Kim’s very favorite movies…which happen to be (surprise!) dirty ones. So, in addition to his complete “Desperate Housewives” library and his collection of 20,000+ mainstream (Western) movies, Kim’s got a whole bunch o’ porn, too.

I wonder how that worked when he was alive? When I jerked to porn, I was kinda embarrassed when I went to the video store and handed the clerk all the stuff that made my Freak Flag fly. What did Kim do? As his Secretary of Defense to order the dirty movies in his name? Was there a person who didn’t exist in his cabinet, and all the porn was bought in his name?

Oh — now that he’s dead, I should say Kim Jong had a huge porn collection. I wonder if The Powers To Be let Kim’s body doubles jerk to porn?

My pal Faceblaster was recently in Italy, and he sent me this pic of a vending machine full of smut.

Faceblaster earned his name by doing just that — blasting girls in the face; in fact, some of the largest loads I’ve ever had the pleasure of burning to tape came from The Man himself. If you don’t believe me, check out Jackie Joy after she cleaned Johnny Fender’s ass. Wasn’t it was bad enough that Jackie cleaned Mr. Fender’s bunghole with her tongue?

No sir!

After Fender unloaded a massive pop on her face, I had Faceblaster walk on set and finish off the job.

It was a mighty pop.

Her expression — priceless.

Anyways, Faceblaster was off in Italy somewhere when he stumbled upon (what I think) is a great idea: porn in a vending machine.

For 5 Euros it looks like you can buy your smut and never once encounter anyone — no nosy sales clerk…which mens no more being embarrassed about your gay porn habit, or the midget porn you love so dearly, or the cuckolding stuff you hold so close to your heart.

But not close enough to let another human being know about it.

Whatever makes your Freak Flag fly…right?

I was hanging out with Ruth Blackwell last spring and we were at a convenience store, and outside there was a Red Box. Same deal as Faceblaster’s picture he sent, but Red Box only contains mainstream flicks, but it was really very easy: drop a buck into the machine and get the flick!

That night we enjoyed No Country For Old Men.

So maybe have something called a “Porn Box” and have them somewhere only adults can be, and fill them full of smut to sell!

First place I’d stick ’em would be at strip joints. Every fuckin’ strip joint across our Mighty Fine Land. Stick ’em right in a dark corner…or near The Champagne Room.

Fuck it — plop ’em right in The Champagne Room; you can look at your new DVD while the stripper beats you off.

How about horse tracks? Casinos? Bars? Bingo parlors? Shuffle board courts?

The opportunities are endless.

Just imagine dropping, say, a 10 dollar bill into a machine, and it spits out an ass eating movie.

Or some handjob movies.

Or some dick sucking movies.

Or something really, really gay.

See! No one has to know that you like to watch men jack off!

Just do me a favor — if you take this idea and run with it, call it a “Watson Box” and make sure I get at least 20% of net sales.

In lieu of the 20% thing, I’d settle with 250K cash. Up front. Right now.

Thank you in advance.

Now carry on…

I Shoot Porn: So tell everyone how old you are and where you’re from.

Chayse Evans: I’m 21 and I’m from Pennsylvania and Baltimore.

ISP: Did you know John Waters is from Baltimore?

CE: I don’t even know who he is.

ISP: John Waters made one of the greatest movies ever — Pink Flamingos. Oh, and Female Trouble. How could I forget that one?

CE: I haven’t seen either.

ISP: You should. What did you want to be when you were growing up?

CE: A ballerina. Or an assassin.

ISP: Do you have it in you to kill someone?

CE: I probably do…if I knew I wouldn’t get caught.

ISP: Who would you want to kill?

CE: My cousin. She slept with my ex-boyfriend. I was still in love with him. (She starts looking for something.) I want my sandwich. Where did I put it? (And then she finds it.)

ISP: What kind of yummy sandwich is that?

CE: A ham and cheese croissant.

ISP: If I was at your house right now and looked in your fridge, what would I find?

CE: I have a very huge, cheap bottle of red wine. The kind with a screw-on cap. Four bottles of water. Some Lean Cuisine Pannini sandwiches. They come in all sorts of flavors! Some herb butter, and that’s about it, dude! I love to eat!!

ISP: If I took you out to dinner, where would we go?

