Grievances!

I've decided that right now, with midterms in full-swing, a cold in it's final hurrah and various other varieties of shit on my poo-poo platter*, I've decided to vent some steam the only way I know how: By throwing out a bunch of vague statements about how certain people annoy me fuckless. Any and all names will be kept (so if you think one's about you, well, that just says more about you than it does me, doesn't it?), and to soften the blow (and for comedic effect), they will all be written on images of adorable animals. So there.












*See what I did there? Sadly, this is one of the better written gay porn star blogs if you can believe it.

A Quick Thought On Talent Versus Decency

I know, I know, the Roman Polanski thing is pretty old fucking news right now, but I have to do some research on Lee Miller for an English essay tomorrow, so consider this a quickie post.

It alarms me that Hollywood is actually backing Polanski on his recent arrest, to the point where they're literally trying to have him set free. Gotta love how willing they are to back La Cause Du Jour. Yesterday, it was save the planet. Today, it's exonerate the man who drugged and raped a 13-year old girl.

I'm not going to deny that Roman Polanski is a superb artist because, let's face it, he is. He knows his way around a movie. But saying that he should be allowed his freedom because of his art is basically saying that it's perfectly okay to sexually assault a child, just as long as you can make a good movie.

To be honest with you, the message is easily the most shameless and vile thing to come out of Hollywood in a long while. It's saying that someone can abuse and permanently damage a child simply by the principal of who they are. And for those who say he "served" his time by going into "exile"? Ummmm...yeah. He CHOSE to flee the country. In fact, he CHOSE to flee the country after he managed to whittle his sentence down to a plea bargain. That's not "exile", that's just being repugnant.

I would be more pissed about this if it weren't for the fact that this shit happens everyday. In a perfect world, only the good would thrive. But this is the sucky real world, and here, assholes have power. Assholes have influence. Assholes can pretty much do whatever the fuck they want and people just sort of take it with a big smile on their face. It's like this in every industry. Hell, I've seen people in my own industry act like self-entitled, egotistical snobs. Say anything bad about these people, and guess what? You're out of a job. It sort of sucks, especially when you consider that these people totally have it coming to them.

But if Roman Polanski taught us anything, it's that assholes, unlike true love, diamonds or The Lord of the Rings, does not last forever. Assholes eventually fall once people realize they're full of shit, and rightly so. Are they talented? Of course. But what a person is capable of doing never excuses them from what they have done.

5 Awesome Fucking Artists Behind Movie Soundtracks

Karen O - Where the Wild Things Are


They Might Be Giants - Coraline


Spoon - Stranger Than Fiction


She & Him - (500) Days of Summer


The Flaming Lips - The Spongebob Squarepants Movie (I shit you not)

That's Some Hotness Right There

No actual post today, as I've already done one for Pornstar in the Kitchen, so instead, stare at the above picture of me and Ryan Russell until your sex organs burst into flames. Your welcome.

Flogging Molly Jeremy

Upon first entering Toronto, I was greeted by a giant billboard featuring, of all people, Jay Leno, staring out upon us visitors with the smug, self-righteous smirk that comes with the knowledge that you have successfully ruined television. His face loomed above the bridge, frozen into a shit-eating grin, as if to say, "Welcome to Toronto! Check out my gigantic fucking chin!"

After checking into my hotel, and giving myself ample time to allow the feeling to return to my ass, I called up Ryan Russell for a dinner/business meeting. This dinner/business meeting was followed by a trip back to his place for some Left 4 Dead/Batman: Arkham Asylum with him and his husband, Jakob (Yes, husband. Suck on THAT, Ex-Miss California).

The next day was my show at GoodHandy's, so my day (up until then, anyway) was far less fun and involved fewer dead zombies. After hours of feverish primping, I arrived at GoodHandy's for my very first Domination/Submission scene.

Taking the stage with Sam Swift, we prepared the audience with a quickie jack-off show, which is exactly what it sounds like: Two guys jacking off on-stage. To be honest with you, the entire thing was surprisingly lax. From the waist down, it was porn, pure and simple. From the waist up, it might as well have been a Kevin Smith movie.

