I Shoot Porn is 6 years old today!

So how ’bout you put that in your bong and smoke it, Hippy.

Here’s my very first post ever, the one I did 6 years ago today.

I’ve revisited this particular entry and updated it once, and, I think, as long as my blog is a viable thing (I know, I know…how viable can a porn blog really be?) I’ll revisit this entry every year and update it.

And what’s different now, as opposed to last year? Not a whole lot, I guess. My work load is way lighter, which gives me time to do other things, which is an optimist’s way of saying business is slow. Oh, and YouTube suspended my account again — for a “Imitations by Ashli Orion”. Her video was totally censored to remove any naughty bits, but YT doesn’t care about that. They won’t tell me what part, exactly, made them pull it. So I’m going over to Vimeo soon.

And the cake? What’s up with that?!

Well, I wanted to find an appropriate picture for ISP’s first birthday party, and I did a Google image search, and look what I found!

A Gene Simmons cake!

The only thing better?

I dunno…an Iggy Pop cake, when he was a Stooge? A Lou Reed cake, when he dyed his hair blonde? Maybe a VU cake, when Lou’s hair was jet black and they all wore really cool sunglasses.

But this is none of the above; it’s Sean The Porn’s birthday cake.

Sean The Porn.

I have no idea who Sean The Porn is, or what he does, but there’s his birthday cake.

And now it’s ISP’s, too.

So sing for this blog damn it: Sing it loud, and sing it proud!

ISP is 6! Time for kindergarten! Which, if you haven’t already noticed, is about the level of intelligence you’ll find around here.

1. Super Dumb e-Mails: For example, the one my boss just FWD’d me: u niggers suk. u cry about racism, but u push it! making white sissys watch my ass. u niggers are crap for people. u have everything handed to u, so you can collect your food stamps and make porn. slavery made u strong, and u cry about it all the time. now little white girls hating their dad fuk u, but u are still niggers. number one cause of death for 18-30 year nigger male being killed by another nigger male. 405 lb bench press 4.5 forty and ten inches hitting the end of the pussy (they can’t take more than eight,so it doesn’t matter dipshit), but i have to watch slave decendants get paid for sports,because of slavery and the genetic breeding. stupid niggers good for nothing but entertainment. do a song, dance, and jig in the end zone while fucking your little crak whores who hate their white daddies. niggers self destruct. nigger nigger nigger

I mean…really? Really. Do people really think like this anymore? Of course they do! And their dopey e-mails always make for a fun read. The best part, of course, is that the racist bigot e-mails almost always originate from the members’ area at Blacks on Blondes. I also enjoy how they think the guys behind the camera are either black…or Jewish.

2. Kuma’s Korner, 2900 W. Belmont Ave., Chicago: Imagine walking into a hamburger joint with Death Metal blasting at an almost uncomfortable volume level. The waitresses all looked like they just wrapped a Suicide Girls shoot. There’s senior citizens sitting next to Yuppies sitting next to dudes who might actually be in Mastodon. Once you open the menu, it’s a tough time choosing between “The Plague Bringer” or “Insect Warfare” or “The Goblin’s Cock” (the only hot dog on the menu, and it’s super huge). I went with The Famous Kuma Burger, just cause it looked like if I could actually finish it, I might die soon after of coronary failure. Of course I finished it, cause it might have been the best thing I ever stuck in my mouth.

3. Reckless Records: I went to the one on Milwaukee Ave, and it was there I scored the 10″ EP “All Over The Place” by my beloved Wilco. It’s so rare I didn’t even know it existed…but that’s not saying much, really. I had to pay up for it, too. Which means I’m still gay for them. Gayer than ever.

4. The Dirty Show: The Dirty Show is an “International Exhibition of Erotic Art”. I caught it last weekend while I was in Chicago. Anytime art gets labeled it kinda makes me nervous, and sure enough, most of the “Erotic Art” was kinda lame. If a painting of a penis with a butterfly landing on its head is executed right, it’s art. Not just “erotic art”. Right? Most of the time, “erotic art” should just be labeled ‘bad art” — unless it’s Eric Kroll or Steve Diet Goedde.

5. The City of Chicago: While I’m at it, let me make a big Shout Out to my old home town. When I left in 1975, driving through the city was always an interesting experience…mostly cause you had to zig zag through the bad spots. No, the brutal spots, which were a plenty. It wasn’t even about driving through with the windows rolled up and the doors locked; you seriously took your own life in your hands if you wandered around…which, in 2010, is no longer. Just lots of white girls in short, short skirts, riding their bike to a trendy coffee shop. Just 15 years ago, in that same place, they would have been slaughtered. After they were raped. And no one woulda said a word about it. Say what you will about Mayor Daley, but he set the city free. Just don’t wander around the suburbs, like where I grew up.

6. American Pickers: If I ever stop making dirty movies, I think I’ll be a picker. It’s the collector in me. I think I have a pretty good eye, too, so I might be able to pull it off. The only thing better than a good score (my last was a pile of vintage movie posters including Barbarella, The Kansas City Bombers, and Billy Jack) is selling the stuff. Anyways, “American Pickers” features two geeks who drive all over the place buying shit from kooky hoarders. The hoarders are the stars of the show, of course. But the best part is how the geeks always play the good guy role, and never underpay for stuff, and never sell it for a huge profit, and always tell the hoarders if their shit is really valuable, so an “expert” can be called in to help them put their discarded stuff in better hands. I like this show way better than the pawn shop show, only cause those two fatsos — Chumley and the other dope — bug me even more than the Old Man and his balding son.

