#1: Every time Glenn Beck smiles, a puppy dies violently while an orphan is forced to watch at gunpoint.
#2: Even the little voices in his head that tell him to burn things think he's completely fucking bonkers.
#3: Glenn Beck has a rare form of Tourettes Syndrome which leaves him incapable of going 26 seconds without screaming "SOCIALISM!", "APOCALYPSE!" or "CONSPIRACY!" at the top of his lungs.
#4: Glenn Beck cannot spell 'Oligarchy'. That, or he somehow waded through a sea of crazy to come up with a word with no actual meaning whatsoever.
#5: He was recently served with a subpoena from Carrot Top.
#6: If you say his name in the mirror thirteen times, he will appear, yell at you to GET! OFF! HIS! PHOOOOOOOOOONE!!! Then drag you to Hell.
#7: Remember that show Wonderfalls, where stuffed animals told the protagonist to do things? Well, same deal, only instead of vague (though meaningful) instructions, they just constantly scream "FUCKING LIBERALS!" at him.
#8: Every New Moon, Glenn Beck will immolate his guest in order to appease the dark lord Kromdor, from whom he gets his power.
#9: Whenever he plays Mario Kart he always picks Wario, because everyone knows only douchebags pick Wario. #10: He and Ann Coulter have a secret love child who, on the final day, will rise up and enslave humanity under his supreme 'Oligarhy'.
It's been one month since I moved into the new apartment. Here's what I've been doing:
Watching 30 Rock and Angel on DVD constantly, because Tina Fey is hysterical and David Boreanaz totally makes me want to assault his face with my penis.
Getting all freaked out over little bitty spiders that crawl on my hands (not cool, spiders. NOT COOL).
Subsequently crushing said spiders with my totally rad-ass hamburger phone.
Applying to various porn studios down in the states. Come on Michael Lucas, please hire me! I'll be your bestest friend ever!
Taking care of Cthulhu, who I'm starting to think may actually be the smartest fish ever. Fo' shizz, I caught him storing his food under his rock and everything. Mama Feist thinks he's anorexic, but I think Mama Feist is just being kind of a bitch. Oh chill, I kid, I kid!
Watching the fireworks show at La Ronde from my balcony, while silently making fun of the poor schmucks who had to pay to see it.
Wondering why in God's name not a single one of my dish towels actually, you know, DRY my dishes. Displacing water over my plates is not the same as drying, Dish Towel! Get your shit together!
Putting together Ikea furniture. Oh sure, the weird, block-ey people in the instructions make it LOOK easy, but it never is. Stupid little Ikea Instruction People think they're SOOO great because they have coffee tables that don't violently wobble whenever they set their laptop on them, BUT THEY'RE NOT.
Audibly cursing myself for not getting bigger shower curtains so that I wouldn't have to mop up the tiny lake on the floor created after every shower.
Drinking an entire bottle of Pinot Grigio, drunk tweeting, then sobbing uncontrollably to Matt. TGIF!
Dancing at Campus, where the guys occasionally use me to pick food out of their teeth.
Masturbating. A lot. I need a fucking boyfriend. Or at the very least a Fleshlight.
Doing bad karaoke to Sara Bareilles songs, making sure I am completely off-key when I belt out the ending of Gravity.
Trying to find the origins of that weird cigarette smell that seems to linger around here for no discernible reason.
Trying (unsuccessfully) to shave my head with a beard trimmer, then running down the street with my hair in tatters to pick up an ACTUAL hair clipper.
Mistaking Julien Cox for one of the many latently-homosexual guys I went to high school with. No offense, but the hat through me off a bit.
Eating chicken. Lots and lots of chicken. Enough to wipe out a small farm, really.
Secretly wishing George Clooney would get Syphilis. And Gwyneth Paltrow too. They know what they did.
Trying to write a Top Ten List for modern horror movies, falling asleep at #8, waking up at 12:10, then deciding to just leave it at eight, because I am fucking TIRED.
I can not stress this one enough. Honestly, today's filmmakers must have had their entire families wiped by some sort of roaming band of feral vajooters, because they flat-out DESPISE them. If you have a vagina, you will probably be tortured to death. Sorry, but that's just how it works nowadays.
#2: Never Go To A Foreign Country
It's a fact: All other countries are home to sadistic torture chambers that enjoy nothing more than seeing Americans (preferably of the blond, female variety) brutally murdered. That's why you should never travel out of the country, and only buy American. U.S.A.! U.S.A.!
#3: Always Take What The Killer Has To Say In Its Most Literal Sense
Chances are, when the tape recorder or TV or what the fuck ever comes on, telling you that something is "Shocking", there's a good chance you're about to die of electrocution. Likewise, if they say something like "Put peg A into hole B", you better fucking do it, unless you want to have your head explode everywhere.
#4: Visions Are Bad. Never Listen To Them
If Final Destination has taught me anything (aside from the fact that the entire world is one big Rube Goldberg machine of decapitating elevators and intestine sucking pool vaccuums trying to kill you), it's that visions are bad. Very, very bad. It's like a get out of jail free card, only if you use it, the Universe will burn you alive in a tanning bed.
#5: Zombies Move REALLY Fast Now
Seriously, have you SEEN some of these new zombies? These guys are like an army of Usain Bolts, all hoping to devour your brain. The best advice I can give you is to get a motorcycle. Or a really fast Segway.
#6: Kids Without Parents Are EVIL!
Hey, remember Little Orphan Annie? She sure was cute, wasn't she? Well what if I told you she was secretly planning on pinning you down and running you over with a riding lawn mower? Because all Orphans are either psychopathic dwarves or hellspawn. Either way, unless it has either a mommy or a daddy, don't trust anything that comes out of its adorable orphan mouth.
