Clusterfuck #1) The Case of the Itty Bitty Wee Wee: Check out Dianna Prince checking out the mighty 4 inch ween she’s about to blow for the world famous BJ site The Dick Suckers. That wee wee was one of a few clusterfucks I’ve had lately, and I’ll explain: I shot a Porno Princess a few weeks before I shot Dianna. The Porno Princess asked me if I was looking for any new Stunt Cocks. I’m always looking for a good Stunt Cock, cause in Porn Valley, good Stunt Cocks are hard to find. “My boyfriend wants to get in front of the camera,” she said.

“Does he have a big dick?” I asked.

“It’s average, but he blows a big load!”

I’m all about the average-sized Stunt Cock blowing a bigger-than-average load; after all, in this biz, it’s all about The Money Shot…right? Besides, since potential Stunt Cock’s ween is average, which means a lot of my members will be able to relate, which means they’ll enjoy the content more.

So I gave the dude a shot.

When my members asked for Dianna Prince, I teamed her up with The New Stunt Cock, and when he pulled his wee wee out, I was pissed.

I was pissed at Porno Princess for lying about the size of her boyfriend’s package, but I was more pissed at myself for not asking to see it first.

I thought, just for a moment, to cancel the scene…but I decided to give Dude a shot. Who knows? Maybe I’d stumble upon a fetish: are there people who like to watch Small-Cock Porn?

The short answer is no, there’s not a lot of folks out there looking to watch Pee Pee Porn, and his load wasn’t all that great either…and it took Dude about 30 minutes of furious beating before he unloaded.

Clusterfuck #2) This is why I had an abortion!!: I book at Coog/MILF Porno Princess to appear in an upcoming Watching My Mom Go Black scene. You’re familiar with that site, right? You know…the one where a trouble-making Son gets in big trouble with a Black Thug, and Mom comes to Son’s rescue. Uh huh. That one. It’s all about “tough love” as Mom bangs Black Thug while forcing Son to witness the whole spectacle: “I’m doing this honey for your own good! You won’t mess up after this, will you?”

“No Mom! Please stop!”

You know the rest.

Anyway, we start shooting stills and my male talent — Rico Strong — pulls his dick out. Now, in Porno Land, standard protocol is to give a helping hand to a Stunt Cock to get the ball rolling…so to speak. Some call it “fluffing” and some don’t. I call it “polite courtesy” but never required.

The Mom I hired is not thrilled at all to help Mr. Strong out, and that’s cool. Mr. Strong knows these types, as do I; what I wasn’t counting on was Mom’s statement just 2 minutes into Mr. Strong working himself up: She looked up at Rico, made a face akin to someone after they lick a dog turd, and said, “This is why I had an abortion.”

I looked at Rico.

Rico looked at me.

The “Son” we hired looked at both of us.

Mom looked at Rico and said it again. Then, she jumped off the bed and starting saying — very loudly — “he can’t get his dick hard! He can’t get his dick hard!” Then she got on the phone and said it again…to who?

I have no idea.

Do I need to tell you I killed the scene?

How about this one: I kill the scene and Mom looks at me and wants to know how much her kill fee is gonna be.

I ask Mom very nicely to pack her bags and haul ass. And on the way out she says to me, “I need to have a Japanese baby.”

If you think I make this shit up, you need to have a Japanese baby.

Clusterfuck #3) Can anyone please find me a sistah?: I’m all out of black chicks to shoot for Gloryhole-Initiations and Cumbang. I mean it…literally. In three or four years and hundreds of scenes, I’m all out of new sistahs to shoot. And with the downturn in Porn Valley work, there’s not a lot of new black girls popping up at any of the agent’s sites.

What to do but re-shoot some of the hotter ones who are still around?

I booked one I haven’t shot in quite sometime. The problem is, she won’t do it for the rate we’ve been paying all the girls — black or white — cause, (and I’ll use her words), “I’m one of the hottest black girls around.”

So the agent dreams up a scheme: “Pay her your normal rate, Billy, and add my agent fee on top of that, and we’ll tell her that’s the pay. But, send the check to me, cause she owes me money anyway.”

