A Proxy Paige Po-Po Story.
Well, here’s a po-po story.
No, I don’t mean poo-poo, but I could blog about Proxy Paige and poo-poo, cause last night we hung out and watched Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom. I bought it when Criterion re-released it recently, but I haven’t found the right time to watch it. What a perfect time to watch a movie like Salò during a Porno Princess Slumber Party!
I kinda knew what was going on in it, but I had no idea of the exact scope of its depravity, perversion, and overall foulness.
Have you seen this flick? You mighta heard about it…but damn. Like I said, I knew about it, and its notoriety, and the fact that it’s one of Sasha Gray’s favorites, but, to be honest…it’s off the chart. And the poo-poo eating was too much for me, and I was super tired when I started it so I kinda fell asleep, which is a dumb thing to do when a movie is sub-titled. You can kinda fake it if you know the language, but since I can’t speak Italian, I was out of luck.
Anyways, this is a Po-Po Story, as in the po-lice; cause, this morning, Proxy was following me to the studio in her car, cause she likes watching porno being filmed, and she had nothing to do today, so I told her to come watch me work. Anyways, on the way to the studio, I rolled a stop sign big time. I knew what I was doing as I did it, and the next thing I know it’s the Po-Po, and they’ve pulled me over.
My lawyer once told me the best way to deal with the cops when you get pulled over is it immediately admit what you did and don’t deny. In a friendly, respectful way. Which is exactly what I did.
“Boy did I fuck that one up or what Officer? I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just rolled through that stop sign.”
The cop looked at me kinda incredulously and said, “Yes you did. I need to see your license.”
I handed it over, and since it’s out of state, before it was even in his hands I said, “I live in Arizona and work here. I have to.”
There’s a reason I told him this, and I’d like to credit Wesley Pipes right now. Wesley Pipes is the most dangerous man in porn. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. He’s a very dangerous man. And he gets pulled over a lot. He’s told me this. I mean about getting pulled over. I know he’s dangerous, too, cause he’s spent some very hard time in the Pen. He told me about that as well.
“What do you do when you get pulled over, Wesley?”
“I tell them I’m porno, man. It’s just that simple, Billy. Shit man, I tell them I’m porno and then I hand them one of my DVDs.”
“You keep DVD’s your the car?”
“Fuck ya, man. I have them right on the passenger side seat. I hand them one of my DVD’s with me on the cover and show ’em it’s me and they let me go.”
“This works?
“Every motherfuckin’ time my man.”
So…I tell the cop I live in Arizona and I work in Los Angeles cause it’s legal to do what I do here, and it’s not legal in Arizona.
The cop asked, “What exactly do you do? And why did that woman pull over behind you?” He looked back and eyed Proxy and looked back at me.
“I make dirty movies for a living. She’s a porn star and we’re on our way to shoot some smut.”
The cop smiled. He looked back at Proxy.
Proxy waved and smiled at him.
The cop looked at me. “What company do you work for?” he asked.
“Well, you really wouldn’t know the name of my company, cause I made it sound normal. Totally non-porno. But you might know the name of some of the websites.”
The cop looked at me. “Name some of them, please.”
“Well, Blacks on Blondes is about the biggest one out there. I also shoot for The Dick Suckers, Manojob, and Mr. POV.” I added mine just for the shameless plug.
“Where’s your studio?”
This made me kinda nervous, but, using my best poker face, I told him.
Silence.
The cop looked back at Proxy — who smiled and waved once more — and then at my license. He looked back up at me, handed it back, and told me to have a great day. He didn’t want to see my registration — or my insurance. And even though I’ve never been in trouble in my life, I’ve never had a cop tell me have a great day.
Next time I’m going to carry a few of my DVD’s, right on the passenger side seat…just in case.
RIP Erica Boyer
RIP Jay Reatard
Jay Reatard was the greatest fucked up pervert whacko kid genius to hit the scene since 1973 (or so). You’ve probably never heard of him. He screamed songs like “Blood is Sweet but Semen is Sweeter” and “Oh How The Little Boy’s Blood Looks Good On Your Face” — and they found him dead in Memphis last night.