#7: Apparently, Jason Is Fucking MacGuver Now
No offense, but I think I missed the part of Jason's childhood where he figured out how to set up complex systems of levers and pullys for the sake of offing stupid teenagers.
#8: Old People Are The Fucking Devil
Honestly, when they're not knitting sweaters or sending you a check for $12 for your birthday, old people are playing fatal, mind warping games with others or cursing them to spend an eternity wallowing in hell. Seriously, what the fuck AARP?
As you can see, my days of having hair and shit are more or less over. Weird, huh? Granted, I decided to keep the beard and have it sort of melt in with my new buzzcut, so that was fun. What was less fun was figuring out that beard trimmers really don't work to well on actual hair, resulting in me walking out of the house with my hoodie covering my woefully patchy hair to get an actual electric clipper. Whoops. Well, now I know. Thoughts, feeling, opinions?
Hey all! I'm pretty exhausted right now, seeing as how I spent the night preparing General Tao Chicken and Dark Chocolate Mousse for Mama Feist and her boyfriend (Expect a write-up for tomorrow on Pornstar in the Kitchen), so here's a clip from Celebrity Deathmatch featuring Kid Rock and Eminem. Don't worry, they both die. Lucky you!
Chell and The Weighted Companion Cube (Portal) The Lovers: For those of you who never played Portal (THERE IS NO REASON FOR NOT PLAYING PORTAL, GODDAMMIT), Chell is basically your female protagonist, as well as the only human character present in the game. Her only real help comes from The Companion Cube, a little box with hearts on it. Naturally, this has started some sort of debate about how the box symbolized male companionship, because you can never just have a strong female character without it being a political statement, can you? Why It Wouldn't Work: Well, aside the fact that it's a fucking box, there is that whole "Pushing it into a pit of lava and incinerating it" thing. If your marriage vows include a segment on not setting your spouse on fire, you might want to reconsider the relationship.
James and Mary Sunderland (Silent Hill 2)
The Lovers: James and Mary were the perfect couple. Happy life, totally in love, but then Mary became terminally ill and James had no choice but to euthanize her. Kind of a bummer really.
Why It Wouldn't Work: Mary doesn't really stay dead...sort of. Instead, she sends him a letter after she dies, thereby leading him into a demonic helltown fueled by his own guilt, despair, and oppressed sexuality. Also, there are some hot, slutty nurses that try to kill you. If the thought of that still gives you a boner, you might want to seek mental help.
Sora and Kairi (Kingdom Hearts Series) The Lovers: The stars of everyone's favourite "What in the fuckedy fuck?" Crossover series Kingdom Hearts, it's a story of boy meets girl, boy and girl are separated when the world explodes, girl loses heart, boy stabs himself to give girl his heart, boy and girl are separated again, then boy and girl finally unite after spending countless hours on that fucking Gummi Ship.
Why It Wouldn't Work: Who the fuck are we kidding here? Sora and Rikku are totally gay for each other. Supergay. Seriously, even after she grows boobies in the second game, he STILL has a raging boner for Rikku. And if it turns out they're not gay (Which I doubt, since my Gaydar is accurate to within 1/8th of an Elton John) he probably fucked the Little Mermaid of something.
Link And Zelda (Legend of Zelda Series) The Lovers: He's a young boy chosen by the Triforce to banish Hyrule of evil. She's a Princess ruling over the land. He has a sword. She has royal blood. How could they possibly fuck this up? Why It Wouldn't Work: Well, let's take a look at how they first met, shall we? After he falls asleep for seven years so that he can save her ass from a giant pig demon, you'd think she would at least give him a thank you hummer, right? (Or am I the only one who hands out blowjobs as a way of saying thanks?) Wrong. Instead, she sends him back in time, in a move that has been described as "The Biggest Cock-Block Ever".
Toad and Toadette (Mario Series) The Lovers: In theory, this should totally work; they have all the same friends, they play the same crappy sports, both have heads that sort of look like my penis...It should be a match made in heaven, right?
Why It Wouldn't Work: Not so much. While there is only one Toadette, Toad represents an entire legion of mushroom headed men. This leads to a sort of Smurf scenario, where there in only one girl for an entire town, leading to a city-wide pandemic of blue balls. Tiny, tiny blue balls. Good luck getting that image out of your head.
Mr. And Ms. Pac-Man (Pac-Man Series) The Lovers: If you don't know who Mr. and Ms. Pac-Man are, click the little red X in the corner of your screen, turn off the computer, and go outside. This blog is not for you. Why It Wouldn't Work: Hate to break it to you, Homeskillet, but Ms. Pac-Man is just Pac-Man in drag. While promotional images depict them as a couple, the reality is that this is either (A) A really creepy form of masturbation, or (B) something that will rip a hole in the space time continuum.
Yoshi and Birdo (Mario Series) The Lovers: Yoshi is pretty much everyone's favourite little dino ever, and Birdo is the first Transgendered video game character ever. Surely the sheer power of their awesome should make this work.
Why It Wouldn't Work: I'm still trying to wrap my head around how that would work. While Yoshi is apparently a guy, he lays eggs, while Birdo shoots eggs out of her mouth, which would indicate that she has a vagina for a face. But wait, if their reproductive organs are up there, then....Oh God, I just threw up a bit.
Sonic and Elise (Sonic The Hedgehog)
The Lovers: Sonic is the spiky blue thing from Sega that runs really fast and seems to be harbouring a secret addiction to cocaine and/or painkillers. And Elise is just some chick who showed up in one of his shitty games for some reason.
