We Smut Peddlers have our own national conventions…have had them, for a handful of years. Our conventions aren’t any different than yours: we meet, we try and make deals, we drink, we drink more, and drink more, and then we behave badly.

Like I said, our conventions are no different than yours.

Well, except when a spiff like hanging out at Hef’s house is included. Hef’s pad – The Mansion. The babes. The blondes. The PJ’s and pipe. The Grotto. It’s part of American Folklore now, isn’t it? And I get a shot to experience it…well, not in its fullest (we couldn’t actually go inside the place), but a little piece is better than no piece, right?

We were bussed from the convention hotel to Hef’s Crib, and I sat with the crew from My Daughter’s Fuckin’ A Niggah…including my Main Most Man, Shane Diesel. A great crew, and sure, there’s a rivarly between them and Blacks On Blondes, but it’s a friendly one, and personally I think Blacks On Blondes rules all…but that’s a biased opinion, of course.

Shane and I reminisced. I can’t shoot him anymore, and that sucks, but it’s been good for him, and that’s a great thing. We talked the scenes we worked on together, like when Shane Diesel and Spring Thomas fucked at that fancy hotel, or when Shane Diesel and his pal fucked Spring Thomas, or the very first time Spring Thomas and Shane Diesel fucked…shit like that.

I asked Shane, “These porno chicks are nuts, aren’t they bro?”

“Yea man. Too much too soon,” he replied. “It makes them that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Too much attention, too much money, and too much sex…all way too fast,” Shane said.

I couldn’t agree more. “It makes them implode.”

Shane nodded. “That’s a good way to put it,” he said.

Implode.

We pulled up to The Mansion, and it’s pretty much what you’d think it is…or what you’ve seen on TV. Still, there’s something in the air about that place…that folklore I mentioned earlier. There were tons of nude chicks, too. And tons of chicks in skimpy lingerie, as it was a PJ / Lingerie Party, so I fit right in, wearing my flannel PJ’s. And while everyone was gawking at the girls, I was gawking at the architecture of the place, and the grounds, and the grotto…and while people were dancing to Too Short, I was walking the grounds, checking out the monkeys, and the exotic birds, and the landscape.

And it was about that time I caught a couple fucking in the front yard. It was kinda funny, watching the mad scramble for their clothes, and it was kinda funny when the dude – all nervous and shit – handed me his business card and introduced himself (he works for an industry rag) and the girl – all guilty and giggling – introduced herself (she’s a porn whore) and I laughed again and said, “pleased to meet you both” and as I was walking away I told the girl, “maybe we can work together in the future” and she said, “I’m an Adam and Eve girl! You can’t hire me!”

“Uh-huh,” I said, looking up at that fabulous home.

I gotta tell you, the caged animals kinda bummed me out. I’m not a tree hugger, or an animal rights dude…still, those monkeys aren’t happy.

The birds aren’t, either.

I wonder if Hef is.