I shot this before Jay’s in-store show at the Hollywood Amoeba, August 18 2009. I thought, for an in-store, he’d just tip-toe through a few numbers. After all, it’s just an in-store.
Dumb me.
Jay ripped through his set with a vengeance. At one point, the Amoeba staff had had enough, and I’m just not sure what it was precisely that sent them over the edge: after he smashed up some of the records on their display, or when he tossing cans of beer all over the place, or when he called Amoeba “The Walmart of record stores.”
I’m sure it was the Walmart remark.
Jay Reatard became Jay Reatard (pronounced ree-tahrd, just like our mentally-challenged pals) after catching The Oblivians open for Rocket From The Crypt; he laid down a four track in his bedroom, sent it out to Goner Records, had it accepted, and dropped out of high school. He wasn’t even old enough to drive — at least legally.
I checked out his myspace and noted his new headline: “new band, new day…watch out”. He’d been at odds with his band for a while, and, if I’m not mistaken, they’d left him. But I’m not sure.
I’m sure his last record — Watch Me Fall — landed at #13 in Spin Magazine’s Best Albums Of The Year…whatever that’s worth. I think it made Jay proud.
Here’s the Jay Reatard official site; if you poke around, you’ll find some gems…like a killer cover of Nirvana’s Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Seattle as well as a song Jay and his (then) girlfriend cooked up one one over a some sushi, some drinks and a chocolate soufflé — In Heaven (Lady In The Radiator Song).
I thought it appropriate.
I only spoke with him once, and it was after the in-store. He hung out with fans in a far corner at Amoeba for at least an hour. Jay was drunk and kind and talkative and totally unaffected by the attention he was starting to receive.
I had an idea for a photograph, and Jay knew my business; when I asked him, he looked at me kinda funny. “Whacha got in mind?”
“I want to shoot you being roasted over a fire by a bunch of the alt-porn girls…Scarlett Pain, Joanna Angel…that kind of a crew. And I want to dress them up in Girl Scout outfits and set it all in the back of my ghetto warehouse studio, right in front of the garage door.”
“Roasted over a fire like a hog?” Jay asked.
I said, “Yes sir.”
He smiled and gave me his e-mail address, and we agreed we’d try and set it up the next time he was in town.
A month or so later, after I heard Jay had descended into The Heroin World, I was worried. Common Knowledge knew he was out of control, but I didn’t think he had taken it that far. And I didn’t give a shit about my picture anymore. I just reminded myself, I’m a worrier…and Jay will make it out OK. It’s gonna be difficult…but Jay will make it.
I wish I was right.
Interview with a Porn Star (#72) — Andy San Dimas
I Shoot Porn: Please explain the origin of your name.
Andy San Dimas: I made it up in high school. I wanted to do porn before I ever had sex. So I’d think of stupid porn names while I was not working in class. I’d write them down in my notebook instead of taking notes. San Dimas was the town where Bill and Ted lived.
ISP: In their Excellent Adventure!
ASD: Exactly! And Andy is the name of the little boy — Andy Barclay — from Child’s Play.
ISP: What did you want to be when you were 10 years old?
ASD: I wanted to be a ventriloquist. I’m not even lying. For career day I brought my dummy with me, and I”d did a report on Jim Henson — even though he wasn’t a ventriloquist.
ISP: What was your dummy’s name?
ASD: It was a replica of Howdy Doody, so it was just Howdy Doody. I didn’t have a dummy of my own, which was unfortunate.
ISP: Were you popular in high school?
ASD: With girls — no.
ISP: What were your early sexual escapades like?
ASD: I was an exhibitionist from a young age. I wasn’t really slutty, but I liked having sex in front of people, or in a room were everyone was having sex. We’d have slumber parties when we were like, 15, and there’d be like 4 of my girlfriends, and we’d all have our boyfriends over and fuck in the same room.
ISP: Lights on or off?
ASD: Well, off mostly, but we’d always play music and the light from the stereo system made it so you could see.