I’m not a fan of such Tom Foolery, but I reluctantly agree. I need content, after all.

Shoot day comes…and she no-shows.

I don’t care what you’re doing to make your money, getting work in this economy is tough. But you already know this. So I lose money the day I’m supposed to shoot One of The Hottest Black Girls, and my quest still remains: are there any black girls who wanna take a trip to The Hole?

A quick note: I started this blog a few years ago, and I was gonna write some more about The Actor and me, but I kinda lost interest. Today I was looking for an old blog to repost and call a “Worst of”, and when I ran across this entry, I decided to clean it up a bit and finish off the second (and maybe third) parts. Just do me a favor and don’t try and guess who it is. That really doesn’t matter. Trust me when I tell you all actors are jackasses; the level of which is directly related upon their current popularity. But you know that already, don’t you?

It all started with Kitty.

The first time I shot her — back in the summer of ’03 — I remember being totally freaked out when she showed up at the cheesy motel I shot at back then. When I opened the door, I thought I was looking at a 7th grader.

I booked Kitty through her agent; she was one of the first crop of girl coming out of a new agency called LA Direct. I knew when I booked her she was a barely-legal Asian, cause I saw her pictures, and she looked really cute, and I know barely-legal Asians are a big hit with pervy porno surfers. But I had no idea how young she really looked until we met at the door.

“Um, hi. So…you’re…Kitty.”

She smiled, said hello, and walked in. My heart skipped a beat, and if I hadn’t have booked her through an legitimate agency, I wouldn’t have gone through with the shoot…even though all her ID’s were legit.

But this isn’t really about Kitty, but I’ll say the shoot went great; I made a new friend in Kitty, and after the scene wrapped, we went along our merry way, and since then she’s shot hundreds of scenes…and so have I. And we’ve maintained a friendship to this day.

Fast forward to the fall of ’05. A fan e-mails me about Kitty. Actually, I get all sorts of porno-related e-mails, most of which are from dudes who don’t read any of the ads I’ve posted looking for hot chicks who wanna bang on camera, or they’ve read the ad and the part about how I’m not looking for single dudes, but they don’t give a fuck: each and every day a dozen or so dopes write to me, “Hey I’m a dude and I can fuck those girls good! Gimme a chance. Please! I’m the best ever! No one can fuck like me! Here’s my phone number! Call me OK!?!?!”

But I digress.

The e-mail for Kitty is from a fan, and he’s claiming to be an amateur photographer, and he wants to shoot pictures of Kitty, and was there any way I could set it up?

I get silly e-mails like this all the time, too; fans wanna meet some girl I’ve shot, and they really think I’m gonna hand over phone numbers and e-mails. I delete these…most of the time. But this was different. I took a look at the person claiming to send it, and his name was familiar. It looked familiar because it was an actor’s name, and I knew the actor’s work.

You might, too.

This wasn’t an A-List guy or anything, but he’s been in enough stuff that you would know him.

If you don’t know him, your wife does for sure. That’s not meant to be some sort of silly joke; said actor had a recurring role in a cable TV series your wife, or your girlfriend, or your sister used to watch all the time. They made a movie from the series, and then they made a second movie, too. But I knew his work from a super cool indie film a favorite director of mine made a while ago.

And even though he didn’t say he was an actor in the e-mail, I spotted him right away. And I thought — for a split second — that maybe it was a fake. But if you’re gonna fake being an actor, wouldn’t you fake being someone with a big name? George Clooney or Ed Norton or Tom Cruise?

I was curious, so I did something I never do when I get e-mails like this: I replied. I said Kitty might be available for work, and then I just asked if he was who he said he was.

And almost immediately he replied; it was The Actor. Or at least someone who claimed to be The Actor. I asked a few friends if I should meet The Actor, cause I was dying to know if it really was The Actor, and even if it was a crank, I’d like to at least see a jerk that claims to be a relatively obscure actor in order to take a few naked pics of a Porno Princess…which would make a good blog.

All my pals suggested meeting in a public place, which went without saying; I set it up at (where else?) Starbucks — my very favorite Lowest Common Denominator Corporate Entity.