7. Ty Segall: My Little Bro often recommends new music to me, and I immediately dismiss him, cause, after all, he’s my little bro, and he’s younger than me — and what do younger siblings really know? Actually he knows a lot — especially when it comes to new music — but I’ll never admit that to him. (I was gonna make mention of Sleigh Bells, but I’m not sure if I love them…or hate them.)

8. My Blog: Sure, I don’t update it nearly enough, and I’m feeling (as always) like a broken record. But I still like doing it…whenever there’s something to say.

9. My New Bi-Focals: Cause, after all, ain’t getting older a heap o’ fun?

10. Ivy Winters: Ivy Winters is a somewhat-newbie Porno Princess that makes my wee-wee get really hard. So hard, in fact, that when my pal Nicky Milo called me up and asked, “Hey Billy! Whacha doin’ tomorrow? I gotta shoot a gang bang!! I need to borrow your camera, and do you wanna join in? Cause I can only find 5 guys and I need 6!” Of course I said no, cause I’m not male talent. I’m certainly not a mope. Then he said, “Are you sure? It’s Ivy Winters!” I asked if I had to show my face. This is, of course, a sign of weakening, and Nicky knew that. He said yes. I asked if I was gonna get paid. (More weakness). He said yes. I’m not male talent, I repeated…and then took the job. Cause it’s Ivy Winters. Cause I’m a mope…and there’s something terribly wrong with me.

Jessi Stone. Jessi Stone? Jessi Stone! Barely-legal blondie from the East Coast of Florida, and one of my very favorite girls to shoot as of late. We even got in the van and took a trip to the gloryhole. The result? The members ranked her 9.8 out of 10 — a whopping .6 higher than 2nd place vote-getter Dana DeArmond. I think there’s 350+ scenes on the site now…so that’s saying a lot.

Jay Reatard: I caught Jay at an in-store at my favorite records store in California — Amoeba. Imagine The Meat Puppets…circa 1983…when they were good. What I thought was going to be a 3 song set turned into a quite a show. I think Jay did at least a dozen songs, all of which rocked my silly little world. Too bad the staff at the store didn’t feel the same. Jay referred to Amoeba as the over-sized “Wal-Mart of record stores”, launched a few cans of Bud Light high into the air, and grabbed one of his records off the shelf and smashed it to bits. Punk rock lives.

The Cheap Trick / Poison / Def Leppard show at Cricket Pavilion, Phoenix AZ 8.29.09: You read right, fuckers. This weekend I hooked up with some high school chums and we relived the power that was 1985. Well…’83? And actually, I was all over Cheap Trick by ’78, which was the only band I paid attention to this night. The rest of the night I drank way too much and tried to pick up the hot blonde MILF next to me. It was the first time I hit on a girl my age in 7 years. (Failure). But how could I miss the power of C.C. DeVille, especially when the crowd chanted his name during a mad solo? Or the flames shooting up into the air behind Brett?! Or the one-armed-drummer pounding out Pour Some Sugar On Me!! My Lord.

My new iPhone: Uh huh. I finally broke down and did it. So don’t fuck with me. Creepy Q — Editor Extraordinaire — called me a “tool box” upon showing it off, and he refuses to even look at the Apple sticker affixed to the back of my car. Uh huh. An Apple sticker. Right next to the Wilco one…and right below the Amoeba sticker.

Kurt Vile: The self-proclaimed “Philly’s Constant Hitmaker”, I caught Vile opening for Dungen at The Troubadour last week. I only went to see Vile, actually; I had no idea who Dungen was as I strolled through the doors with my camera in tow to snap a few pics of Vile on his banjo. His latest effort — Constant Hitmaker — hasn’t left my turntable in almost two weeks. Kinda reminds me of a lo-fi, super cool 21st century version of Nebraska. Well…kinda. Just kinda. Barely just kinda.

Chanel — The World’s Oldest Dog: Chanel stole sticks of butter and hid them behind her sofa. Chanel wore goggles cause of the cataracts in her eyes and sweaters cause she was always cold, and, right before she died, spent her 21st birthday at a doggie hotel / spa. 21 doggy years means 147 for you and me.

The Beatles: On 09/09/09 we get the entire Beatles’ catalog reissued in a box set in both stereo and mono. God damn I fucking love the Beatles. Each and every song. I really don’t think they ever recorded a throw-away; this includes “Blue Jay Way”, “Wild Honey Pie”, and “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road”. (I’m going for the mono box, by the way).

Maoam: Oh, these clever candy makers used a palindrome when they named their candy! That alone means I like it at least a little bit. (I’ve never tasted Maoam). I like the new cover art, too…but some parents in the UK (where they’ve been marketing Maoam for years I guess) don’t: One upset parent quipped, “The lemon and lime are locked in what appears to be a carnal encounter. The lime, whom I assume to be the gentleman in this coupling, has a particularly lurid expression on his face.” Uh huh. And I wonder if the candy tastes as good as pussy?