ISP: Who’s boyfriend had the biggest dick?
ASD: Not mine.
ISP: Name a couple of things a man can do to you now that you enjoy almost all the time.
ASD: Hmmm. This is hard because I like just about everything. Except getting fucked in the ass. My boyfriend won’t slap me in the face, even though I ask him to.
ISP: Is the sex in your movies typical of the sex you like to have in your private life?
ASD: No. The sex I have in my private life is intense and hard and really good, but I only fuck my boyfriend in my private life. In my private life, love is involved.
ISP: What is your worst porno experience?
ASD: There’s so many bad ones. There’s a lot of good ones, too, but yea…probably this guy who had blood-oozing sores on his lips, and he kept asking to lick my pussy, and he just kept asking…over and over. It got to the point where I had to get the director to tell him no kissing and no oral sex. After it was all said and done, I was OK with everyone…but still. Oh, I had my suitcase stolen once. That sucked.
ISP: If not an adult actress, what else would you do for work?
ASD: I’d love to make dolls. I’d be living somewhere random, like Toronto. I’ve always wanted to live in Canada. I know I’d being doing something weird — whatever it is — like working in a video store. I’ve worked in lots of those.
ISP: Would you perform if it paid half of what it does now?:
ASD: Yes. But I probably shouldn’t say that. I’d still rather be doing porn than anything else.
ISP: You just kinda mentioned this earlier, but let’s get specific: in front of the camera or in private (or both), you don’t like anal. Why?
ASD: I just haven’t done it enough in my personal life to like it. I plan on learning more about my butthole. I’m gonna go to Butthole School. I think I have some good teachers.
ISP: Really. Name some of the Professors you’d like to study under at Butthole University.
ASD: Bobbi Starr, Kristina Rose, Phoenix Marie, and Dana DeArmond. They would be my professors in the Art of Asshole.
ISP: Do you have any porn star friends you go to for general career advice?
ASD: Bobbi Starr.
ISP: Have you personally found it difficult to date people who know what you do for a living?
ASD: At first, yes. Three years ago, when I first got started, I had a boyfriend who claimed he was OK with me doing porn and being naked on the internet, and after my first scene, he told me he wanted to kill himself, and that he was going to start doing heroin that day — and he did. You can actually see part of this — not the heroin part — but the rest of his behavior, in Dana DeArmond’s Role Modeling.
ISP: Ever feel exploited?
ASD: I have before, but I exploit myself for a living, so no harm done.
ISP: What is the biggest misconception about girls who perform in our business?
ASD: They they will fuck anyone at any time for free.
ISP: Wha?! Even me?! You won’t fuck me for free?
ASD: I don’t fuck anyone for free, except my boyfriend…who, by the way, I’m getting paid to fuck tomorrow on set.
R.I.P. Aunt Peg
A Hooker in Las Vegas
Who knows.
Who really cares.
Well, that’s kinda harsh. Some of you care. I care cause one of my Porno Pals — Eric Swiss, AKA “Swiss Balls” — won best actor for his role in Not Married With Children. Some more of my Porno Pals won, too:
Best Double Penetration Sex Scene
Bobbi Starr & Dana DeArmond’s Insatiable Voyage
Best New Web Starlet
Lexi Belle
MILF/Cougar Performer of the Year
Julia Ann
What’s better than learning some of my pals won awards? A phone call.
A Stunt Cock I hire just called to tell me he was walking the strip right after the award show when a super hot Vegas hooker hit him up. You know how to tell if they’re hookers, right? If not, next time you’re in Vegas, and you see a single woman walking down the strip or wandering around the casino, just make eye contact with her and smile. If she maintains eye contact with you, and then stops and says anything at all, she’s working.
Always remember this, and don’t fool yourself. You’re not all that. Just cause she’s making small talk doesn’t mean you’re Brad Pitt; it means her pussy is for sale.
But all pussy costs something, right?
Anyway, my buddy struck up a conversation and eventually asked her, “How much do you charge?”