Sure enough, The Actor showed up.

I didn’t want to admit this to him, but in this weird, kinda freaky way I had been following his career since I saw his first big movie in the late 70’s. I had to sneak in the movie, cause it was rated R, and I loved the character he played. I remember walking out then and wondering what he might show up in next. Sure enough, a few years later, I’m at the movie that made Eddie Murphy huge, and there he is. He starred in a movie one of the all-time great directors made, which came out a year or two after, which was right around the time he fell from grace in Hollywood and started working in low budget and indie stuff.

So it was kinda weird to meet The Actor, I’ll admit, especially when it’s in this sort of circumstance. Besides, since we hold up celebrities so ridiculously high in our society (any society, really) that unless you’re in the movie-making business, I’d imagine most anyone would be kinda freaked out and/or excited to meet an actor…especially if you’re a fan of the work.

And I was a fan. But I couldn’t let him know that, right?

I’ll be the first to admit nothing gets me giddy like a celebrity sighting…giddy like a little girl: once Kevin Spacey and Sean Penn walked right by me while I was in one of my very favorite used bookstores in Berkeley. I was combing through the stack of new arrivals, and I got so excited I thought I was gonna make boom-boom in my pants; once I was at James Frey’s book reading, and I sat near Kirsten Dunst, and I got so excited I thought I was gonna make boom-boom in my pants; once I watched Forest Whittaker sitting in his director’s chair when he was shooting a movie on the street near my studio, and I got so excited I thought I was gonna make boom-boom in my pants; when Dennis Rodman visited my studio while he was shooting his latest movie about a bunch of midgets that play basketball (he’s their coach) I didn’t get very excited at all cause Dennis Rodman doesn’t do much for me; and, in fact, he didn’t even let me take his picture in my studio cause he thought it wouldn’t be “good for his image” to be in a porno studio, which is about the dumbest thing he could have ever said.

Oh yea. The Actor. I was — and still am — a fan of his work. Over the next few months we became fast friends. We talked about the movies he’s been in, and the people he’s worked with, and the actresses he’s banged, and all his substance abuse issues; we talked about the stuff we have in common, and the stuff we don’t have in common, and for the first six months or so we got along quite splendidly.

I’ve only surfed once in my life, but to me, friendships are kinda like surfing. Friendships are waves, and eventually you’re gonna fall, and then it’s over. Some rides are really long and fun, some are short and sweet, sometimes you fall right away, and sometimes you don’t even make it up on the board to ride the wave at all.

My evil genius boss called one day and said, “hey, I wanna start a new site. Any ideas?”

Kinda ballsy in this climate — starting a new website. Anyway, I thought for a second. “How about an interracial foot job site? I don’t think there’s many of those around. Call it “WhiteFeetBlackMeat.com.”

“That would be kinda cheap to produce…I like it, but I want something dirtier. Really dirty.”

“How dirty?” I asked.

“Depraved. Completely wrong. Something that’s highly offensive and lacks any and all merit…beyond jerk-off material.”

I agreed. “That’s what it takes to sell nowadays,” I said.

So I went to my old stand by…one that I’ve voiced many times, but no ones ever really produced — to my knowledge. “Black dudes doing Asians. The teeniest, tiniest little Asian girls we can find. Call it SpooksonGooks.com.”

“I don’t think VISA will let that fly. Anything else?”

I was stumped.

“Tell me what you think about this,” he said. I winced as he blurted out, “Let’s have dads forced to watch their daughters bang negroes.”

“So we’ve got the dad in a cuckold role?” I said.

He answered, “In a sense, yea.”

I asked, “Are the negroes angry…like The BroBangers?”

“No. Make them smart. They’re the boss. They’re in charge.”

“How do we force the dads to stick around and watch as their daughters are getting plowed? I mean any did I know would pull out a gun and start shooting up the place.”

We went over a few scenarios; the best one was to put the daughter/father team in a “counseling session”. A session that would be started by a white guy, and after a few minutes the white doctor would call in his associate. The associate would be the black dude, and that’s when the fireworks would start.