CE: Sushi. It’s my favorite food.

ISP: Funny thing about porn girls is they all love sushi. What’s up with that?

CE: Maybe there’s some sort of aphrodisiac in sushi.

ISP: Are you always horny?

CE: If I don’t work, I start having the shakes. I go through dick withdrawal.

ISP: Please elaborate.

CE: I have to inject my medicine in me.

ISP: Please elaborate.

CE: Penetration is the only treatment.

ISP: Once penetrated, how do you feel?

CE: Nirvana. Absolute state of Zen.

ISP: Did you like Nirvana?

CE: Yea, I like that song (and she starts singing):

My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me,
Tell me where did you sleep last night.
In the pines, in the pines,
Where the sun don’t ever shine.
I would shiver the whole night through.

ISP: Hey, you can sing!

CE: Wanna hear some Stevie Ray Vaughn?

(Since I don’t know any Stevie Ray songs, I have no idea what she’s singing, but she’s fucking good, and now I have a boner, cause girls who can sing have that kind of an effect on me.)

ISP: Have you always been a singer?

CE: Yea, I used to sing (and then Chayse goes right into song again) When the moon hits the sky like a big pizza pie… to my mom and she would always go, LOUDER! LOUDER!

(This is where my make-up artist chimes in.)

The Make-up Artist: That’s my secret fantasy. To be a singer.

CE: My secret fantasy is to be a Princess from a foreign country. Maybe from (and she puts on a funny accent) Transylvania. I wanna be a Princess or a Vampire. I think they’re both really cool.

ISP: My secret fantasy is to be a lead guitarist. So how did you get into porn?

CE: I was a marine, and then I was a stripper, and now I’m a porn star. Before all that I was a waitress.

ISP: It’s funny how marines turn into porn stars. I know a lot of them.

CE: You know what we do? We get drunk and then we fuck people. And we’re cocky about it, cause we’re marines, and we like to show everyone what we can do.

ISP: Gotta myspace?

CE: I sure do! And I want everyone to be my friend!

ISP: Funny, me too. Everyone loves to be loved. So what’s the dumbest thing a director’s ever asked you to do?

The Make-up Artist: Get interviewed for this blog.

CE: Wear pig tails for a pig tail scene. I don’t like pig tails. I am not five years old.

ISP: I bet the director wished you were.

CE: You know those dudes producing that shit are closet pedos.

ISP: I agree. What’s something no one’s asked you before?

CE: No one’s really ever asked me what my tattoo means.

ISP: Where is this tat, and what’s it mean?

CE: It’s on my right shoulder, and it’s a snake skin and it represents The Serpent from The Bible that symbolizes original sin. And The Phoenix on my stomach symbolizes rebirth, cause every 500 years they light themselves on fire and then they rise from the ashes.

ISP: I just moved from Phoenix.

CE: The Black Widow on my wrist represents self-honesty. The Black Widow ties all three together. She was born with a natural instinct, cause we’re all born with original sin, to eat her mates. So she’ll always be alone until she learns to fight her natural instincts. So no matter what you do, cause of the innate qualities within each of us…we can always overcome it. Hence, we can rise from our own ashes.

ISP: Wow. That’s some deep shit.

CE: Hard. Hard and deep.

ISP: Which is how you’re about to get fucked for the World’s Greatest, Most Infamous Interracial website, Blacks on Blondes.

CE: Well I better, or I’m gonna be pissed!

[Note from Billy: We just wrapped her Blacks on Blondes scene, and I think this should nominate each and every one of us for some sort of an award: Chayse, cause I’ve never seen a girl get pounded likke that; the 5 dudes who gang banged her, cause I’ve never seen a girl get pounded like that; and lil’ ol’ me, cause no matter what any of you silly motherfuckers say, I SHOOT PORN.]

Los Angeles.

My new Home.

Los Angeles. The City of Angels — a city full of devils.

Laugh all you want, but I’m serious. And they’re devils just as you’d picture them, too: sharp horns on a red, round head; long, pointy tails; pitchforks and hooves; menacing, fire-filled eyes. They’re all over the place: on the 101 (usually after it’s been turned into a parking lot, but not always), and they’re in parking lots that are way too full…aggressively searching for that last empty spot, and they’re hovering outside convenience stores, gas stations, banks, and the shopping malls.