Why It Wouldn't Work: If you pause the following video at the right spot, you can pinpoint the exact moment (1:40) when Sonic the Hedgehog went from "Totally Rad" to "Gross and Bestial".
EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW OH GOD MAKE IT STOP.
No, seriously? What the fuck is going on in this video? Apparently, some company in Japan made a racing game about a gay porn star (Who WASN'T me, to make matters worse!) and it is...Ummmmm, I'm not even sure how to describe this. There's one guy in his undies riding another like a motorcycle, then he turns into a segway, than they kill some fucking cat/woman thing. Also, a baby pops out of his penis and shoots lasers. Congratulations Japan, you've ruined gay porn AND Mario Kart. You bastards.
I'm drunk and Shaun of the Dead is on and I'm gonna review it. SO THERE. And I wont record the time because I DONT WANT TO. SO THERE. AGAIN.
They're in a bar right now. Also the guy with black hair is a fucking DIIIIIIIIIIICK.
I will regret this in the morning.
Its funny because English people look like zombies. HA!
I never played Tekken 2. But aparently its fun. This makes me sad.
Youve got red on you. Its funny because it foreshadowing.
The stepdad is a total fucking DICK is what he is. Also I have no more ketchup chips. Sad.
Liz broke up with Saund and I can't blame her I mean really he's kind of stupid. How the fuck did he make Pajiba's most bangable celebrities list? This confuses me.
The fat guy is acting like a monkey. HA! Now tey're getting drunk!
I love it when they sing with th zombie little known fact zombies are excellent singers. Look at tupac.
Hoe do you not notice everyone turning into zombies? T MAKES NO SENSE!
Ha drunk people are like zombies. I wanna eat someones brains. AND THW POLE JUST WENT RIGHT THROUGB HER AND SHES STANDING HOLY FUCK.
HOLY SH9T THAT ZOMBIE DOESN'T HAVE NA ARM ALSO I THINK I SHOULD DO THE REST OF THE REVIEW IN ALL CAPS. I'M LIKE DIESEL WASHINGTON ONLIER LESS HOT AND LESS RETARDED HEEHEEHEE OH I KID I'M SORRY YOU'RE HOT
NOW THEY'RE THROWING PERFECTLY GOOD VINYL AT THEM. WHY YES I AM A PRETENTIOUS ASHOLE WY DO YOU ASK?
HA PHILIPE GOT BITTEN HA SUCKS TO BE YOU ASSHOLE!
THEY;RE GONNA KILL PHILLIPE NOW THEN HAVE A CUP OF TEA. I NEED SOME TEA RIGHT NOW
NOW THEY;RE ROOMMATE IS A ZOMBIE BUT THATS OKAY BECAUSE HE WAS KIND OF A DOUCHE TO BEHIN WITH.
NOW THEY''RE RUNNING OVER ZOMBIE WITH THE CAR. I LIKE BLOOD.
WHY THE HELL HAVENT THEY KILLED PHILIPE YET HES AN ASSHOLE
OKAY THEY BIT OUT TOM'S JUGULAR AND NOW THEYRE RUNNING OVER ZOMBIES. ALSO ED IS A FUCKING IDIOT. WHY ISN'T E DEAD?
OMG THEY'VE LL BEEN CLONED AND I'VE JUST BEEN MINDFUCKED. ALSO, WHY DOES EVER SIMON PEGG MOVIE FEATURE A SCENE WHERE THEY JUMP OVER FENCES? IT MAKES NO SENSE!
I LOVE HOW BRITISH PEOPLE ARE ALL LIKE "OY!" BEFORE THEY HIT SOMEONE WITH A PLASTIC KID'S CHAIR.
DO PEOPLE REALLY NEED LESSONS ON HOW TO ACT LIKE A ZOMBIE? APPARENTLY YES, YES THEY DO.
ON THE LONG LIST OF REALLY BAD PLACES TO HAVE A SHITFIT, IN FRONT OF A HOARD OF ANGRY ZOMBIES RANKS PRETTY HIGH UP THERE.
DAVID IS A FUCKING DICKHOLE. I MEAN REALLY, I'M GLAD HE GOT RIPPED APART BY ZOMBIES. HAHAHA YOU GOT EVISERATED ASSHOLE.
NO SERIOUSLY, IF I WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, I PROBABLY WOULD HAVE LET THE ZOMBIES EAT FRED ALREADY. HE'S A FUCKING IDIOT.
OMG IT'S THE BAR FIGHT SCENE WHERE THEY SYNC IT UP WITH QUEEN'S "CAN'T STOP ME NOW". BEST. SCENE. EVER.
I LAUGHED SO HARD I PUKED A LITTLE BIT. GOO THING I HAVE THE GARBAGE CAN NEXT TO ME.
AWWW SHIT SHAUN'S MOM IS A ZOMBIE. I'M SAD. IN THE PANTS.
DAVID IS IN FACT A TOTAL DOUCHE. HOW THE HELL DO YOU SAY "SHOOT YOUR MOM IN THE FACE"? WHAT AN ASSHOLE.
OMG DAVID IS LEAVING NOW. YAY HE'S GONNA DIE SOON
OMG THEY ATE ALL HIS BLOODY LITTLE INSIDES. NOW HE'S DEAD. HAAHAHAHA YOU SUCK.
OH GREAT, NOW THEY'RE KILLING ED. BOOO YOU SUCK ZOMBIES.
I DON'T SEE THE WISDOM IN GIVING THE HALF-ZOMBIE A GUN. HE'LL SOON BE A FULL ZOMBIE WITH A GUN
WHOA THEY UST SHOT THE SHIT OUT OF THOSE ZOMBIES. AND THEN FEMALE SHAUN HIT ONE WITH A GOLF CLUB. BADASS!