“It starts at $500 for a hand job.”
My buddy was totally blown away, and he got kinda pissed. “$500 dollars! For a hand job! Holy crap! No hand job is worth that kind of money!”
She then told him, “Do you see that Denny’s on the corner?”
“Yes.”
“Do you see the Denny’s about a block further down?”
“Yes.”
“And beyond that, do you see that third Denny’s?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” she said, smiling, “I own those. And I own them because I give a hand job that’s worth $500.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. This dude gets work a lot, so why the fuck would he pay $500 for a handie?
“What the hell, Billy! You only live once. So I gave it a try.”
You realize most of the male talent in this biz are sex addicts? So what. I’m pretty sure 90% of the dudes walking the face of the Earth are, too. Anyway, they went back to his room at The Venetian. Twenty minutes later he told me he was sitting on the bed, realizing that he has just experienced the hand job of a lifetime, worth every bit of the five hundred he paid. He was so amazed, he asked, “I suppose a blow job is $1,000?”
“$1,500.”
“I wouldn’t pay that for a blow job!”
She said, “step over here to the window, big boy. Do you see that casino just across the street? I own that casino outright. And I own it because I give a blow job that’s worth every cent of $1,500.”
My buddy, still sitting there in total disbelief over the hand job, said, “Sign me up, but let’s go down and gamble a bit and then come up and go for round two.”
They go down and play craps and he hits the casino for the cost of the BJ — and some more. And three hours after the mind-blowing hand job, he is sitting on the bed more amazed than before. He can scarcely believe it. Top BJ of his life — and he’s been a stunt cock for almost 6 years. In fact, it’s better than any porno BJ he’s ever gotten, so you know what’s coming next: “How much for some pussy?”
The hooker said, “Come over here to the window, I want to show you something. Do you see how the whole city of Las Vegas…laid out before us? All those beautiful lights, gambling palaces, and shows?
My buddy readies himself for the number. He knows it’s gonna be big, so huge he just wanted to know so he could laugh about it later…but he never expected what was about to come out of her mouth.
“If I had a pussy, I’d own it all.”
…and no, Jackie Daniels has nothing to do with this tale. I just like the picture a whole bunch. This isn’t original material, either. But I liked it even more than the picture of Jackie Daniels, so much so I tweaked the original joke a bit and passed it off as my own. So don’t go hatin’, yo.
Super Fun e-Mails: Sharp & Snarky
Maybe it’s the sad state of the economy, but your blog seems to have lost its sharp and snarky edge. Have you become a Booster of your industry? You used to really be down on it – now you appear to be toeing the party line in order to prevent further collapse…
—————
I just consulted dictionary.com to make sure “snarky” was indeed a word. Not only is it legit, but it’s British in origin. At least that’s what my quick, cheap & easy internet research tells me.
Remember what a pain in the ass research used to be? Driving to the library. Card catalogs. Periodic guides to literature. Microfilms & microfiche.
Ugh.
Being a pornographer is really weird. There’s no sugarcoating it. I kinda hit on this briefly in yesterday’s post — about leaving my body while I shoot it. It’s creepy and fucked-up and great — all at the same time. That’s why I say it’s weird. It’s a profession in which almost everyone enters…just to get out of.
“I’m just doing this for a little while,” they all say. “Just to pay off my car” or “til I graduate from college” or “until I pay off my (insert the family member here) medical bills.” (I’d like to add they never pay off the car, graduate, or take pay off momma’s cancer bills).
I did the same, too; my “little while” will turn 8 this August. My mom reminds me of this all the time. I told her, when I got in, that I’d do it for “a year or so”.
All this rhetoric is nothing more than a segue into being sharp and snarky. I dunno about how sharp the blogging is…but snarky? Do I really come off as snarky?
When Audrey Elson and I hung out, one night we were catching a movie together, and I asked her how other people perceived me. It was something I really didn’t think much about, but for some reason I did that night, and every once in a while I still do.
