Brief Reviews of Pornography Stored on My External Hard Drive

These are just a few to test the waters. "Tip of the iceberg" does not even begin to describe how far I could take this. It could realistically be a blog unto itself.

Last Girl Standing

High production values add to the overall cinematic feel of this clever, self-referential film. Centering around a group of young porn stars called to a mountaintop mansion to audition for the lead role in an upcoming movie, the film is a sly commentary on the current state of the pornography industry. The plot follows one of the film's financial backers who has come last-minute to help the director with casting. He causes a stir when he immediately makes known his negative feeling towards pornography and the people who act in it [1]. As the auditions progress the women become increasingly distrustful of one another, eventually resulting in sabotage, accusations of theft, and aggressive sexual contact. Much of the conflict revolves around the fact that Jenna Jameson (in a wonderfully self-effacing turn) has hired an English voice coach to help her with her lines (the film-within-a-film is set in 1920's Britain, allowing for some truly surreal desecration of the Queen's English). Just as the tensions between the girls has built to a fever pitch, however, much of the film's goodwill is squandered by a frustrating deus-ex-machina wherein the conflicts between the women are resolved via an extended orgy sequence that is less titillating than it is grossly self-indulgent. Despite this frustrating ending, the film is still a daring statement about an industry that often rewards trite predictability over originality. Recommended.


Babysitters 3

This one is actually pretty fucked up. It is a series of vignettes involving babysitters in various situations that turn inappropriately sexual. The first one is about girl (a babysitter) who gets caught masturbating in the master bedroom and is subsequently raped fairly violently when the couple returns early from their night on the town. The second scene features a girl of questionable age blowing a muscular Italian immigrant [2] who is literally colored bronze. It is notable mostly for it's playful setting, poolside in the summer, birds chirping merrily in the background. The last scene involves a babysitter fucking these two fat guys [3] in diapers. It is disturbing and weird, playing more like a poorly executed nightmare sequence than anything vaguely erotic. I find this film as a whole almost impossible to jack off to.


Matrix 3

This, it goes without saying, is not the Matrix 3 but I thought it was going to be when I downloaded it. It is entirely in German and I don't know exactly what it's called, but it is an utter delight and superior to the final Matrix installment in almost every way. My understanding of the plot is rudimentary, but it involves a large group of people on a farm in the countryside. There are a series of moody black and white flashbacks which give the impression of a supernatural element. The women are attractive and exhibit a uniquely German willingness to take it to the next level, lending the film a certain credibility lacking in most mainstream American affairs. A total surprise, this is the kind of film to which one can return again and again. A valuable part of my collection for many years.


Luna Lane in Flesh Hunters

This short concerns a young woman unwittingly answering an add for a lingerie photo shoot. She is nervous at first when faced with requests to "go a little further" with resident stud Erik Everhard but things turn decidedly hardcore when they end up having sex anyway. Hand-held camera work lends the film a cinema verite grittiness that captivates with it's unflinching realism. Strong performances from both leads elevate this romp above a simple "two people fucking on a couch" farce, but obnoxious and persistent comments from an off-screen camera man test the viewer's patience. Ms. Lane especially is charismatic and beautiful despite having been cursed with a truly astonishing labia. The complex narrative and innovative cinematography can be difficult but reward repeat viewings.



[1] This revelation is made delightfully ironic later when Briana Banks sneaks into his bedroom and fucks him, despite the actress showing obvious symptoms of a mid-grade flu (a scene that can only be described as completely disgusting)

[2] He tells her in broken English to "pretend it is a lollipop." It is very creepy.

[3] Like serious tubs of shit. Pale, corpulent, undeniably revolting.

Friday Night TV Picks For the Discerning Viewer

If you're anything like me, you only have a few friends and are currently too broke to buy any of them. In times like these the weekend can seem especially desolate, so I perused the TV Guide last night and have decided to publish my picks for Friday night's exciting lineup! These entries are reproduced verbatim from their original source.


