And I have no idea why. I guess it’s the first time I’ve really experienced writer’s block, and honestly, I’ve been suffering through it for about a month now. I really feel like there’s not much more to tell you guys. I mean how many stories of porn whores, behind-the-scene antics, pop shots gone bad (or good), gloryhole madness, or big black dicks stuffed into little white chicks can you handle?

But there’s a pic of me working with Jacky Joy and Lucky Starr. Jacky’s agent took the picture.

And to tell you the truth, I’m kinda tired of it all: shooting porn, waiting for talent to show up at my place, the freaky-deaks I surround myself with; I’m tired of living in two cities, 6 hour commutes, and agents who try to get me to book ugly girls; I’m tired of black cock sluts, black cock whores, and almost anything else having to do with big, black dicks; I’m really tired of Gloryholes, Katie Thomas, pill poppers, waiting on male talent to pop, and the popping sound my brain is making right now.

My brain hurts right this very second, as I try to bang out another installment of a blog that’s now nearing 350 posts.

A friend of mine who works Pinkworld says just write anything, and make sure it updates, so you don’t lose your traffic. Did you notice the last batch of blogs from about a week ago? All the short ones that were, like…here’s so and so…she’s the newest update on (fill in the name of the website here)…it was a really good shoot…blah blah blah, bing bam boom.

Remember the last thing Johnny Rotten said before he left the stage in San Fransisco? The last time the Sex Pistols played with Sid? Of course you don’t, cause that was 1977, and you weren’t even born then, were you? I dunno…maybe it was 1978. I certainly wasn’t there, but I was born; and, in fact, was old enough to know who The Sex Pistols were, but I didn’t give a shit about them, cause I was very much into Van Halen’s first record that year.

(Did I ever tell you I was convinced Kiss’s Gene Simmons was, in fact, VH’s Michael Anthony — without make-up? Before you laugh too loudly, there’s proof in the pudding…just read the list of who VH thanks on the back of that record.)

Anyways…do you ever feel like you’ve been cheated?

I got an e-mail from some poor guy in the UK who joined (I assume) Spunkmouth and felt like I ripped him off. He took it very personally, and I felt bad. I even replied to his complaint, but I haven’t heard anything back.

I feel like I can’t blog anymore; I feel like I’m done. And now I’m cheating you again.

Go read Lorilei’s blog…or Barbie’s blog. They’re way more entertaining than this mess. In fact, Barbie’s dirty, slutty stories are totally real, and I wouldn’t read them if you’re at work…you might end up beating your meat under the desk, or something.

Spring Thomas called me the other day. We really don’t talk much, anymore. She said my blog has gotten her in trouble with her boyfriend. When I ask her to elaborate, she can’t, really. Which means she doesn’t want to. Which means it’s time to hang up the phone.

Here’s another pic of me, gnawing on Jacky Joy’s toes. I don’t have a foot fetish; I just thought it would make for an entertaining, behind-the-scenes snapshot.

Because, as of now, that’s about all I’ve got to show you.

Well, I’ve had myspace up for a few weeks now, and I’ve got 55 friends. Some of them I had before myspace, but most are new. I can’t tell you how nice it is to have 55 friends. I don’t think I’ve had 55 friends since high school – and now, just days after turning 33 years old, I’ve got more friends than I know what to do with.

I’ve had a few comments: DN The Hater – the man who loves to hate me – called my space “boring”; my brother, who loves to hate on myspace, called my space “gay”; and not once have I even gotten close to getting laid.

However, I got a message just now from a new friend of mine. She said, and I quote, “You’re absolutely adorable. And I have a fetish for highly literate smut peddlers.”

So now I’m gonna ask you to pardon the pun as I pull out my big gun to really turn her on (as well as any freaky freaks who have a fetish for intellectual porno directors): I’m attempting, at this very moment, to read two Thomas Pynchon novels simultaneously – Gravity’s Rainbow, as well as his latest effort, Against The Day. I’m working on GR in Los Angeles, after a long day of committing filth to digital tape; Against The Day is my Phoenix read – the city in which I live.