“Give the doctor a smart name,” my boss said.

“How’s Dr. Harvard? That’s the smartest name I know.”

“Great. Go online and print out a diploma and put it on his desk. Make the girls barely-legal, and make sure they’re smart alecs. And no matter what dumb shit comes out of their mouth, have Dr. Harvard agree with them. The daughter is always right. Then, march in the associate, exit Dr. Harvard, and have her get railed.”

As I shot the scenes to start the site, the scenarios expanded, but the theme remained the same: pure, unadulterated filth; its sole function is masturbatory fodder.

And, as always, only the very best fodder at that.

Whenever I’m having One Of Those Days, it usually means things have gone awry on set, which I sometimes refer to as a clusterfuck.

When I was a school teacher and had a clusterfuck, it usually meant discipline problems. When things went awry as a stockbroker, it meant I had a “sell-out”. (A sell-out (AKA “DK”) is when the client confirms a trade, and then gets cold feet and backs out — and doesn’t pay for the stock they bought). Same when I sold cars; when the deal fell through my day was totally fucked.

Like I need to actually explain this to you? You deal with clusterfucks all the time — it’s part of life.

But in Porno Land, when things have “gone awry”, you know it makes for a good story.

For example, I once decided to give a new dude a shot at being a Stunt Cock, which I seldom do. He showed up 3 hours late; at that point, his tardiness didn’t concern me at all, because he had already been replaced and his number deleted from my phone. Too bad the dope found his way into my studio, cause the next thing you know I’m calling 911 to have The Angry Black Man forcibly removed from my set by the Po-Po…which was fun in of itself: “911 Operator? Yes mam, I have an angry Negro who won’t leave my porno studio. He snuck in and he’s been here almost an hour now and he’s totally holding up production cause he wants to bang so bad he’d rather risk getting arrested for trespassing than simply leaving….could you please send an officer over here ASAP?”

For example, once my pal Nicky Milo had a girl orgasm really really hard on set, causing a turd to fly out of her butt. We lovingly refer to this as his “Almond Roca Story”; and, I might add, not really a clusterfuck for anyone else except The Girl Who Orgasmed So Hard Poo Flew Out of Her Butt.

For example, this happened just two days ago: a Stunt Cock was banging a girl super hard (this wasn’t on my set), and his cock slipped out, which he didn’t realize, and instead of slamming it back into her vagina, his wiener slammed into her butt — and with such force his penis exploded. Screaming in pain, he was taken off set in a stretcher by EMT’s. I shit you not, and I’m guessing he was using CAVERJECT®, boner medicine that’s super strong…CAVERJECT® is kinda like Viagra on steroids. And did the dick literally explode? Probably not…but I’m sooo fucking glad I wasn’t there to witness the mess.

Talk about clusterfucks.

Today Porno Princess shows up, looking mighty might cute. But she “doesn’t feel well”. Now, I shot Porno Princess on Monday for Cuckols Sessions, and she did great. I took her out to the glory hole on Wednesday. She kicked ass. But on both days she was “nervous” about today’s scene, cause for the very first time she was going to entertain three gentlemen.

Three African-American gentlemen.

Three very well-hung African Americans.

Ever observe human behavior? Of course you have, but I mean kinda like all scientific-like. If I had to do school all over again, I’d do the Psychology thing now, especially after spending 8 years in this whacky biz. I like to watch people deal with something they don’t wanna deal with. Like today’s Porno Princess. She didn’t want to fuck 3 dudes. Not really. Which, of course, doesn’t mean she was being forced to do anything. In her perfect world (and most Porno Princesses’), someone would just hand her a check for $1500…just cause.

Today my Porno Princess shows up on set with none of the wardrobe she was asked to bring. (To which I had her agent drive her to the Whore Stores on Hollywood BLVD so she could buy the correct wardrobe). But she can’t find any Whore Stores on Hollywood BLVD. Then, when she got back from the store she couldn’t find, she’s “cold”.

Then, she wants to sleep.

Then, she’s hungry.

Then, she’s tired.