Oh, the demons are everywhere!

And back home every thing’s safe and warm.

For the last three years I’ve been commuting to LA — hour by plane, six hours by car. It started with Spring Thomas. We simply couldn’t find any good black guys for her to slut around with, so we started driving out to LA, where Black Men roam free. She’d fly home after a couple days of wild, crazy sex, and I’d stick around and shoot for Blacks on Blondes or scout for the newest, filthiest gloryhole.

And it all just went downhill from there: first, a few days in LA, and the rest home…then 10 days LA, 20 days Home…then 20 days LA, 10 Home…and now, it’s almost like I have to find an excuse to go Home. Well, not really an excuse, just more of needed a break from work.

Meanwhile, Home turned into an empty dust bowl, as my cats — The Fluffy Sisters — stood watch. When I’d return home, Ginger Fluffy would meow, “Welcome Home, Stranger! How did it go making all that smut?!” and Sunshine Fluffy would just kinda scoff at me, cause she was pissed.

She still is.

I don’t like LA. I find almost nothing redeeming about this place. Sure, there’s cool things to do…if you don’t mind doing them with 10 million other people. For me, LA’s always been a place to go to for a weekend to see something; I can’t believe I now call this place home.

But the Smut Industry is here. Most of it, anyway. The internet’s really put a dent into LA’s claim to being the be-all, end-all to Porno Land, but it’s still hanging tough.

Somewhat tough.

Jobs aren’t as abundant as they were a few years ago. It seemed to me that, in 2004, every girl working the circuit made $15K a month; now, that ain’t the case. Male talent is blowing my phone up looking for work, too. Definitely a weird time to be employed in Porno Land.

My new pad is littered with 1/2 filled boxes, and there’s papers and unopened mails and all sorts of shit strewn about. Maggie likes sleeping in the front yard way more than being inside the new place, and that makes me worried.

But I’m here, and so is all my shit, and, for the most part, it all fit in to the new place, and it’s close to becoming completely functional.

Maybe I will too, someday.

You should have seen all the suckers today at the Apple store, waiting in line to get the new i-Fucking-Phone. There were so many people waiting around it was like Christmas — and they were giving them away.

I was lugging my iMac in, cause it had a CD jam, and the extra dough I shelled out for the technical phone support couldn’t eject it, either.

I dragged the iMac along the ground in the very nice box it came in by its flimsy handle, back to The Genius bar, where all the geniuses at my local mall’s Apple store labor. They told me to wait at the bar, cause they’d call my name when they were ready to deal with me, and the store was really loud cause it was chock full of suckers waiting to get a piece of the new iPhone — code named G3.

Kinda like a robot name.

I looked up at the pretty illustration of the G3, and then down at my new LG Dare. The Dare is Verizon’s answer to iPhone, and while its design is wholly feminine (hence making it kinda gay for a dude to have one) I very much like it…as well as my Verizon service.

I Dare, but No Way Am I Gay.

(Time for a total (and really stupid) digression: “I Dare” reminds me of “I Will Dare”, Paul Westerberg’s fine opening song to the superb Replacements record “Let It Be”. If you don’t know it, make yourself aware).

I kept looking up at Apple’s nifty illustrations, and back into my palm and at my Dare.

My Dare — the iPhone G3. The iPhone G3 — my Dare.

To make myself feel a bit more secure, I started playing with my Dare, and reassuring myself I made the right decision to extend my contract with Verizon 2 more years in order to get my Dare super cheap…and not ending my contract with Verizon (it was coming up fairly soon) and going to AT&T…and the iPhone.

I flipped through my pics. I turned my Dare sideways, so I could look at my pics at more of a 16:9 ratio — just like iPhone.

Fucking iPhone has nothing over Dare!

I scrolled through recent family pics, and old friend pics, and, nestled right in the middle of all those nice, safe pictures, are a handful of pictures of my Ex’s red, swollen vagina with my ejaculate slowly oozing out.

Creampie pics on Dare! Take that, G3 iPhone!!

I smirked to myself, looking out over a Sea of Suckers, then back at Dare — and those filthy, dirty images.