The only reason I bring this up is to increase my chances of turning on any fetish freaks who get off on literate smut peddlers; if you’re reading this, you need to e-mail me right away so I can fly to wherever it is you call home. I’ll meet you at the local Art Museum and we’ll chat about something like Post-Modern thought in 21st Century America over a nice cup of coffee after strolling through the place; I’ll demand a tour of any and all worthwhile used bookstores in the immediate area; we’ll follow that up with any and all used record stores, too – but please, all I ask is we scout the vinyl section of whatever store we end up at (hence the name “record” store and not “CD” or (gasp) “MP3” store) and then we’ll eat a nice dinner (I’m easy to please here) before heading back to your place for some red hot luvin’.

Red Hot.

Luvin’.

Cause damnit, I need my V2 Rocket to unload all over the place – you can even choose where.

All I ask is that you’re not a dude – cause No Way Am I Gay.

Much to my brother’s dismay, I’ve started a myspace. He thinks myspace is totally fucking gay, but I think World of Warcraft is totally fucking gay, so that kinda evens out the playing field.

In case you’re wondering about today’s picture, it’s my little brother, back when he was a kid. He fell on his skateboard while attempting to ride it down the sidewalk, and he hit his head. He ended up in special school for a while, and the fall really did its damage. He was quite a handful growing up, as seen here tethered to the monkey bars during his math class. The fall also accelrated his testosterone output; hence the bushy beard and his urge to hump anything that “smells nice” – an unfortunate thing we tolerate to this day.

He’s somewhat better now – and I’ll hand it to games like WOW…it calms him after something riles him up. We simply wipe the drool from his beard, change his underpants, and sit him down at the computer – one already signed in to WOW.

Anyways, I’m not sure what to make of myspace, except it’s a lot like high school: popular people basking in their popularity, and nerdy people trying very hard to be cool, and nerdy people not giving a fuck if they’re nerdy, and all the oddballs, out in the foray, lurking in the darkness, kind of looking in on it all. And everyone’s carrying their yearbooks – all of them desperately hoping to get it signed.

Myspace!

I hear lots of things come from a myspace account: I hear of new friends being made, new business contacts happening, new and exciting things going down all the god damn time; primarily, of course, sex comes out of myspace. LOTS. Shit, it seems everyone is getting laid off myspace.

Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky.

At this point, I’d even settle for some crumbs.

I think it’s safe to say the money shot is the most important part of any scene, and just to drive my point home, I do something today that I don’t really do too much – in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever done it here: post pop shot pics on my blog.

But take a look at those fuckers. See what I mean? You know the old cliche, but I think these pictures speak about a million words – each. And it’s why The Pop Shot is porn. Forget doggie style, reverse cowgirl, or ever pile driver; forget blow jobs and eating pussy and anything fetishy you can muster; forget it all: there’s a reason why it’s called The Money Shot.

Back when I was a porno consumer, I used to feel ripped off when I rented a movie and the pop shots sucked. Really, I did. Sure, I liked the sucking and fucking, but if there wasn’t a really, really happy ending to whatever or whoever I was watching…well, forget it.

And if the pop shot isn’t all over her face, then forget it. I don’t want to see it on her butt, her tummy, or in her mouth so she can swallow it all (yawn)…explode all over her pretty face so we can see a real reaction to sex – not the phony bullshit we’re often forced to endure.

All that moaning and groaning you jack to? Fake. Well, not all of it…but pretty close.

All that dirty talk? Fake. Well, not all of it…but pretty close.

The acting? LOL. Can you even call it that?

But it ain’t acting my friends when there’s a direct hit to her kisser with a larger-than-expected load. See Ryan Star and Riley Mason here? 100% real…that look of disgust; that look of hurry hurry! quick quick!! shoot your stills so I can get the baby wipes and clean my face off!!! is simply priceless.

And that’s why it’s called The Money Shot.

Let’s put it another way: does your wife let you get away with this? Your girlfriend?? Maybe on a once-in-a-lifetime special occasion: after she gets the keys to her new Mercedes; after she opens that small, padded box to discover a beautiful diamond necklace; on the last night of the 21 Cruise-Around-the-World you surprised her with: cause that’s about what it takes for your wife to catch a face full of cum, isn’t it? And that’s why facials rule all sex acts. Facials are The Mother Load.