AND NOW HERE'S COLDPLAY, DOING THE ONLY REDEEMING THING IN THERE ENTIRE CAREER.
NOW SHAUN ND ED ARE PLAYING XBOX. I KINDA WANT TO SEE THEM PLAYING WII, MOSTLY BECAUSE I WANT TO SEE ED FLAIL AROUND LIKE A SIX YEAR OLD.
OKAY THAT'S THE EN OF THE MOVIE AND THE END OF MY FIRST EVER DRUNKEN REAL TIME REVIEW. GOOD NIGHT EVERYONE, I NEED TO THROW UP NOW
Alright gang, here's something fun for you Friday night: A hypothetical moral dilemma! Aren't you lucky? Alright, let's have at it:
Let's say that someone you know had the opportunity to help you a while ago by giving you $500. The amount of cash isn't that important, really. Let's just say he/she/what the fuck ever had more than enough money, and that what you needed wouldn't have been a significant blow to him/her/you get the fucking point. However, instead of helping you, he/she leaves you high and dry, and you have to do it your own goddamn self, which takes way longer and greatly inconveniences you. Now, let's say that sometime later, you find yourself in LITERALLY the exact same situation. And I mean the EXACT same situation. Only now the roles are reversed: They are now in need of help, and you now have more than enough to help them without any huge negative ramifications upon yourself.
Whoa whoa whoa child, before you fly off the handle, let's flesh this out a bit, shall we? Let's say that since they blew you off, you've been harbouring some resentment, which you haven't bothered vocalizing for numerous reasons. You feel they don't really deserve it, that they really are your friend and you actually do like them. On the other hand, you kinda feel they do deserve it, but in order to avoid conflict, you've decided to forgo actually saying anything.
Now, let's say that if you help them, you do the right thing. However, this does nothing to quell your latent hostility. If anything, helping them only further increases the resentment you feel towards them. However, if you refuse to help them, you are technically evening the score in a karmic sort of way, but let's face it: You're still doing the wrong thing. You are an asshole of epic proportion, even if logically and objectively speaking, you are leveling the playing field here.
So now this isn't a matter of "Do I help someone even if I'm not entirely certain whether or not they actually even DESERVE my help", this becomes something deeper than just a delicious mix poetic irony and cosmic justice: it becomes a matter of identity. Either way, you will lose a part of yourself. If you help them, your resentment will further consume you, and if you don't, you become a lesser person by debasing yourself to what they did. You will lose a small part of your humanity either way, albeit differing parts depending on the scenario. So the question here is, do you help them or do you walk away? Which parts of yourself are you willing to risk losing in order to save another part?
For my own personal answer, highlight the following text beneath this line:
Answer: Help them. Because despite your own personal feelings, and despite whether or not they objectively deserve anything from you at this point, you will do the right thing. Fact of the matter is, you can make a list of the many reasons why you shouldn't help them, and believe me, it'll be a looooooooooooooong list, but no matter how many reasons you come up with for why you should do the wrong thing, and no matter how logical these reasons are, the one reason for doing the right thing will always be worth more. And that reason is: Because doing the right thing is the right thing. Exactly. There is absolutely no reason behind being good, but ultimately, a lack of reason is better than any reason at all. Which kinda sucks sometimes, doesn't it?
I've learned something very important today: Hearts (or at least mine anyway) are spiteful, evil little creatures with suicidal tendencies, just waiting for you to break them. They are completely devoid of logic, rationale, and apparently, schadenfreude. Generally speaking, hearts are total dicks. You hear that Heart? YOU SUCK!
I'm not sure what it is about me, but I have a bad habit of falling for guys who obviously don't want me. This usually means straight guys (USUALLY, anyway). For some unexplainable reason, my Heart will actively seek out whatever will destroy it, blow it up, crush it into a million little pieces and scatter them in the wind, never to be seen again.
Hell, in the past summer, I've had two guys with whom I could have had (if not a fairytale romance) a somewhat adult relationship. They liked me. Hell, one of the guys even walked me home with his arm slung around my shoulder.
My instinct was to run. Run as far as humanly possible in the opposite direction. Maybe move to some part of the U.S., change my name and work in a charmingly quirky diner with sassy waitresses and gruff but lovable trucker patrons.
There is something fundamentally wrong with me as a human being. I think I'm defective, and I'm pretty sure I'm not under warranty.
Okay, weird ass rant over. Feel free to go about living your lives, listening to your non-fucked up hearts. I will attempt to keep my strange little Heart under control, and maybe keep it from making me do stupid shit.
Guess who has two thumbs, a job, and only cried twice today? That's right, I have a job again! Here's the breakdown of it all:
Short story: I went to Campus, auditioned, and now I'm a stripper again. Tits!
Long Story: Having grown tired of sitting around and moping in my apartment (and also having grown tired of that weird cigarette smell that never seems to go away) I decided to take the advice of some friends and go actually, you know, DO something before I wound up dead, or worse, emo. THE HORROR!
Anyway, I decided that if I was gonna have a hobby, I would need money. And if I was gonna have money, I would need a job. And if I was gonna have a job, I wanted it to involve as much nudity as humanly possible. It's kinda like an X-Rated version of "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie" if you think about it.
So I decided to go for a walk down to Campus, one of the three gay strip clubs still open in Montreal. I think my last place of occupation (I refuse to say it's stupid, asshole name) opened up as another strip club, but quite frankly, that place sucks and I hope it burns down in some form of stupidity/Gerbilling-related incident. But I digress. Point is, Campus = Good, Old Place = Stupid rat-infested shithole.