Landon 'n Jeff - Nickelodeon

After a science experiment goes awry, Jeff's gay-dar becomes overly sensitive. Landon prepares for an intimidating first day at meatball school.


I Want to Be a Republican Baby-Raper! - Game Show Network

The kids compete in a border-town scavenger hunt for work visas.


Hospital, MD - NBC

Several doctors fast-walk while pan-directionally shouting esoteric medical jargon. One of the visiting residents is a quirky free spirit who, with a little help from a wise-cracking old ghost, forces sick children to confront the horrific oblivion that is physical death.


Super Super Sparkle Dance - FOX

Some weird Japanese thing. An unsuspecting man is locked naked in a hotel room and forced to eat dog food until he can fart 100 times in a row. Several adorable puppets perform a menacing interpretive dance.


Nigger, Please! - UPN

Middle-class white families compete in their knowledge of black culture for a chance to extend their property lines 15 inches.


Mississippi Shiv - HBO

The inmates become restless when Poundcake bites off Aryan Joe's cock in the laundry room. The night-shift guards play an intense game of 'cookie' after boredom and curiosity get the best of them.


The Sisters Hope (miniseries) - Lifetime

After their parents are killed in an automobile accident, three sisters named Hope move in together and learn a ton of shit about what it means to embrace life.


Chadwick von Rappaport: Magician At Large (season finale) - CBS

Chadwick cries again after he flubs a card trick during his audition for a Wednesday night spot at the Holiday Inn Express. Jennifer finally discovers why Chadwick's penis always smells like milk.


Charlie Rose - PBS

A bunch of fat nerds quietly discuss net neutrality, copyright, and the economic viability of the online world Second Life. Charlie frequently interrupts with a bunch of erudite bullshit.


Kid and Play: House Party 9 (rerun) - BET

With Kid's parents long dead and Play out of another job, the two boys decide to throw a wild party "like the old days" by purchasing high-school girls Bacardi in exchange for their attendance.


Peking Order - ABC

The teachers are divided when a new mandatory abortion policy ruffles a few feathers at Tsun Jin High. Meanwhile, several Mexican teenagers in Houston are jealous.

Truly Horrifying Tales, vol. 1

From the master of the macabre comes three tales of ULTIMATE HORROR...

#1

There is no moon and, especially here, beneath the thick forest canopy, it is morbidly black. Two teenagers whisper to each other through the dark, giggling, their footsteps eliciting muffled crunches from the rotting leaves underfoot.

They had strayed from camp about thirty minutes ago, unfortunately having missed an alarming radio broadcast concerning an escaped convict with an insatiable hunger for human flesh. He had apparently run from the wreckage when the vehicle transporting him between holding facilities had swerved for unknown reasons and careened violently into the forest.

Suddenly the two teenagers heard a twig snap and they stopped abrubtly, clutching one another.

"What was that?" the young, attractive teenage boy said, sounding curiously like a true coward.

"It was nothing!" exclaimed the exquisite and plucky blonde girl, "go on with what you were saying!"

"Oh, okay, well," the boy continued, "I was just saying that cancer is really frighteningly random and not so much even a genetic thing and that really when you think about it, it could strike you at any time, or someone you care about deeply, and furthermore that it can often go undetected for far too long especially if you aren't vigilant and, Jesus Christ, how one day you could just be at the doctor for a like routine check-up, like just your basic physical exam, when all of a sudden you're walking out the door with a newly minted expiration date and, seriously, when I really think about it, I don't know if it is more horrifying to be given like a month to live or to be told that it could be years of vicious and uncompromising and altogether miserable struggle against your own frail and deteriorating shell--"


#2

A mother and a daughter are driving through the desert at night. The sky is cloudless save a few tendrils snaking in front of the moon, which is itself a deep orange, almost red. Suddenly there comes from somewhere inside the car the dull sound of metal grinding and the car comes to an abrupt stop throwing both riders forward against the dash.