The show itself was far more X-Rated. After donning full-fetish gear, including a leather harness and pants so tight, fitting into them most likely involved massive amounts of Crisco and prayer. The look was both incredibly sexy and, in all likelihood, a tad bit uncomfortable. It was this pair of pants that he first pushed my face against, forcing me to come face to face with his dong. Hot, yes, although all I could think was "Wow, this leather smells wonderful!" Fur maybe murder, but leather is some sexy, sexy murder.

After nixing the pants and actually going down on the real thing (Quite well, I might add. I hate boasting, but I'm quite proud of my ability to fellate Sam. Seriously, have you seen his wang? It's HUGE, and I took that shit to the hilt like a fucking pro), Sam slapped a pair of shackles on me. I'm not sure how you feel about shackles, but my GOD were those things ever comfortable. A little heavy, sure, but they felt terrific. Oh darn, I'll have to remember to ask Sam where he got them if I ever run into him again.

Where was I now? Ah, yes, shackles. Having been shackled with shackles, Sam proceeded to tie me to the ceiling. I'm pretty relaxed about shit like this most of the time, but considering that this was my first time, and that I was flying into this relatively blind, I might have been shaking a little bit. Mind you, according to Ryan I managed to keep my shaking to a minimum, but still, I was a little bit nervous. Especially when he took out the flogger.

Flogging, for those of you who need to brush up on your medieval/sexual torture techniques, involves being whipped (either gently or mercilessly, depending on the level of sympathy in your Dom) with what appears to be numerous short whips tied to one big handle. While it feels pretty good, and while Sam didn't take it to the point where I had any permanent marks, I will admit to a bit of nervousness when he started to gently flog my crotch. Weapons + Boner = Mild Freak Out. This nervousness was not eased when Sam whipped out, of all things, a knife. While I'm no stranger to knives, having someone pull a knife out when you are naked and tied up can be a tad disconcerting, to say the very least.

After me cutting me down from the ceiling, Sam pulled out a fuck bench, a pack of Magnums and a bottle of lube and proceeded to go to town. While I was having a pretty good time, the audience was apparently made up of film students, who spent their time calling out things like "More light on the cock!" and "Get a close-up of the ass!" Apparently, today's porn connoisseur has a deep appreciation for proper lighting.

With the fucking done, Sam made sure we followed Mandy GoodHandy's request for a little auto-fellatio (AGAIN. Talk about blowing your own horn, huh?) After a quick round of self-sucking, which the audience simply adored, cheering on with the sort of affection Roman audiences had for Gladiatorial fights, we capped things off with a facial as Sam blew a load on my face, and I followed suit.

After a quick chat with the eponymous Mandy GoodHandy, who was at the bar drinking a clear liquid that, based on her rather unsteady disposition, was most definitely not water. Not entirely, anyway. Sad to say, even slightly inebriated and tottering along on sky-high heels, she still has more grace and poise than I. After inviting me back in November, I bid her adieu and went home to scrub the lube off of my naughty bits.

The next day, after being given the boot from my apartment, I picked up some ingredients and trecked over to Ryan's place for more business talk, more zombie killing, and some homemade basketti sauce. Sorry to be vague on the business talk, but I have a very exciting project underway, and Ryan has agreed to help me out with it. Woo!

Come Friday, I was back in Montreal, right off the bus and into work. Not two hours in the club, and there was an accident: My kinda-sorta-just-friend, having gone into the back for a dance, happened to step on a broken glass one of the dancers had knocked over and had neglected to tell anyone about. Cue the ambulance. After getting him stitched up and washing the blood off his foot, here we are: Him bandaged up and lying on the floor with his foot up on my poorly put together Ikea coffee table, me on the sofa, about to run out for McDonald's. Such is the life of the world's most unlikely gay porn star.

Your Daily Dose Of Zombie Goodness

What if I told you there was a mod out there that combined my loves of video games, zombies, violence, and the senseless slaughter of beloved childhood icons? Well now there is. Your welcome, Earth.

10 Fashions That Need To Die

#10: Abercrombie & Fitch

This one hurts a little bit, because they actually make some decent clothes. The only reason they make the list is because, well, there is absolutely no reason why a shirt should cost $80. None. I don't care how good it looks, shoveling over $80 so you can be their personal billboard is fucking stupid.

#9: Stupid Zig-Zaggy Shit In Your Hair

I blame this one on Kanye. I think there was a seven-day window where this was remotely cool, then he got onstage and proceeded to humiliate sweet little Taylor Swift. After that, hair design lost it. The only way this would acceptable is if you had them spell out "Dumbass" on the back of your head.