Then, she doesn’t like her make-up.

Then, she’s sick.

Then, she’s more sick. And crabby. And really cold. (My studio has no AC…temperature as she’s complaining about the cold — a very chilly 86F).

Suddenly, we find out one of my Stunt Cocks won’t make today’s scene. He was an hour late, and he called to tell me he was gonna be another hour late, which is just another dumb way to get out of a job you really don’t want…so I told him not to bother.

So now I’ve got a B/B/G when suddenly my Porno Princess starts feeling better. And not so cold anymore!

We go to set, where there’s more fun awaiting: one of the Stunt Cocks can’t get his cock hard. He beats and beats and beats, but I think there’s too much blood in his eyes from the blunt he smoked…which is to say there’s none left for anyplace else.

Oh! Where’s the CAVERJECT® when you need it?? And did you guys actually read the CAVERJECT® info from the link? You inject that shit. It makes me think even though I love pussy more than almost anything — including my birthday, Christmas Morning, Wilco, and breakfast-for-dinner — I don’t think I like pussy enough to have to stick a needle in my wee wee in order to fuck it.

My day ended with a reschedule; I’ll shoot the scene tomorrow — hopefully. In the mean time, I think I’m gonna go jog around the reservoir a few more times…cause don’t you know my OK Cupid profile is only 30% complete.

I want a girlfriend that isn’t a whore. Is that really so much to ask?

Not that being a whore is a bad thing; in fact, I’ve said it more than once: if I had a pussy, it would be for sale. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a whore — I just don’t want one for a girlfriend.

Let’s face it, too: most girls in today’s society are whores, trained by their parents to be whores…only they don’t realize it. Neither do their parents.

“Marry a doctor. Marry a lawyer. Make sure your husband has a good job!”

Whore Training 101.

Do I sound angry? Cause I’m not. Really. I am not angry. I just want a girlfriend whose pussy doesn’t have a meter on it. Is that so much to ask?

Well sure it is. Cause I make dirty movies for a living. And starting out any sort of relationship based on a lie ain’t a good thing. It certainly isn’t my style, either.

When we meet people, invariably one of the very first things that comes up is, “what do you do for a living?” It usually pops up right after “what’s your name?” It’s human nature, right?

So, a few days ago, on my return trip from vacation, my seat wasn’t anywhere near my Porno Princess pal’s seat (for the simple reason that when we booked the tickets, the plane was already full). No big deal, but it became a huge deal when two super hot nurses from Santa Barbara sat down next to me. Not one, but two!! They initiate conversation! Woot woot!! And sure enough, not two minutes into the deal, one Hot Blonde Nurse says, “So what do you do for a living, Billy?”

Of course this isn’t the first time someone’s asked me what I do for a living, and depending on who you are, and the mood I’m in, here’s my reply from the pool of stock answers I draw from:

1) I design web sites.

2) I write back-end coding for internet commerce.

3) I make dirty movies.

Of course #1 and #2 and outright lies (and generally one of the answers I use when talking to, say, hot blonde nurses from Santa Barbara); I have designed a few things, but for print only, and the last time I coded anything was in my 11th grade computer class — using mostly Basic (and a little PASCAL). President Reagan just entered office, and one of my very favorite records of all-time was brand-new: London Calling. Which means if anyone presses me further on Lie #2, I have to immediately capitulate and offer up a “terrible confession”; in reality, I “manage a team of outsourced labor from the Philippines”. Some people really get pissed at me for this, which, of course, means I probably woulda been better off telling them #3.

We all know #3 is The Truth, and I’ll usually tell The Truth when talking to dudes (who immediately put me on a pedestal of some sort), or anyone I grew up with. Sometimes I’ll use #1 or #2 with an old high school buddy, but lately I don’t give a fuck anymore, so most people who have known my real name before I got into this biz (8 years this month!) get answer #3.

With Super Hot Nurses, I chose #2, cause I knew they’d wouldn’t have follow-ups. And it turns out one of the super hot nurses is from a small town in NorCal, the same small town where a Porno Princess I’m very friendly with lives. I knew they were about the same age, too, so I asked Super Hot Nurse if she knew Porno Princess…but (of course) I used the Porno Princess’s real name.