I walked upstairs, asked for the manager, and after sitting at the bar for a couple minutes, gave him my oh so sterling credentials ("I danced at Adonis, do porn, and I have a penis. Oh, and I'm a team player."), he told me I had an audition. In ten minutes. It was gonna take a LOT more than ten minutes to make me look pretty.
While I waited in the wings waiting to be called on, something funny happened. My legs turned to pillars of Jell-O, my stomach began flipping about like a Cirque de Soleil performer on speed, and I began to impulsively chew on my lip like it was made of bacon. I had the same anxiety that I had from before. Two thoughts raced simultaneously in my head:
"I'm going to fucking die out there", and "It feels so good to be back doing what I love".
Then it got even weirder. I noticed that while there were a few guys from my previous place currently working the floor, the other guys there were, to say the least, exponentially beefier. As in, I would serve as a nice light snack, or perhaps an after-dinner mint, for most of them should they become hungry enough. My anxiety didn't get any worse, but it became something...different. Something I couldn't put my finger on. I was feeling a new form of self-doubt that I hadn't encountered. Where the crap had this one come from?
Before I could accurately describe my mysterious malaise, I was called onstage. I walked into the light, and to my horror, realized that there was no pole onstage. Nothing. It was just me and my gradually increasing lack of clothing. There was absolutely no way I was going to support a three minute strip tease on that alone, especially when the guy coming up looked like an SUV made of muscle.
Thankfully, it was at this point that my raging-yet-surpressed id took over. My motor skills became reflexes, each step, each sway of the hip, and each teasing caress an act entirely independent of higher cognitive functions. As a customer reached up with a $10 bill, I felt everything I felt before slip away with my shirt, jeans and undies. I was an unstoppable force of nature, a weapon of mass dick-functions.
I was one sexy bitch.
By the time the song ended, I could power a city grid with the energy I had, and still have enough to light up a 60 watt bulb. I walked off the stage and met with the manager, who told me "Come back Friday at three". With those three words, I had a job again. I had money again. I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time, and it felt so fucking good.
While some are admonishing the death of scripted XXX movies, I say fuck these people. Now more than ever in these difficult times, people need to know how to craft a good fuck flick. Therefore, I take time out of my busy schedule of not actually doing anything to provide you with this handy guide to writing a gay porn.
1. The Plot
For the most part, all porn tends to work the same basic way: Take a 10-minute movie, and stretch it out goatse-style (DO NOT GOOGLE THAT) to two hours in length by adding in completely random (and occasionally just fucking nonsensical) sex scene.
2. Characters
This one is pretty easy, since you can add the word "sexy" in front of any profession and BAM! You got a character. A couple quick examples from: Sexy policemen, sexy firefighters, sexy cult leaders, sexy psychiatric patients, sexy reporters, sexy janitors, sexy interns, sexy lawyers, sexy tattoo artists, sexy corpses...There is literally no job out there that can't be sexualized in some way.
3. The Setup
There is none. None whatsoever. Much like that scene from When Harry Met Sally, people can apparently start having random orgasms in public during a conversation. Talking about the weather? Gay sex. Asking someone to pass the salt? Gay sex. Discussing whether or not Shakespeare was actually Bacon? Gay sex. The exception to this rule is the "Gay-for-Pay" scenario, in which the scene is set up as such:
Straight Guy #1: I'm not gay.
Straight Guy #2: Me neither.
Straight Guy #1: Let's show how not gay we are by whipping out our pork swords and fucking.
Straight Guy #2: (Sticks it in) I LOVE VAGINAS!!!
This is also the formula for every Apatow Comedy ever.
4. Setting
This is based primarily around what sexy profession you have going for you. You usually want to shoot for some place that at least has furniture or a waist-high ledge. Gay guys will fuck just about anywhere as long as they have some KY and a condom handy, so feel free to take some creative liberties with this.
5. Title
This is where you want to go for the sexual jugular. Your title should be some sort of terrible pun or play on words that alludes to what you're selling without stating it out right. Basically, something like Taking One For the Team works, but Gay Men Having Anal Sex For Two Hours won't.
And there you have it. Follow these simple steps and you to can write your very own gay porn, which will be made fun of on crappy, mediocre blogs...Much like this one! Lucky you.
How's this for ironic: It's Pride Week here in Montreal, and I'm not feeling too prideful. Nope. None whatsoever. My little pride reserves are currently running at a low right now, and the entire fucking city decides that now is the perfect time to bring it out on full display. Well hoo-fucking-ray, that's just wonderful isn't it?
Not that I hate Pride and everything it stands for. I'm just in one of those pissy moods where I hate everyone around me and kinda wish that they would die already. I'm assuming that other people get these moods too, although I think that may be more wishful thinking that I am not in fact a person inclined to homicidal tendencies.
Although once again, wishful thinking, so that's something of a bummer right there.
Of course, it didn't help that upon entering the lobby of my apartment, I stumbled upon a group of very tall drag queens who looked like they were about to ask if I wanted a Fanta. Instead, she asked me why I wasn't at the Parade.
"I don't know, I'm just a little busy right now," I responded. And I was! I had to go buy some DVDs to distract me from my own over-whelming sense of self-loathing. That's some hard work right there.
"Oh come on, how can you be too busy for Pride? You're like The Grinch who stole Pride. Ba-humbug!" Said one of the Drag Queens, this one bearing an eerie resemblence to a stalk of celery.
"But The Grinch never said 'Ba-Humbug', that was Scrooge," I muttered, inexplicably hung up on this woman's inability to keep her Christmas special references straight.
"Whatever. Point is, you should be out there!"
