When I was in junior high, I had a Social Studies teacher who was a total hippy. He’d play records while we were working on whatever it was we were working on that day. One of his records was “The Worst of Jefferson Airplane”, and I’d always wonder why anyone would name anything “The Worst” of…until now.

This blog’s original air date: October 23rd, 2005.

I’m laying around Dogfart’s secret mansion one night, watching TV and just cold-stone chillin’, when out of the blue Katrina Rosebud plops herself right next to me on the couch. She says hello, introduces herself, begins rubbing the inside of my thigh almost immediately, and asks if I’d like a back rub.

I know, I know. I can’t believe it, either. But I make a quick decision to ride this wave as far as she’ll take me.

Next thing I know we’re really getting friendly. I’m getting my back rubbed, she’s telling me her life story, and I’m still laying there thinking this can’t be true. But it was. I mean the back rub was real, and the conversation was real…her hands all over my ass was real.

And when she asked me to jacuzzi, it was very fucking real.

Next thing I know I’m naked, and she’s naked, and we’ve cracked a couple beers, and we’re making out in the jacuzzi. It’s a clear night, the coastline from Malibu to LAX is lit up like a Christmas tree, and I’m thinking there’s really nothing better right now than my life. I mean this is what Porno Land is all about – one second I’m watching TV, and the next minute Katrina Rosebud and I are naked in the jacuzzi, and now I’m on the edge and she’s about ready to start sucking my dick.

That’s when her friend came up and whispered something in her ear.

Katrina tells me to wait a sec…that she’ll be right back. And I say sure thing honey bunny and close my eyes to take it all in. I haven’t even been in Porno Land a month and already I’m hanging out with Porn Stars, and I’m in a multi-million dollar estate with Dogfart and the Crew, and we’re making porn by day and partying by night, and well…like I said: it don’t get any better than this. Fuck..who knows? Maybe both of them are on their way out here to fuck me silly.

A little later and no Katrina Rosebud. No friend. No one. I jump out of the jacuzzi to find my new girlfriend, and I’m thinking she’s inside, getting me a beer or something, and I’m gonna run into her on her way out to me.

Um, nope.

There’s Katrina Rosebud, fully-clothed, talking to Byron Long. Or Wesley Pipes. Or one of the crew. I don’t remember who.

“Hey Katrina, what’s up? Coming back?”

She looks at me like I’m the Elephant Man. And she didn’t answer me, either. I have no idea what’s up, until I find out the next day this all had to do with that secret whisper from her pal…it went something like this: Katrina. That is not the Producer. It’s not the guy renting the mansion. He’s just a lowly second cameraman. He can’t get you any work. I tried motioning that to you while you were rubbing his back in front of the TV. Get the fuck out of the jacuzzi now, and I’ll introduce to the right guy.

So there you have it. Katrina did end up getting a scene, but nothing else. Here’s her free glory hole movie.

And my ride with Katrina Rosebud had ended. Until a few years later, when I was in my LA studio, figuring out my shooting schedule, when I looked up to see Katrina. She had gained weight, looked tired, and she was hurting for work.

I smiled and asked if she remembered me.

Of course she hadn’t.

I smiled again and said I’d call her if I had anything.