They are silent, stunned; they sit still, the ragged sounds of their respective breaths wheezing in and out of syncopation as the automobile steams on the deserted highway.

"What is that, mommy?" the little girl asks, pointing into the darkness. There are, gathering in the blackness, glowing pairs of what appear to be eyes, bright red and menacingly narrow. In a moment the eyes are everywhere and drawing nearer to the vehicle, surrounding it. The sound of ragged claws scraping against the sandy pavement is audible in the still night. The little girl begins to cry, and then, from the thick obsidian desert, comes a roar and a howl, as if the sand itself was howling, each grain together in some macabre symphony of death and oblivion.

And just before the mass of creatures descends upon the car in an orgiastic feast of flesh and offal, the mother turns to her daughter and cries:

"You must know that I never loved you, that I was never capable of loving you due to my own extreme narcissism and self-loathing, and that I have thought in a truly alarmingly consistent way from the day of your birth only of myself and my petty jealousies and desires--shhh, my darling! You must also know that you were in fact a complete accident, a real shocker if you must know the truth, and that your conception actually served as the reason your real father--no darling, Henry is not your real father--the reason that your real father ended up leaving me one night without so much as a word as I lay in bed alone weeping about my ruined future!"


#3

It happened in the middle of grandfather's funeral, right during dear uncle's heartfelt and tearful eulogy--the coffin began to shake and a dreadful moan rose from within. Uncle stammered briefly and tried to continue but the coffin suddenly crashed to the floor, springing open in the collision!

The congregation screamed and jumped to their feet as grandfather, three days dead, rose from the splintered coffin and bit forcefully into uncle's neck. As blood sprayed violently from the wound, my father turned to me and said:

"You see how your grandpa's bald? That means you'll probably be bald one day too. Good luck with that."

A Few For the Common Folk

After receiving literally hundreds of emails about yesterday's post being "too wordy" I have decided, out of an appreciation and respect for my readership, to pull this blog down from the bookshelf and take it back to the street. If your name is Jordan, I think you're going to love these instant classics:


Two guys walk into a bar. There is a monkey in a dinner jacket nursing a beer and two business women arguing about their periods. The bartender turns to the two men and says "What'll you have?" but before either one can answer they both slip in a hot pile of shit and fall directly onto their balls.


-Knock knock!

-Who's there?

-A greasy cocaine shit that surprises you in a restaurant!


Osama bin Laden is speaking before a congregation of terrorists, preparing them for another attack against the United States. "We will destroy the infidel!" he cries, raising his arms triumphantly. When the cheering subsides he opens his mouth to speak again but, before he can continue, one of the terrorists farts and he laughs so hard it hurts his penis.


Two shits walk into a toilet (which is brimming with shit) and the first shit says, "Tacoma, Washington is the best city in the world!" The second shit looks at him and says, "Man, I can't believe some of the shit that you say." At that very moment a droplet of toilet water splashes into the first shit's mouth and he starts to puke his guts out (his guts are made out of shit) into the already-crowded (with shit) toilet. Everyone at this point is having a good laugh when, out of the brown, an elderly gentleman squats overhead and shits a bellyfull of cheap Vietnamese food into the bowl with such force that it makes him yell.

An Untitled Autobiography - Chapter IV

There are certain events in a life, I think we can all agree, that in retrospect are found to have signaled the end of an era and the beginning of a new, singular trajectory; these watershed moments are often the culmination of some grand buildup, a natural personal evolution over time--the final stop, perhaps, of a train boarded long ago, having rumbled forth with a certain inevitability and promise.

Other times however, the moment arrives almost cruelly, without warning or pause--a pair of shears casually bisecting a length of string. It is in this latter manner that the events to be described herein visited themselves upon my young life.