#8: Scarves Anytime But Winter

Do you know what scarves do? They keep your neck warm. If it's 25 degrees celsius (or however the fuck many it is in Farenheit), you do not need a scarf. Unless of course you want me to use it to throttle you to within an inch of your life, in which case I'd be happy to oblige.

#7: Anything That Flashes The Hoo-Ha

Do yourself a favor right now: Grab a mirror and hold it under your croth. Can you see your own naughty bits? If so, wear some goddamn underwear. If not, then by all means walk around with your flag flapping in the wind.*

#6: The "OMG Without The Glasses Or The Hair-Bun She's So Pretty!" Look

You know how this works: Shy and meek office worker/librarian/other dorky job walks around, minding her own business, then one day WHAM! Everyone suddenly realizes that underneath the glasses she was actually HOT. Who knew? Oh come on, you do realize that it's shit why everyone makes fun of all the idiot characters in Superman that don't know that without the glasses, Clark Kent can punch through the goddamn Earth.

#5: The Kate Gosselin Haircut

You have it all: Great Life, Great Family, but you just don't look like a terrible mother who would exploit her nightmarishly large brood for personal gain. Well now you can with The Kate Gosselin! Like The Rachel from the 90's (Only with more child abuse), just go to your salon and ask them if they can make it look like a Yorkshire terrier died on your head.

#4: Monogrammed Slippers

For the sophisticated playboy in all of us, the slippers say "I'm old, feeble, and I will inadvertently shit myself if I cough too hard", while the monogram says "I'm young, hip, and I will fucking date rape you should you look away from your drink for so much as a SECOND".

#3: Anything Lady Gaga Wears

Remember that story arch on Arrested Development where George Bluth falls for a character played by Charlize Theron, who he thinks is a total genius because she's British, when in fact she has the mentality of an eight-year-old? Same basic principle, really. Lady Gaga is not a genius, she's just stupid.

#2: Dressing Like A Vampire

I'm only going to say this once, so listen up: Goth > Emo > Dog Shit > Syphilis > Chewing off your own balls while your family is forced to watch at Gunpoint > Vampires.

#1: Ed Hardy

Words cannot even being to describe my hatred for The Ed Hardy line. Every time I see someone walking around with their hat or their shirt emblazoned with Ed Hardy, I get the sudden urge to Falcon Punch them in the throat. This impulse is usually controlled, but not always...

*Haha! Dangly Parts.

It's Not Me, It's You

You know what? I think I'm done with this weepy emo "Waaaaah what's wrong with me" bullshit. I've come to the realization that, not only do I fucking love myself, but I think I'm pretty goddamn awesome, and anyone who says otherwise should just take a chainsaw to their own faces, because they are obviously to stupid to function.

For the past five months, I've been asking myself "What's wrong with me? What don't people like about me?" And yesterday, I had what can really only be described as one of the most insulting and humiliating moments at work ever. And you know what? I lived through it. The world didn't end, I didn't spontaneously combust into flames of suckiness, and as far as I can tell, I'm pretty fucking happy right now.

As it turns out, you can really only ask yourself "What's wrong with me?" so many times before you sit down and say "Hmmm, maybe it's just them". I mean yes, it sucks when people don't like you, and it sucks when people say shit about you or just generally feed you bullshit on a constant level. Hell, I've had someone call me "Violently Unattractive" on a blog. Not just unattractive, but VIOLENTLY so. As if the mere sight of me would cause him to plow his truck through a crowd of people. Not only is this thought completely fucking stupid, but quite frankly, I think he's wrong and wouldn't know awesome if it roundhouse kicked him in the teeth and then fucked his cat in the ass.

Point is, it's not my goddamn fault you suck so much. No, I don't have muscles all over the friggin' place, I'm not basking in my untold riches, I don't wear fancy bullshit designer clothes and I sure as hell don't walk around smiling all fucking day for your entertainment like some sort of perma-high fucktard. Don't like it? Too fucking bad. I'm pretty fucking awesome, and if you're too stupid to see that, you might want to consider padding all the corners in your house and putting safety gates next to all the stairs for your own safety, else Darwinism knocks your dumbass of the face of the planet.