When I was teaching, a lot of my students perceived me as gay. “No way!” I’d exclaim. But I really don’t blame them. Funny how students behave. Once you dig into the first few weeks of the semester, students ask all sorts of personal questions. First, they want to know how old you are. Then, they want to know if you’re married. So, I’d answer them, and then, when I told them I lived in San Francisco, they’d give me this look. It’s hard to explain, and even harder to write about. Maybe if I italicize “look” — as in, they’d give me this look.
In a nutshell, I was their gay English professor.
I don’t recall what Audrey said, but I’m certain “snarky” was no where to be found. In fact, no one has ever called me snarky, but I kinda like it. I wouldn’t say I’m a “booster” of my biz; however; I am a booster of intellectual property, whether it’s tangible or not. This means I buy the things I like: music, software, and movies. Don’t get me wrong — I have no problem if people trade some files. But the same people who rip everything off scream and cry when they get ripped off, and that bugs me to no end.
The other night I was having dinner with some old friends, some of which play in a band. A gigging band that could break out someday…once they decide they’re good enough on their own and stop trying to be U2. I mean really…why be U2? I actually wanted to grab the lead singer by his shoulders after their gig at The Viper Room and shake some sense into him: if you’re gonna rip off a band, become The MC5, or The Stooges, or The New York Dolls, or T. Rex! I didn’t do that, of course, but I did listen to them complain about the state of the music industry, and how the fans are nothing more than thieves, and how bands can no longer make a living off CD sales and are depending on tangible things to sell, like t-shirts and posters. As I listened, all I could think of is, if you pulled the word “music” and inserted “porn”, they’d sound just like me!
Imagine that sorry state of affairs — sounding like me.
Speaking of swapping out “music” for “porn”, let’s have some fun: Hunter S. Thompson once said, “The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There’s also a negative side.”
Just like my pals and U2, I’ll steal from The Good Doctor right now: The porn business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There’s also a negative side.
Snarky, huh?
And I’d like to think I’m one of the good men…but we all know better.
Super Fun e-Mails: Name Your Sled.
I was wondering what kind of car you drive? Being a self-employed porn producer, do you find it difficult to obtain financing? How do you provide proof of income, for instance?
America – the only country where everyone drives a car but no one can afford to buy one!
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Wanna hear something funny?
Every once in a while I leave my body while I’m shooting a scene. I know this sounds kooky, or metaphysical, or hippyesque…or just plain crazy — but it happens. Example: I’ll be in the middle of shooting and suddenly I can see myself from outside the set. I get kinda tingly and I have a hard time concentrating. It comes on kinda quick and passes almost as fast. Then, while it’s happening, I’ll also think how weird and whacky my life is, and the absurd way in which I earn a living; furthermore, I think how life is absurd, and money’s even more absurd than life, and even more absurd is the fact we can never really quit wanting things we certainly don’t need…things that really don’t add to the quality of life. Of course this is nothing more than human nature; hence, this whole thing is even more absurd than money or filming something like an interracial gang bang or a girl sucking off someone she doesn’t know through a hole in the wall or even what I call a “love making scene”. Suddenly, I’m back in my body. It’s a process that takes about 10 seconds — from start to finish.
When I explained this to my banker as I was applying for the loan to purchase my Toyota truck, she leaned back into her chair, pulled out whatever girls hide in their hair to let it fall on to her shoulders, slowly removed her glasses, and softly told me to go shut the door to her office.
I did as I was told.
As I turned to go sit down again, both her feet were up on the desk. She was wearing sexy black hose and a garter belt, and she was spread eagle, her panties pulled to one side as she furiously rubbed her clit. Her hips were slowly gyrating — her head pulled to one side. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily.
Quite suddenly — and without an sort of warning — she squirted all over my 1040’s. She had three years’ worth, cause I’m self-employed and that always raises The Banker’s Brow, and trust me when I tell you all three years were covered in her sweet love juices. My credit report was drenched, too…so much so you could barely read the big “660” on it, as well as the list of notorious slow-pays I have from the Thorns-In-My-Side I refer to as student loans. Which, of course, was right next to the deposit check, which I had to have reissued cause it was so covered in her gush.