“Oh my god you know her?!”

“I do. We’re pretty good friends.”

Then Super Hot Nurse looked at me kinda strange and said, “how exactly do you know her?”

“We have mutual friends.” I was getting ready to lie (if needed) but I didn’t have to.

“We used to be best friends. Then, she…um, changed.” And Super Hot Nurse immediately changed the subject. So it’s good I didn’t tell The Truth to the Super Hot Nurses, which, in the end didn’t matter, cause thinking about having to eventually tell either one of them what I do for a living depressed me so much I kinda quit paying attention to them.

Did I tell you I have a buddy going back to 6th grade who refuses to speak to me now? He’s a big wig in Christian Circles, raising all sorts of money for All Things Christian, so it kinda makes sense he keeps his distance. Still, it kinda hurts my feelings. He could at least say “what’s up?” in an e-mail or something.

You should see me at any function in which extended family show up. I lie my ass off. My poor Grandma has some sort of vague notion that I sell something over the internet, but to this day she’s never asked for specifics; instead, she’ll ask me, “Oh Billy! It’s sooo good to see you? How’s things? How’s your business?”

Sometimes I tell her I’m great, and sometimes I’ll tell her things are slow, but I’ll never say, “well Grandma, today was interesting! A porn actress named Tori Luxx had a panic attack when Byron Long tried to stick his 10″ black cock up her shit pipe. It kinda fucked things up, but she got her head together, and she did a great DP.”

“What’s a DP Billy dear?”

“A DP, Grandma, is an acronym for double penetration.”

“Double penetration?” Grandma asked.

“Yes, my dear Granny…it’s when a man sticks his penis in a girl’s vagina while another man is sodomizing her at the very same time; hence, double penetration.”

Uh huh…right. Imagine having that conversation with your Nanna over Thanksgiving turkey.

My folks know what I do for a living. My mom hates it. My dad asks me questions from time to time, and never when my mom is with us. Kinda creepy, huh?

I’m a pretty average lookin’ dude who’s 30 pounds overweight, which means I seldom pull a chicks out of bars for one-night stands. But a few years ago I walked into a bar in Scottsdale, and I made eye contact with a hottie who made — and kept — eye contact with me. Holy shit! It was like Christmas morning! I was a bit buzzed, and feeling kinda good about things, so I marched up to her with the confidence of a small army and struck up conversation. Everything was working well, and we were through a few beers when the inevitable came up: “So Mr. Watson, what do you do to make your money?”

“I make dirty movies for a living.” Like I said, I was buzzed (drunk by now) and I figured fuck it. She’s digging on me. I’ve got this one in the bag.

“Excuse me?” she asked. Her tone of voice completely different.

“I make dirty movies for a living.” (With not so much confidence.)

“Oh Billy! You’re soooo funny! Seriously…what do you do for a living?”

I told her again, with a little bit more explanation. “Ever see Boogie Nights?” (She had). “I’m like the character Burt Reynolds plays in that movie.”

“Um…ok. So what movies do you make?”

“Well, the business is really internet based now.” I wanted to change the subject, but I didn’t know how to segue out of porn and into, say, music.

“Do you like Wilco?” I asked.

She said, “what internet sites do you work for.”

I knew where this was going, so fuck it — “I shoot for a site called Blacks on Blondes. I also shoot something crazy where we take girls out to a public bathroom to perform anonymous sex acts with whatever stranger shows up…it’s called Glory….”

I didn’t even get “hole” out of my mouth before she turned and walked away. I mean she fucking hauled ass. She even left her beer. I kinda felt like the Elephant Man, just after pulling the hood of his head. It was great.

So now what do I do?

I kinda want a girlfriend who isn’t a whore.

I love whores.

I just don’t wanna date one.

Match.com?

Plenty of Fish?

Drop 30 and start writing the ad?

That would make for some interesting blog fodder, which, at this point in time, wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Blog my dates with girls who aren’t in the sex biz.

But do I include what I do for a living in the ad…or wait for the first date — and the fallout?