In conclusion, I'm fucking awesome and so are you. If you think differently, go suck a fuck.

Apparently, I'm Twelve Years Old

A propos to nothing, here are a bunch of videos that will have you laughing inappropriately in public. Granted, these are all terribly wrong in their own special way, but still, have fun!

Just Friends

Sometime last night, I came to an incredibly important realization: No matter how much I wish it were otherwise, no matter how much I wish it were more, and no matter how much I wish I actually, truly deserved it, me and my pseudo-guy will never be boyfriends. Not unless he wants it.

Okay, back story: He came over last night to take me out for some drinks, as he apparently made a fuckload of money at Campus. As you would imagine, we had a couple drinks, went back to my place, watched Adventureland, then went to bed. As we lay in bed, eating cheeseburgers he had picked up from McDonald's, he turned to me and said this:

"You know Jeremy, you're the best friend I've had in a while"

It was at this point that I realized that I could never be more than just friends. Not that I don't want to, and not that I don't secretly wonder if I can make him happy in a more meaningful way or any of that shit, but it's the simple fact that, well, if I take him at his word, I'm the best friend he's had in a while. And I don't want to risk him losing his best friend just because I got greedy and decided I wanted more.

Maybe one day I'll find someone who actually really does love me*, and with whom I can be with for the rest of my life, but, well, until that day, at least I know that I have a good friend. And really, how rare is a good friend?

*I wouldn't hold my breath, though.

More Like Lord Of The GAY!

The following is an actual conversation between a friend and I during Ethics Class...

Campeau: You know, if we're gonna discuss the Ring of Gyges, we might as well watch Lord of the Rings.

Me: Ew, Lord of the Rings? Gag

Campeau: What's wrong with it?

Me: I dunno, I guess it's an okay movie, I just don't think it deserved the Oscar it won. It's also pretty gay too.

Campeau: What the hell are you talking about?

Me: That movie is pretty gay, dude. And this is coming from a gay who has gay sex. In my butt.

Campeau: Well, that is true.

Me: I could fly with rainbow wings over Brokeback Mountain and I STILL would not be able to match the gayness of that fucking movie.

Campeau: Brokeback Mountain was way gayer than Lord of the Rings.

Me: Are you kidding? If you took Brokeback Mountain, Philadelphia, The Birdcage and The Boys In The Band, threw them in a blender of gayness, it still wouldn't be as gay as that movie.

Campeau: Seriously, how is The Lord of the Rings gay?

Me: The Eye of Sauron is purposely shaped like a vagina, which Sam and Frodo must defeat with their gayness.

Campeau: Sam and Frodo are not gay, they're just two men who love each other and would do anything for each other...Oh wait, that is pretty gay.

Me: Also, Legolas looks like a chick.

Campeau: That he does.

Me: And Gandalf the Grey? More like Gandalf the GAY! HEY-O!

Apparently, I'm 12 years old.

Oooo Yeah, Dig That Carpal Tunnel

No blogging tonight. Mostly because I've been busy blogging on other places and I'm now on the border of completely burning out here. For realsies, yo. My index fingers have been reduced to bloody little nubbins, and my wrists now look (and feel) like they're made of peanut brittle and toothpicks. Well, that and the fact that I'm still trying to get over the fact that the only guy who's ever showed even the slightest interest in me has fallen for a tranny with a crappy jug-job. I'm not being mean, just honest. They face opposite directions. Like a hammerhead shark.

Anyhoodle, you check out the post I did yesterday for Pornstar in the Kitchen on Red Velvet Heartbreak Cake. True story: Brent Everett apparently decided to do his own naked cooking show. I may or may not have sent him a letter bomb. Brent, if you're reading this, try not to open any international mail for the next week.

Also check worthy: Stacey took a sick day today, so she let me cover things on Webster's Is My Bitch...On the day after Kanye acted the douche on Taylor Swift and everything went to gossip blog shit. Even vicariously he's annoying. Christ on a cracker.

Huh...Guess this is a blog after all. Oh the irony. Check out Junior Senior's video for Move Your Feet now before I inadvertently blog about anything else. Also, it has a daredevil squirrel. Holla.

Rub Some Salt Up In That Bitch

Okay, so you may have noticed on the post about my kinda-sorta-maybe-boyfriend that we are now actually kinda-sorta-maybe-just-friends. Well, here's the story behind that.