I remember it, to a point, as it were yesterday. Softly, a breeze--warm, though it was autumn and the leaves had begun to turn. The sky was a sort of nitrogen blue, dense and deep, the color of the ocean in Hawaiian postcards; it cradled the sun like a cracked egg. Colored leaves stirred on the damp green lawn.

Father in those days talked often of that lawn. It seemed at times to consume him, to become for him something darkly symbolic, perhaps. Ah, dear reader, the endless and futile struggle of it! The hubris of living in defiance of nature! My childhood, as I have offered in a previous chapter, is peppered with memories of Father's struggle--the fungicides, the aeration, the public outrage concerning inconsiderate pets (one such incident, following an especially ugly experiment in reseeding, culminated in the vile rumor that Father had fed Ed Casey's labrador Louis XIV a wad of toxic barbecue). There was the embarrassing accumulation of esoteric hose attachments, the hollow-eyed gazing upon scattered (but indefatigable!) spots of brown, the increasingly violent and erratic telephone arguments with the county concerning water allocation--ah, the list doth insist! But I have digressed, dear reader, and we shall return together with haste to that blue Sunday long past.

Father was dressed smartly that afternoon in a snug v-neck sweater and finely creased slacks, having recently received for his birthday a gift subscription to Vanity Fair. Mother sat shaded on the porch sipping absently at a mojito and staring with hazy eyes at the horizon. I stumbled about, three years old and in a near constant state of imbalance, awkwardly circumnavigating the lush (but imperfect) lawn.

Father stood with his feet apart brandishing the thick half of a billiard cue, broken off at the midsection in some seedy bit of personal history that remains unknown to me. He was batting lazily (but oh how determined!) at rotting apples fallen from a tree near the fence, a practice he had recently undertaken after a strict doctor's order had occasioned that, henceforth, Mother would be drinking for the both of them.

I remember the wet thud as Father over and over made contact, exploding the fruit into a pulpy, fragrant mess. He seemed pleased by this; his stern face was drawn tightly into a rictus of grim satisfaction. And as I waddled obliviously into this violent circumference, fate came crashing down upon me with force--the concentrated force of a 30-year-old man exorcising his personal demons through a length of lacquered wood.

My memory here understandably ends, but the purpose of this reminiscence remains to be discussed. I believe that this moment, this exact and unblinking moment, was when one potential future was disintegrated in the face of another, bleaker one; it was the moment when an ocean of boundless potential winnowed and dried to a puddle. Much like an eager child tearing open his birthday present to find a ten dollar gift certificate for Yankee Candle, it was the eclipsing of a beautiful dream--it was the moment when a tender young boy, a beacon of almost limitless potential and unrealized ability, was rendered socially retarded by the absent arc of a billiard cue.

Who on this green earth knows how things may have progressed otherwise? It is best not to dwell on these things, dear reader, but in my private moments I imagine that perhaps I would be happier, more successful, luckier in love--ah, who but Fortuna may divine such things! In the face of such oblivion there is but one certainty and one alone--had that long spent day transpired otherwise, had I wandered even a meter laterally in either direction, had my wayward guardians expressed even a modicum of interest in my whereabouts, it doesn't seem altogether unreasonable that I would have been able to get some sort of job by now--after thirteen protracted months in this godforsaken town that I would be capable of mustering from within my innate worthlessness the drive and vigor to perform literally any task that would result in monetary compensation--something small, simple, to support my paltry and meager lifestyle, to occupy my withering and violent mind, to steer my thoughts, however briefly, from the endless black waste which lies before me like a leering, fanged beast--faceless, nameless, supine and beckoning...

But again I digress, and there are still many fertile fields to plow. Onward, ever onward--

An Introduction, and a Joke

The world is perhaps not ready for this blog. A joke then, to break the ice:

Q: Why couldn't the Polack get his new shoes on?

A: Because the salesperson (an impetuous Swede) had sold him an incorrect size.


A post a day, doesn't matter what. That is the stated goal. Here we go.