I sharted yesterday — really bad.

It’s not like I haven’t sharted before, and let’s face it — you have, too. There’s been a handful of times over my past, say, 30 years (give or take), I’ve gone to fart, only to discover — to my utter dismay — solid matter flying out of my butthole with the bad air.

I really shouldn’t say the solid matter was “flying” out of my arse, cause every time I’ve sharted in the past, it’s been nothing more than an embarrassing little shit stain in my undies.

Yesterday’s incident was entirely different.

I’m such a creature of habit that if someone wanted me dead, I’d be the easiest target on the planet. I go to the movies at the same place, buy my music at the same place, order the same dishes at the same restaurants, food shop at the same grocery store, jog around the same reservoir, etc etc. So after I had my morning coffee at the same coffee shop I do each and every day, I walked in to jump on my lap top to do the same thing I do every day — Smut Work.

Today’s top priority was to address my members at Manojob. They’ve been super pissed at my lately, and frankly, I don’t blame them. A few months ago, I switched to shooting my content in HD, and I was totally unprepared for the mess that was about to ensue. And instead of just shooting SD and working over to HD, I stopped SD completely, and it caused about a month’s worth of back-ups and problems.

Then, last week, all of a sudden my post-production machine stopped doing what it’s been doing since I got the HD issue fixed. Complicate that with my recent jaunt to Hawaii, and I was fucked for updates.

(So I never told you guys the last time I went to Hawaii with a Porno Princess, and it was, hands down, the worst vacation I’ve endured. My advice to you is when taking a pill-popper on vacation, let them embrace their drug addiction wholly, or else you’ll get to experience the mad-capped hi-jinx that is being stuck on an Island with a pill junkie in the midst of withdrawals.)

Where was I?

Oh — I go to sit in front of my lap top to ask my members to forgive me yet another time when all of a sudden I sharted. And it was a tremendous shart. My brain was still cloudy from The Morning, and my coffee hadn’t kicked in yet. Well, it didn’t kick in and jump start my brain; my bowels were a different story, cause the next thing you know I’ve got poopy-poop running down the inside of my leg.

Just that fast.

I just stood there thinking — what the fuck? Is this something that comes with being in my mid-40’s? Would I have sharted like this 20 years ago?

Obviously not, cause this was — hands down — the worst shart of my life. By a long shot. Second place Shart isn’t anything remotely close…and now that I really think about it, I can’t even recall the last time I sharted…even a little bit.

Maybe 1983?

As I’m walking to the bathroom I realize my make-up artist, my talent, and my PA are 10 minutes out. And I smell like a Third World Country.

No, my entire studio smells like one.

Then I’m thinking maybe I ate one of those salmonella eggs you’ve been reading about, but no — no eggs. My last meal was last night’s dinner, which, of course, is almost always the same — french toast and a side of bacon at Fred 62’s.

I love breakfast for dinner.

I love Fred’s.

I didn’t love my poopy shorts, though, which I had to peel off ever so carefully. That’s when The Second Wave hit, so I squatted over the toilet, cause I didn’t want to have to clean that up, too. But my aim wasn’t so good; I ended up having to clean the entire tank, which was way worse than if I would have just sat my big, white, stinky-dirty butt down on the seat.

Do I really need to tell you there was poo all over the place?

Or that my crew was now due in less than 5 minutes?

Um…yea. I got everything cleaned up, and no one mentioned anything at all about the place smelling like India, and in the end I just sort of chuckled and thought, well, at least I have something new to blog about.

The Producer e-mailed me today: Hey Billy — are you going to be able to shoot some Blacks on Boys stuff soon? We really need content!

I was standing in line for my chicken bowl at Chipotle when the e-mail hit; I read it from the GMail app on my iPhone.

No Way Am I Gay, but the iPhone fucking rocks. I don’t even care what The Haters say, cause, once upon a time, I was one of those haters. I hated Apple, and I hated iPhones, and I hated the Apple sticker people who are into Apples stick all over their shit.