After spending three days with him just hanging out, he left for work on Thursday to go to work, while I went to class. I figured after three days, he'd probably want to go home, so I just spent the night at home. At around midnight when I was in bed, I got a call from him. He told me about how much he made that night (a fuckload), he proceeded to drop this on me.

"I think I might have found someone tonight!"

While I've never stepped on a landmine, I at least have a metaphorical idea as to how it might feel. Namely, like someone just punched a big, gaping hole through your stomach even though you thought you were in a good place. Kinda sucks, don't it?

Well, it gets better. The next day in the middle of an impossibly long three-hour Anthropology class, I got a text that from who I assumed was (Oh, let's just call him) Jason (even though that's not actually his real name). He asked me if I still wanted to see him again and that I had seemed distant last night. After momentarily wondering if he knew how I actually felt, it dawned on me that he wasn't Jason. He must have been the guy Jason met last night. To make matters worse, he thought I was Jason. I would have thought this hilariously ironic if wasn't soul-crushingly heartbreaking. For reasons completely beyond me, I agreed to tell Jason he said hi, as I am the world's most wonderful little doormat.

Cut to tonight, when I tell Jason that the guy called and was wondering when he would see Jason again. As it turns out, this wasn't who he met, but rather an obscenely wealthy client Jason had given my number too since (A) he was staying at my place, and (B) he didn't have a cell. No, as it turns out the guy he met was, in fact, a tranny with a bad boob-job.

I know the saying has pretty much been run into the ground, but fuck my life. Imagine trying to put on a happy face and be all supportive knowing the guy you have feelings for has fallen for a tranny with wonky hooters. Draining.

Well, maybe it's for the best. I may have wanted a boyfriend and all, but...I dunno, maybe a friend is good enough for me. It is sort of my fault for getting the message wrong anyway. It's not the meaningful relationship I was hoping for, but maybe this is what I deserve for the moment.

File This Under 'B' For BADASS!!!

So I was casually surfing the gay porn blagonets the other day when I happened upon this...
That's right...I BE ON FLESHBOT, HOMESKILLET! Seriously, I'm in between Matthew Rush, Francois Sagat and Vincent DeSalvo...Mind you, not in the fun, sexy way. Well, yeah, I suppose it IS in a fun, sexy way, just not the fun, sexy way you would think. Not that I'm complaining, because I consider this to be massively awesome. And so I bequeath the good people at Fleshbot with the Free Beej coupon. Hells to the yeah.

Letters And Sodas

As you've probably noticed, my posting has been getting pretty fucking sporadic lately. I've been posting almost daily for a while, but lately I really haven't been writing as often as I wish I did lately. But there is a totally valid reason for this shit.

I think I might have a sorta-maybe-possibly-boyfriend. HIGH FIVE!
No, really, I have a boyfriend (Possibly). We met at work, we talked a little bit, he came back to my place, yadda yadda yadda, and we've spent the last three nights cuddling up in bed. Hells yeah. A couple things I know thus far:

• He loves Futurama and Arrested Development.
• He drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon and Dr. Pepper.
• He's very protective of me. For reals, if you give me 'tude, he will drop you.
• He likes getting his back massaged.
• He looks like Jason Statham. No, really. EXACTLY LIKE HIM.
• He grew up on a farm, and he totally rocks the "sexy cowboy" look.
• When he wakes up in the morning, he makes these weird, sexy growling noises.

Which means at night, I get to fall asleep next to a big, sexy, growley Jason Statham. Hopefully now, you can sort of see why I've been neglecting my posting duties. My bad!
UPDATE - Yeah, so as it turns out, it looks like we're sorta-maybe-possibly-just-friends. Well, it happens. Shut it down.

Things I Learned In One Week of Gossip Blogging

#10: Despite what CNN would have you think, there is not NEARLY enough news to last for 24 hours. Hell, there's barely enough news to cover five posts (plus Snaps, naturally).

#9: Gossip tends to be overwhelmingly about women, rather than men, even though they tend to do the exact same shit. Because everything is wrong if you have ovaries. High Five!

#8: Lady Gaga does, in fact, have a vagina. If you give a shit, congratulations! You have no life whatsoever!