Which made me go right to My Videos. There’s only three, but oh, what dandies they are! There she is again, doggystyle, pushing her absolutely stunning ass right into my swollen, white-boy wiener. Which isn’t to say I was fucking her in the ass, cause I wasn’t, cause railing a girl in the booty doesn’t really make my Freak Flag fly.

I would also like to add that making homemade movies of me getting it on with a girl does not make my Freak Flag fly, either. Really, it doesn’t. I know you’re thinking something like, come on, dude, you’re full of shit. But really, it was simply a case of a capturing a moment in time for Whackiness’s sake.

Whackiness’s sake!?

Anyways, I smirked to myself, looking back out over The Sea of Suckers, then back at my Dare and those filthy, dirty movies.

I played each one, two or three times, whilst eying all the Dopes & Morons waiting in a dumb, dumb line for their new god damned iPhone.

(For some reason, I just felt the overwhelming need to show off my superior grammatical skillz and use an ampersand in a sentence, so there you go).

As I watched my homemade porno I thought Thank God for technology, and, at that very moment, I swear to God my Ex called.

I did exactly what the geniuses at the Genius Bar told me not to do, and I walked away from their smarty-pants place, cause I didn’t have a good signal there, and I wanted very much to talk to her. So I walked to the front of the store — by the Power Books — where my signal got much better.

We’re kinda navigating through Rocky Seas at the moment…and, when I think about it, with a clear head and from a safe distance, there’s really not very much of a good reason why we’re going through what we’re going through right now. Cause we haven’t really been a couple for quite sometime, with the exception of one recent Romantic Whorl, and that’s when things got kinda weird.

Weird, huh?

I don’t even really know why I’m referring to her as “Ex”, and I suppose that’s super fucking weird — cause that’s what she is — but whatever. I had to dream something up to call her here, and that’s the best I could do.

So we’re in the middle of a nice conversation when I look up at notice my genius at The Genius Bar is giving me The Stink Eye, so I hung up and ran back as fast as I could just to deal with her. “So what seems to be the problem?” The Genius asked.

I said, “CD jam.”

“What kind of CD is it, exactly?”

“A very good one. All stuff off hhe Trojan label…Dancehall…oh, and Rocksteady, I think.”

She looked up at me, totally befuddled. But she’s a genius, right? And I have no idea why I told her this, and when I did, she looked up at me like I was a Special Person. A very Special Person. Like I shoulda been wearing a helmet while shopping at the mall.

So I quickly followed up: “It’s a reggae CD, and I was dumping it into iTunes, and it just jammed. I tried everything, and nothing worked. I Googled a bunch of stuff, but nothing worked, and I spent about 1/2 hour with Apple care, and they finally gave up and assigned a case number and told me to bring it here.”

Genius wasn’t too friendly. “Did you restart the computer with your mouse pushed down?”

“I did everything.”

She didn’t like that answer. “Did you restart the computer with your mouse pushed down?”

“Yes mam. That was the first thing Apple Care told me to try.”

“I have to ask that, sorry.” Then she grabbed some paperwork and started filling it out. Half way through she looked up at me and said, “How do you spell Reggae?”

I shit you not.

And I wanted to say something like, what kind of genius working The Genius Bar do you think you are? But instead I said “R-E-G-G-A-E”, which she wrote down on the paperwork.

I shit you not.

Suddenly, I thought about Priest’s super fun e-mail that I blogged the other day. I have no idea why I thought about it, but I did. Maybe cause I just hung up with Ex…but who knows. And I wish the genius working the bar was really a genius, cause I woulda followed up with all sorts of questions on relationships, and how to make them work, and what to do, and what not to do, and what to do when they go haywire; but, instead, I just kinda stood there and watched her fill out her paperwork, in which she wrote “REGGAE”, (spelled correctly) and then she handed the paper to me and said to initial here and date there and sign here and then she said something about it taking up to 48 hours to make things work, and they’d call me when my iMac was all better.

I walked out and noticed the line was gone. I couldn’t believe it. No more iPhone Dummies waiting in line for G3! Where the fuck did they all go? Big Bonus Points to all the employees at the Apple Store! Imagine that wild influx of Yuppie Suckers who want a new gadget to beat off to…and taking care of almost all of them in under an hour.

I was shocked.

Amazed.

Must be some sort of World Record.

Some place.

Somewhere.