I gave the group some bullshit excuse about taking a shower, then ran upstairs to watch The Muppet Show. It was at this point I realized that she was right. I was The Grinch who stole Pride and said Ba-Humbug. Well, fuck. Maybe one day end up on the news when they find my corpse after three weeks when they smell the decay, and low and behold, my face has been eaten by my 37 cats. Whoopee.
It also doesn't help that when I was actually out of the house, I got a shitload of free condoms I'll never use, since my actual sex-life is more or less non-existant. Honestly, I can barely remember the last time I had sex that didn't involve a paycheck (no, I don't consider blowjobs as sex. That's like the gay version of the handshake, really). Anyway, I can't tell which is stronger: my general hatred for people in general, or my desire for a fucking boyfriend. We'll see how this plays out I suppose.
Wow, how's this for mind-numbingly stupid? not only is this racist, but it's also incredibly prejudiced against other religions as well! For those of you who want the short story, this is basically two friends trying to convert their Hindu friend to Christianity. Yes, I believe in God and Jesus and stuff like that, but sweet holy shit, this is just painful. I'm not sure which is worse: The part where she calls India "an African country in Asia", the part where she asks why her eyes aren't "pointy", or when she points out that she'll go to hell if she doesn't think the way they do. Because that's what friends do: Try to change their friends because they don't believe the same things.
It was 2:30 at night when I finally returned to my apartment in Montreal with a wad of cash, a stiff neck and roughly 7 oz. of KY Jelly coating the inside of my lower intestine. In the space of a night, I had earned enough money to pay rent on my apartment, which in my absence, had done nothing to rid itself of the mysterious stench of Malboros and cat piss, and ensured myself a second coming (so to speak) to GoodHandy's.
This is that story. And before I forget... Consider yourself adequately cautioned.
It all started innocently enough as I sat on a bus making its way to Toronto, singing silently along to Amanda Fucking Palmer and kicking some serious ass with Peach in Mario Kart. About half way through my mumbled rendition of Oasis, I heard a voice a couple seats back: "Mom, what's an 'abortion'?"
Whoops. While I thought I was being fairly quiet, I had apparently been vocal enough to let the 10-year-old boy behind me eavesdrop on the line about going to the abortion clinic with Melissa Mahoney. Shazbot. Sure I'm pro-choice, but even then, that really is just several kinds of awkward right there.
Blissfully, the rest of my trip was far less interesting. While staying with Andre, I ended up devouring 12" Subway sandwich after 12" Subway sandwich, lovingly dubbing my new found eating disorder "The Barret Long Diet". Imagine three of these. Only they're all in between bread slices. Yum.
Anyway, for those of you wondering, GoodHandy's is like a strip club on Red Bull, Coke and Viagra. Not only do the guys strip and all that but they actually film scenes live in front of the audience. This is like Disney Land for me. Only better, because it has dicks in it.
The front door of this fine, fine establishment was decked out in posters of myself and my scene partner for the night, the aptly named "Tripod" Trevor (I'll give you five seconds to figure out how he earned the title). Mind you, our images were covered up with green tape to hide our shame from prying eyes.
I went inside to meet up with owners, Mandy the T-Girl hostess and overall sweetheart, and Todd, the resident camera guy and straight man (proverbially speaking) to Mandy. My first duty was to head upstairs to do a cage show, which involved me jumping into a cage and playing the skin flute while chatting up the patrons. It's times like these I wonder why there aren't more cages in clubs. That shit is off the chain, man.
After my shift was done, Mandy called us all up on stage for a quick little comedy routine/Hellraiser-inspired spanking. Mandy took it relatively easy on me, but after giving the other models free-reign to join in, I ended up with welts and (sadly) a tiny bit of bleeding. Not torents, but still, there was just a little smidgeon of blood. Thankfully, Mandy pulled the whole thing as soon as that happened and handed me some disinfectant, despite my protests of "It's only a flesh wound!", a line I had been waiting YEARS to finally use in the proper context.
The subsequent live shoot, however, went off without a hitch. There are about a million things that can go wrong during a regular shoot, and these problems are only further exacerbated when you add an audience to the mix. Thankfully, they were behaved, and Trevor and I managed to deliver one hell of a show.
And before you ask, yes, it really was huge. At one point, I actually performed a sort of pseudo-measurement of the damn thing and realized that it was literally THE SIZE OF MY FUCKING WRIST. Yowza. God bless lube is all I have to say.
With the scene wrapped, the various condoms thrown away, and semen sufficiently mopped up, I returned home, and the following day, grabbed the bus home. Considering how well the trip had gone up until that point, it was only natural that the bus ride would be absolute hell.
On the way home, the bus ended up breaking down in Kingston, leaving me stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere. My DS decided that that was the perfect time to fucking die on me, while the book I had hastily picked up for the ride back turned out to be an abysmally boring read. I ended up falling asleep while cuddling my carry-on when the woman in front of me (presumably wondering whether or not I was, in fact, fucking a bag) asked me why the hell I was holding onto to it so tightly.
"I don't know, I just like to cuddle things when I sleep because I don't feel as alone".
Yes, I sad that to a complete stranger. What the fuck is wrong with me? This is why I need a fucking boyfriend: So I don't say stupid shit like this.
Ah well. I may be too fucked up to function like a regular human being, but at least I got money. And that must count for something right?
Long story short, I'll be going to Toronto for a couple days to make an appearance at GoodHandy's (Weeee! Gay Sex!) so I'm not entirely sure how often I'll be able to update this bitch. I could take the time to write some big, clever post that will wind up on Pajiba Love, but as you all know, I'm painfully lazy. Also, I love commas. Seriously, go back and count how many I used. Scary, isn't it? I mean my GOD, those things are just everywhere, aren't they? Anyway, in lieu of anything witty or insightful that I've written myself, here's some Harvey Birdman goodness to keep you occupied, because I fucking love you. Catch y'all later!