#7: Theoretically speaking, if Paris Hilton never existed, the resulting space could be used for something better. Like Candy. Or puppies. We need to snuff Paris Hilton out of existent.

#6: While it is totally okay for people to mistake Zooey Deschanel for Katy Perry, never mistake Katy Perry for Zooey Deschanel, or she will turn into a total fucking bitch. Well, more than usual.

#5: Woman simply adore Chris Rockway. A lot. I'm assuming it has something to do with his abs.
#4: Apparently, all you need to do to become King of a democracy is to change your name so "King". Because that's how both Monarchies AND democracies work.

#3: Everyone hates Heidi Montag. Everyone. Even the people they pay to like her secretly hope she dies of chlamydia.

#2: People will not let go of the whole Michael Jackson thing. Seriously, he's dead. Let the guy pass away with a little fucking dignity here.

#1: Eli Roth is grade-A fuckmeat.

I May Have Fucked Up A Tiny Bit

I know I've been a tiny lackadaisical about the blog lately, but there's a good reason for it: Long story short, I'm working on starting up some much needed therapy. It's not like I have a raging drug addiction or a severe case of kleptomania, but quite frankly, I have some deep-seated rejection issues I have to get through. This really shouldn't come as a surprise to, like, anyone. At all.

Well, granted, there was a catalyst to it all. On Thursday, I ended up revealing to Matt that I happen to be a compulsive liar (Once again, not a surprise) and one thing lead to another, he ended up telling me something that he's been keeping from me for about five months to spare my feelings. Naturally, this lead to me downing half a bottle of wine before work.

I spent the better half of my day attempting to dance around sexily while the room spun. Eventually, I found my way upstairs where I served as a sort of pseudo therapist for one of the other dancers. In return, he offered me half a QT of coke, assuming that I was (A) in my twenties, and (B) already a recreational drug user. Once again, compulsive liar. Party foul on me for that one.

All I can say is WOW you should not do coke. Like, ever. Seriously. Withing 30 seconds my eyes were protruding cartoonishly out of my head, and within five minutes, I was hanging from the chin-up bar in the changing room gym like a koala bear tripping some major balls. It was at this point that the guy started catching on that this probably WAS my first time riding the white pony. Needless to say, he was feelin' the guilt pretty hard.

After spending five minutes talking me down (literally. I was clinging to that bar for a while), I decided to sleep off the half-QT, while a room full of incredibly well-muscled strippers sat by watching the skinny white boy vibrating on the couch, making sure that he didn't inadvertently OD on barely enough coke to up a five-year-old. Oddly enough, having a drug-induced freak out is a GREAT ice breaker. I wouldn't recommend it though.

After returning home, making tortellini in record time and listening to Merriweather Post Pavillion (Animal Collective makes so much more sense when you're on drugs), I ended up fessing the whole thing to Matt. Thankfully, he gave me a number he got from a friend to help me sort out my issues.

Anyhoodle, I'm not proud of any of this really. I really should not have done that coke. Or that half bottle of wine. And I really should have gone to see someone about my rejection issues a LOOOOOOOONG time ago. But whatever, cut me some freakin' slack here, homeskillet. I'm finally gonna work on sorting my various fuckeries out, and all it took was a little bender on my part. Hooray?

To be honest with you, the past couple months, I've felt like I was really just sort drifting by. As much as I've done, I've kinda spent the past five months wondering what was wrong with me, questioning every little thing I did...Basically, the not-so-fun stuff. Anyway, I'm going to try and sort that out, and once I do, hopefully I'll be able to keep doing what I'm doing, but with a little more feeling.

Don't Ask Questions. Just Watch.

Who Killed Jeremy Feist?

This is what I would look like as a zombie. Well, sorta. I just smeared a bunch of flour and ketchup on my face to make myself look as dead as possible on a dare from Rocco Giovanni. Normal people probably wouldn't have done it, but then again, normal people have things like "Dignity" and "Self-Respect". Neither of which, you should probably know by now, I actually have. Well, that, and let's face it: Zombies are AWESOME. And I look totally hot covered in blood/ketchup.

BACON!!!

There were three things running through my head during this clip:

#1: That kid is fucking chubby as hell. Maybe he SHOULD be throwing all that food out.

#2: Bacon is delicious. Give it to me instead.

#3: I am never having kids. Ever. Kids are fucking assholes.