She moaned quite loudly as the gusher of cum erupted from her cunt — so much so I was surprised no one from the adjacent offices didn’t come rushing in to see what was going on. She then told me to pull my cock our so she could taste me.
I did as I was told.
Of course this was almost four years ago, when almost any chump could secure a loan from a bank.
While I’m quite sure if I returned to my banker today to apply for a loan she’d play with herself and suck me off, I’m not too sure I”d secure the it; money’s tough to come by these days.
Finally, why call America the only place where everyone drives a car they don’t own? You think the Frogs drive around in their shitty paid-off Le Cars? Or the Germans pay off theirs? Certainly America has way too many people driving around and not using public transportation (I’m guilty, your honor) but to think the rest of the world is driving a car with a title paid-in-full is as silly and stupid as this post.
Spring Thomas and Avril Lavigne
I don’t talk to Spring too much these days; in fact, I don’t talk to her at all. Here’s my advice to everyone, even though you already know it: don’t lend your pals money…unless you don’t want them to be pals anymore.
If you’ve ever written anything, you know a lot of times reading old writing is a lot like looking at old pictures of yourself. The difference is, you can’t change the way you look in those pics; however, you can edit your old writing. This time I’m choosing not to.
Which is to say I’ll stand by this.
This blog’s original air date: October 18, 2005
What in the heck is punk princess Avril Lavigne doing with the one and only porn star Spring Thomas? Is Avril going black?
Of course not. Well, come to think of it, I wouldn’t know. How would I? I have no idea, cause like almost everybody else, I know nothing about her. Oh sure, I know she’s a singer, and she’s on MTV a whole lot, but that doesn’t mean I know shit about her.
When we were staying on the Sunset Strip at a pretty average hotel, oh…a while ago…we found out Avril was there, too. Spring got excited. I really didn’t care too much. There were some other celebs there, too, which kinda surprised me…cause like I said, this wasn’t the Taj Mahal – just one of your average corporate inns. And plus, just cause someone famous is staying there doesn’t mean you’re going to run into them.
But let me back track.
I’m in LA with Spring Thomas to make some dirty movies for her website. As I’m checking in to our hotel, I asked the clerk at the desk if there’s anyone famous already checked in. This is the Sunset Strip, after all. The Viper Room, The Whiskey, The Standard…all within walking distance.
“Yes sir,” he said.
I have to admit, like most of us, I’m a sucker when it comes to celebrities. What’s up with that? Cause it’s really not my nature. And I don’t like just ANY celeb. Only the ones I admire, and those probably aren’t your favorites, either. Like Phillip Seymour Hoffman. (I’d go nuts if he was hanging around). Or Scarlett Johansson. (I don’t admire Scarlett, I just wanna bang her). The dude who played “Ajax” in The Warriors and “Gentry” in Drugstore Cowboy. (I bet he’s cool).
But Avril Lavinge? I gotta tell ya, Avril doesn’t do it for me.
Anyway, I kept bugging the clerk at the desk if there were any famous folks at the hotel that weekend. He wouldn’t tell me…he only gave hints. And his hints led me to Avril Lavgine. Why? Like I said, I’m not an Avril fan so I don’t know her songs. I just know what she looks like…and in the middle of my interrogation with Mr. Hotel Clerk, who walks by?
Avril Lavigne. I recognized her almost immediately.
Spring Thomas went nuts. She begged me to grab my camera so I could snap a quick pic.
“She won’t go for that Spring, trust me,” I said.
“PLEASE BILLY!”
So we walked over to the front of the joint. Avril was waiting for her car. And as I’m waiting for Avril to get really pissed about “invading her privacy” or something like that, I become pleasantly surprised. Cause not only was she willing to pose with Spring, she was nice about it. Really nice. Like “Hi-you’re-a-fan? That’s-cool-cause-I-really-appreciate-my-fans” kind of nice.
And isn’t that nice?
Now I wonder if Avril will ever find out exactly who it is she posed in this picture with…