I know you’ll pardon the pun.

They’re not easy to film, either. I’ve said this time and time again, but a male’s sex anatomy is over-simplistic. So the next time you’re watching a porn and you get that weak pop shot – and you wonder what the fuck? – well, it’s simply cause the male talent’s balls are empty. That’s it. Nothing more. Getting a huge pop in the LA porn circuit ain’t easy, and I’ll tell ya why: these guys need work, and they need money, and they’ll take as many jobs as they can – sometimes 2 or 3 a day – so next time you rent a DVD and get pissed cause Joe Porno dribbled 5 drops out, it’s cause that scene was probably his 3rd that day, and his 8th that week…and it’s only Tuesday.

When you join JOMG, check out the Jasmine scene: an amateur girl from Tucson brings her amateur friend up so they can get work, and I made it clear to Amateur Joe not to touch his dick for 72 hours before the scene. Wait till you see that money shot.

Porn star Phoebe is another winner…mostly cause I hired Faceblaster for that one. His dick isn’t that big – in fact, it’s kinda small – but boy, does it pack a wallop; in fact, he was part of Riley Mason’s facial annihilation pictured below. He doesn’t get many fuck scenes, and he’s got a job outside porn…so when he shows up on a porno set, his balls are filled to the rim.

And that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

My phone rings. It’s Spring. And she’s mad.

Shoutin’ mad.

She’s pissed cause she says whenever I post a picture of her on my blog, it’s always a bad one. And when I say she’s yelling this at me, she’s yelling at me.

This is the pic she’s referring to. It was on a post from last week.

Now, if you ask me, that’s not a bad picture. Not at all.

I try and defend myself, but Spring isn’t having it…like usual. She usually sees things one way, and we all know what way that is.

Does this really look like a bad pic to you? Or a silly one that borders on cute cause it’s silly? Especially since most of the pics we ever see of Spring are posed, and serious, or sexy, and usually feature a giant black dick in her mouth.

I try to explain this to her, but again, she ain’t listenin’. So she hangs up, but right before she does, she tells me she’s going to e-mail some good pictures.

And sure enough, a day later, I get some pics in my box. There’s one of me and her, and one of her and Cherry Poppens on set, and a group shot with me and her and Cherry and my make-up artist, and then I find one I really like – Spring and her pal Sophia, not being porn stars, but just best friends.

At a bar.

Having fun.

A peek into the private lives of two girls some of you really wish you could know, but most likely never will…except in that porno way that really isn’t them.

When I was a porno consumer, it would have been pics like this I loved most. I say “would have been” because I never got to see pics of porno girls living like we all do; the only pics I ever got to see of porn stars were the ones on VHS box covers or magazine covers or in the magazines. None of which is real.

So, here ya go, my friends. Enjoy the nice picture of Spring and Sophia enjoying life.

I hope this one works for you too, Spring.

Um, one other thing: Hi Bob.

The ADT (Adult DVD Talk) topic was “why we never see women being eaten out in porn” – and my pal Faceblaster just showed me a post by a fellow calling himself Lazerous:

For a generation or so now–let’s say post-Max Hardcore–the wall-to-wall/all-sex porn genres have been increasingly oblivious to depictions of female pleasure, including any act leading up to or resulting in female orgasm.

By the way, if the girls in these videos are “whores,” it is because they have traded in their own pleasure and orgasm for the role of being a cock attachment. That, rather than taking money for sex, has become the criteria for “whores” in porn these days.

To which I reply:

Lazerous is corrrect, up to a point…the whole recent (maybe not-so-recent as Artie Mitchell’s porno masterpiece The Grafenberg Spot is now coming up on 21 years old) squirting internet phenom he failed to mention…but, yea, all-in-all I’d have to agree wholeheartedly with everything he wrote. I will also add this – I know, first hand, of girls who refuse to get off on camera.

You read right…porno girls who refuse to have an on-camera orgasm…why?

It’s too personal.

They don’t want to reveal that much of themselves on camera. Oh sure, they’ll get naked, suck cock, get plowed in the ass, and let 15 guys jizz all over their face…but they won’t cum. No way.

And just when you thought these porno chicks were really nutty, I toss this one yer way.