I've come to a very important realization today: What I want and what the Universe wants will forever be entirely different things. I want a job as a stripper, the universe makes sure my place closes down three months after I get there. I want work with big name studios, the universe is to make sure I don't have a shot in hell. I want a fucking boyfriend, and the universe goes out of it's way to ensure that every meth-addled queen this side of Oz can land themselves a man but me.
Well fuck it, I tried. I am now surrendering to fate and all that shit. Obviously, no matter how hard I try, I will ultimately fail in everything I do. So the hell with it, if the Man Upstairs is gonna yank my chain, I might as well go along for the ride. If that means actually getting some work with big name studios, then hell fuckin' yeah to that. Point is, I'm not gonna fight it anymore, because apparently, no matter how hard I try, I still manage to fuck up. I'm like The Little Engine That Could, only replace "Could" with "Tried and Couldn't and Then Crashed and Burned in a Horrible, Fiery Explosion That Killed Everyone He Ever Loved". Best title for a children's book EVER.
Well, it's been three months since I tried applying to pretty much every studio out there, and so far I've had a whopping zero responses on all fronts. I'll try again when I get back from Toronto, and if that doesn't work, well...Oh, who am I kidding, I'll probably just try again after that too. That's getting fucked over by the Universe for ya: It's crap, but for some reason you keep coming back for more. Whoopee.
Admitting you like Nickelback is the equivalent of saying that you have no taste in music and that you enjoy having me brain you with a brick until you stop twitching. There really is no excuse for listening to Nickelback, and there's even less logic in your telling me this. Unless of course you really do enjoy said bricking, in which case, go right ahead.
#9: An Inability to Drink Anything That Is Not a Bright, Pretty Colour Even High School students can do shots of vodka. HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS. If we go out and you spend the entire night drinking Bacardi Breezers, Appletinis, or others of their like, it's pretty much over. If you can't at least shoot whiskey, there's no future for us...Probably because you didn't have balls to begin with.
#8: You Can't Pick Up a Check I'm not cheap or anything, but I'm not exactly Daddy Warbucks either. I'm more than willing to pay for dinner or for a movie, but if you're not going to at least offer to pony up some dough, well, then you can just go suck a hot cock, can't you? How about you go get a freaking job, mooch?
#7: You're a Dick to Waiters
Considering I was more or less raise in a restaurant, this is more of a personal matter than anything. Well, that and the fact that if you piss off the staff, chances are they might spit on your food, and there is no way in hell I'm taking that bullet for you, shit-for-brains.
#6: I'm Your Rebound
Hate to break it to you emo, but I don't to be the placeholder for whoever you were dating before. Do I look like your Plan B? How about you go get some therapy, or maybe eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's while watching rom-coms, instead pretending you give a shit about me. I refuse to be the goodie bag at your pity party.
#5: You're Jealous About the Porn Thing Oh fuck off, you knew exactly what you were getting into when you jumped on the band wagon. If you're gonna turn into some raging psycho just because of my work, then I will dump your sorry ass. And believe me, it IS you, not me.
#4: Your Clothes Make You Look Like a Huge Tool
This includes any of the following: "Clever" Slogan T-Shirts, anything found in GQ, Sunglasses in doors, skinny jeans, clothing five sizes too big, and of course, Ed Hardy. I don't care who you are, Ed Hardy can make ANYONE look like a tool. Even Mother Teresa couldn't get away with it.
#3: You Make Fun of my Family
Let's get one thing straight: The only person allowed to make fun of my family is me and me alone. That's because I love them, and also because they've given me years of ammunition to use against me (not to worry, I've given them plenty of ammunition too). You don't like them? Well fuck you, you judgmental sack of burning ass hair.
#2: You're a "Metrosexual"
A Metrosexual is really just an over-grown Ken Doll. If you use make-up, spend over an hour getting ready to go out, or generally spend way too much time obsessing over yourself, I'm out. Sorry, but I'm not about to go steady with a guy who's more in love with himself than he is with me.
#1: You Obsess Over Food And Calories
Oh cry me a fucking river. There are carbs in your fries? Too fucking bad. If I ever hear you bitch about "carbs", "cals" or "my ass is SO fat", I will fucking end you. I will grab the salad fork and shiv you in the jugular for being such a whiny little pussy. Eat your goddamn food and stop being such a douche already.
Now that I have my own place (Read: I have an apartment AND cable. Spiffy!), it's time to air out some...personal matters. Ah hell, let's just call a spade a spade: I'm about to bitch out someone who ACTUALLY deserves it for once. And I'm gonna enjoy every word of it.
Hey Matthew, remember how I lost my virginity to you? Well, hate to break it to you, but it was pretty much the worst sex of my entire life. Not only were you disgustingly picky about making sure I shaved almost every inch of my body while you yourself looked like someone stapled shag carpeting to every piece of exposed flesh on you (and considering your weight, there was a LOT of it, fatty), but your cock was embarrassingly small. Seriously, my dong isn't exactly Antonio Biaggi-esque here, but my God, that was just pathetic.
To make matters worse, actually finding the damn thing in that wig you call "pubic hair" was like playing Where's Waldo with an Imax screen. I'm not telling you to shave the whole thing bald, but my God, have you never heard of a trimmer?
Not only that, but you are quite possibly the single most vanilla person ever. Seriously, are you straight or something? You were such a little pussy in bed (well, technically, it was the couch in your parents basement). Next time you land a guy, try not being such a whiny little bitch in the sack.