No Way Am I Gay, but I’m watching what I eat — like “bowls” and salads, as opposed to tacos and burritos and anything that’s gonna hinder me from my new goal — to be a 200 pounder.

No Way Am I Gay, but I spend a lot of time in at the App Store, and when I find one I love, I giggle just like a little girl while it downloads onto my iPhone.

My iPhone is black cause No Way Am I Gay.

As I waited in line to order my chicken bowl, and as I read my very favorite new thing — the New York Times app — I pondered my new job offer: Director of Gay Pornography.

Hmmm.

I’ve shot a lot of smut. I’ve seen a lot of filthy, naughty things go down: from gang bangs to gloryholes, I’ve shot it. Licking ass? Done that. Females “squirting” all over male talent? Yep. I’ve shot spunkmouths and Spring Thomas and Mandingo and bro bangs. I’ve shot for all the sites the Dogfart family offers up — except their gay sites.

The closest thing I’ve shot that’s gay?

No Way Am I Gay.

Ever wonder how we end up where we end up? Like, how do I end up in the Chilpotle line with a ton of aggravating Valley Kids screaming at the top of their lungs during lunch rush pondering do I wanna direct gay porn?

Ever wonder how you ended up where you are?

As I pondered big thoughts, I was distracted by the cute Valley Girls, running around in their Ughs and denim cut-offs and halter tops; which one of those little hussies is gonna end up taking a load to her face a few years from now while I roll camera?

Am I even gonna be shooting smut a couple years from now? Or shall I be contributing to society in a positive, uplifting and meaningful way…like being a politician? Or a banker?

I’m pretty sure I can predict — with a success rate of around 50% — which one of the little sluts refilling their Diet Coke at the Chipotle will, indeed, be the next Bree Olson.

Will the leak in the Gulf of Mexico British Petroleum is lying about end up wiping the place out? As in no more Gulf Shrimp? No more deep-fried catfish from the mouth of the Mighty Mississippi?

I’m fairly confident I can predict — with a success rate of around 50% — which one of the little sluts sitting on the Chipotle patio will, indeed, be the next Lexi Belle.

Will Global Warming end up wiping us all out?

No Way Am I Gay, but I’ve spent some time on gay porn sets. Back before I had my own pad to shoot, I rented a studio for 10 days a month, and gay porn was produced there. Watching two dudes do it — to me — is kinda like watching a train run over a stray cat. Or something bigger and better…like a deer…or even a horse.

I think you know what I mean.

I know a few things about booking gay porn, not cause I’m gay (no way!) but simply cause I spent time at that old studio where the gay porn was shot, and just from listening to the director bitch. He’d bitch a lot about waiting around for dicks to get hard. A lot of times that’s cause he’d have a bottom topping, and the top would bottom. Or he’d book two tops for a scene, or two bottoms for a scene, and that sort of thing throws a monkey wrench into your scene.

“Not cause I’m gay (no way!)” is a double negative which should be avoided at all costs. As, probably, directing gay porn. The Producer has offered to up my pay (because “it’s gross” — (his words)) which really doesn’t carry much weight on whether or not I take him up on the offer.

I’m in the sex biz. Gay sex or straight sex, sex is sex, and it shouldn’t really matter who’s doing the fucking and sucking…right? As long as I make my director’s rate, and it’s all consensual, and no one’s breaking the law…what’s the Big Whoop?

I called a director pal to see how I’d go about casting these scenes, if I take the job.

“Do they want bare backing? Cause if they want the talent to bareback, I ain’t even gonna recommend talent to you. That’s a career-ender. No one will hire you to direct anymore!”

“I don’t wanna direct for anyone but Blacks on Blondes.”

“Yea, you say that now!”

“I’ve been saying that for seven years.”

“Look, I can help you, but you can’t book bare back scenes with the talent I refer your way.”

I agreed.

So…I think I can book the talent, and I know I’m physically capable of shooting gay porn.

Am I mentally capable for such debauchery?

Will this fuck me up for good?

That’s the last thing that crossed my mind before I sat down with my chicken bowl.

Right next to the table where The Next Sasha Grey sat — by herself — texting away, a mile a minute.