And one last question here: If you had so much experience with your ex-boyfriend, why the hell did it take all of two minutes for you to cum? No, seriously, two minutes? Do you have ED or something? That's just pitiful. You got off so fast, I almost didn't have time to fake it. Oh well, I suppose that's what I get for banging someone with a blog devoted to the Pussycat Dolls Present Girlicious.
I would probably feel bad about airing this out to everyone if it weren't for the fact that you never called me back afterward. It takes a special kind of asshole to not call someone back when you take their virginity. But whatever, your loss. I'm a pornstar now, and you're still a dorky sack of crap who lives with his parents. By the way, in case you're wondering, yes, I was talking about you when I talked about my first-fuck being hung like a hamster in my first two porn scenes. Isn't that nice? Now hundreds of people know what a terrible fuck you were.
Oh, and just to really rub it in there, I told everyone you had syphillis.
Synopsis: Fat ass mall cop saves the mall by fucking everyone in the mall. Biggest Scene: The final scene where Paul Art fucks a Cinnabon cinnamon bun. Then he gets a heart attack and dies. But not before inundating the audience with fart jokes!
Watch Men
Synopsis: An all-male group of superheroes must stop Dr. Chelsea and his giant blue schlong of cancer. Biggest Scene: The final scene where the camera moves back and forth, alternating between fast and slow motion, FOR NO DISCERNIBLE REASON.
I Fucked You, Man
Synopsis: Two guys attempt to prove how how totally not gay they are by telling gay jokes, while engaging in massive amounts of butt sex. Biggest Scene: Bromancer 1 and Bromancer 2 play a rousing game of "Know how I know you're gay?" while Bromancer 1 is elbow-deep in Bromancer 2's Crisco-slathered anus.
Wank: High Scrotum
Synopsis: There really isn't much of a plot. It's mostly just Jason Statham fucking people in incredibly hazardous situations. Biggest Scene: Jason Statham fucks a shark. On a bed of broken glass. In a Monster Truck. Jumping over a cliff. WHILE IT EXPLODES. STATHAAAAAAAM!!! YELL IT WHILE YOU'RE FUCKING!!!
XXX-Men Orgasms: Wolverine
Synopsis: A deep, deep look into what makes Wolverine ticks. And by "deep, deep look", I mean they literally fuck his ass with a camera. Biggest Scene: A scat scene where the producers take a gigantic, steaming dump on the X-Men canon.
Sperminator: Salivation
Synopsis: Christian Bale talks all scratchy for about two hours while desperately fellating the audience with cheesy references. Biggest Scene: CGI Arnold Schwarzeneger steps out onto the screen for 30 straight minutes and does nothing. The audience is expected to go apeshit.
Trans-Whore-Mers: Revenge of the Fallen in my Pants
Synopsis: MICHAEL BAY SPLOSIONS! KA-POW BAM BOOM! Also, there are some robots or something. Biggest Scene: The entire cast is forced to wash Michael Bay's car. For no pay. The entire experience is cripplingly awkward.
Pubic Enemas
Synopsis: Johnny Depp stars in the porn about the most wanted man in America, as he flushes massive amounts of water out of his asshole. Biggest Scene: Johnny Depp puts out a fire with the amount of water in his ass. Absolutely no one remembers anything about this movie.
(500) Lays of Summer
Synopsis: A touching story of a boy and aboy as they fuck, and then they don't fuck, and they fuck, and then they don't fuck. Biggest Scene: The final scene where they fuck while the entire discography of The Smiths plays in the background.
Yesterday was the last day of a job I've had for three years now. The place where I earned my first paycheck, where I've met some of my best friends, and where, last year, I felt what it was like to have your heartbroken for the first time.
Yes, another Andrew post. With any luck, this'll be my last post on the subject. Or at least, I hope it will be. Anyway, on my way out the door for my last time, I stopped inside the men's bathroom, and looked inside the urinal stall. There, on the corner of the door, were the words I had written in pencil a year ago:
"Everyone you love will leave you"
Depressing, isn't it? But that's what it's like the first time. I'm sure it gets easier after a while, but the first time? It's the worst goddamn feeling in the world, and nothing will ever be able to prepare you for it.
Well, I suppose this is sort of my way of closing the door on him. But not really. As much as I'd love to have the Eternal Sunshine treatment and have all my memories of him wiped away, you don't. You suck it up and keep moving, or else you end up curling up and dying.
But still, I can't help but wonder whether or not I was right. "Everyone you love will leave you"...Well, can't say I've been proven wrong so far.
Well, tomorrow I move into my first apartment ever, and guess what? Not a single member of my family is helping me. Not one. Not my mother, not my father, and certainly not my brothers. In fact, my brother and my cousin arranged a party an hour or so up North, so that pretty much knocks all our friends off the list of "People Who Could Potentially Help Me Move" and onto the list of "People Who Can Pretty Much Go Suck A Hot Cock For All I Care".
Gee, thanks a fucking heap guys. No, really, glad to see where exactly I stand here. Suck my chode.
I know I should probably be sugar coating this considering that Mama Feist periodically comes to read this, but fuck it, I'm pretty pissed. And quite honestly, I think I have a right to be pissed. How many times have I helped her move? How many times have we helped other members of my family move? And look how much help I got in return. Awesome. Hell, the least they could have done was offer some fucking cutlery or something. Instead, I got my cookware FROM MY NEIGHBORS. And it's FUGLY.
But whatever, at least at the end of the day I'll know I did it on my own without help from anyone, so at least I have that hollow victory, right? Swell.
Hello, I'm Jeremy Feist, and I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. For now, I'm juggling my family, my life, and my new career as the world's most unlikely gay porn star. It's complicated.
