Moving On...

The blog is coming to an end.

But not really.

The bad news is that after two and a half years, this blog specifically will be closing shop.

But don't worry, because the good news is that I'm moving over to a new blog attached to my all new personal porn site, JeremyFeistXXX. So really, I'm not ending it so much as I'm hauling ass to a bigger, fancier, sexier blog with a URL that isn't a pain-and-a-half in the ass to type out. Sweet.

Anyway, both the site and the blog will be up August 1st, assuming that there aren't any forseeable disasters, such as tech problems and/or sharks suddenly gaining the power of flight and devouring all of humanity. Either of those would be terrible.

And speaking of moving, this is also my last day in Montreal, as tomorrow I'm moving my sweet ass to Toronto. While I'll miss my family, friends, and poutines, there are certain ... things I won't miss and which can take a long walk off a short pier, if you catch my drift.

You do? We're good then.

So yeah, update your RSS feed, break out the lube and make sure that there aren't any minors or co-workers in the room; I'm going pro, baby.

XXXO

Jeremy Feist

Apparently I'm Racist Now

On a lesser blog, this would be a kiss-ass apology post where I apologize to those who didn't understand the message I was trying to get across yesterday. However, I have this thing about not apologizing for other people's stupidity. Hey, if you're too dumb to understand a basic message, that's your damn problem, not mine.

Here's the thing: The point of last night's post was that finding someone physically unattractive doesn't mean you hate them as a person. Of course, this means I'm racist. Oh, wait, no, I think the term was "racially insensitive White male". How delightfully PC. I'll post the comment in full, and then I'll go through it in and explain why you're wrong.

Spoken like a typical racially insensitive White male. No wonder "The Sword" posted a link to your blindness.

You're right Cybersocket isn't forcing you to abide by their list, BUT PAY ATTENTION!!!!

If you are going to promote yourself as "The leader in Gay & Lesbian online information!", like Cybersocket does, then IT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO BE ALL INCLUSIVE. Or else every media outlet that isn't makes the Rainbow of the gay flag a FRAUD.

This is NOT just about this list, this is about Cybersocket's and OTHER GAY AMERICAN MEDIA OUTLETS' overall behavior of shunning men of color, Black men especially. As I have said on other sites, the only reason Diesel Washington and Eddie Diaz got any recognition was because those were names that they knew their racist cohorts would know.

And don't give me the "preference" vs "racism" speech. I already wrote a post proving how that is a bunch of bullshit.

Let's review.

First off, let's see if we can't figure out you're definition of racism here. From what I can tell, if you don't find black men hot, you are racist. Now, let's try and plot this out in a graph to better understand this, shall we?
Ummmm ... Yeah, I'm still trying to figure out how that line of thinking works. Just to nail my point across, let's try this but switch it out for ... I don't know, anyone.

Here's where things start to get tricky: differentiating skin colour as a basis for a person's self versus skin colour as a purely cosmetic feature. I'm of Irish descent, and I'm proud of being of being of that. However, I do wish my skin was a tad darker, and that I could sit out in the sun for more than ten minutes without bursting into flame. Which is to say: I'm not too hot on how pale I am. Racist? No. It's just a matter of personal tastes.

Furthermore, if we're judging based on your line of thinking, if you don't want to have sex with a 60-year-old man, are you ageist? If you're not into twinks, then obviously you hate skinny people. Once again, you have to be able to differentiate heritage from looks.

Now, back to the list; Cybersocket shit the bed. I think we can all agree on that one at this point. The list is, sadly, a pretty colossal fuck-up. But saying it's racist then calling it a day is counter-productive. Yes, there is a lack of mainstream performers of colour. I'm not about to pretend I know why this is, but I'm also not about to simply chalk it up to racism. This is a complex problem, and trying to impose a simple solution onto it isn't helping.

And finally: "typical racially insensitive White male"? Really? Oh jump up your own ass. Once again, it's not my fault if you were so attached to your own opinions that you can't be bothered to consider someone else's. Hell, according to your definition of racism, I'm not racist because I like black guys. Hell, half of my boyfriends were black. Although technically, one of them was never official (in the sense it was stated specifically), so if we rule that one out, that would mean I've only ever dated black men. 100%. But then again, I don't believe that other people believing differently makes them racist, soooooo... Oh goddammit, I'm confused. Would someone please decide for me whether or not I hate other people?

THAT'S RACIST!

Remember that old predicament about people shouting "FIRE!" in a theater?

Well here's another one: If someone goes onto an internet thread and shouts "RACIST!", is it racist?

Alright, so the deal is that Cybersocket released a list of the 40 Biggest porn stars of 2010 (well, so far anyway) and the list doesn't include a single black man. Obviously, judging from some of the more (*ahem*) questionable entries on the list (You know who I'm talking about, bitch.) and some obvious oversights, the list is kinda ... well, it's not great. Bad even. But is it racist?

Now admittedly, as a white Canadian, I'm not exactly in a position to go into detail about the struggles of being a black man (or really, any other visible minority) in America. But here are a few things I do know:

If you don't find black guys sexually appealing, that doesn't mean you're necessarily racist. The same basic idea applies to every colour of man you can think of, it really doesn't matter. Fact of the matter is, one person's level subjective sexual attraction to another doesn't have anything to do with civil rights. What, do you think Martin Luther King Jr.'s message would have gotten across better if he looked like Taye Diggs? I'm gay and I don't want to have sex with women (yeah, what a shame); that doesn't mean I believe in ending women's suffrage or that I'm not pro-choice. Likewise, just because someone doesn't find black men attractive doesn't mean they believe in white supremacy.

It just means you have terrible taste in men. Hang your head in shame.

That being said, there's a limit to this. It's one thing to have your own personal standards for sex appeal, but when you start making shout outs about not being into guys of colour, then we're starting to toe the line between "personal tastes" and "being an asshole". It's okay to let a guy down nicely by explaining that he's not your type. But when one of the first lines out of your mouth (or on your Manhunt profile) is along the lines of "I'm not into black guys", then that's a douchey thing to do. Not necessarily racist, but still a dick-move.

Now, back to the list: is it racist? No. Is it an imperfect list? Yes. But fact of the matter is, the list is based on the personal opinions of someone else, so yes: chances are your tastes probably won't be completely in sync. But you know what? That's okay. You're as entitled to your own opinions as the writers of Cybersocket are to theirs. You may not agree, but it's not like they're making you.

If you don't like it, write your own list. That wasn't meant to be sarcastic or snarky; write your own list. Voice an opinion. Create a social message instead of just social commentary. It's a matter of freedom of speech, so you might as well use it.

(Oh, and P.S.: I will never get tired of that gif. Thank you Wonder Showzen, you were awesomely fucking insane in the membrane.)

Cannonball Read Entry #33: Stuff White People Like - Christian Lander

You hear that sound? The dull thumping noise? That's the sound of Christian Lander beating a dead horse. And now with the publication of Stuff White People Like, based on the blog of the same name, you can hold it high on your bookshelf where people will see it, chuckle a little bit, then move on.

For those of you still stuck under a rock, Stuff White People Like is one of those One-Trick Pony sites that popped up where, the authour pretty much tells the same joke every day and everyone eats it up. Sure, the joke is funny when you first hear it, but after a while the punch-line just gets drowned out by the sound of the "thump-thump-thumping" that can only come from the union of bat with deceased horse.

We get it; hipsters are insufferable. Everyone knows that. It is literally impossible to be in the same room as a hipster-douchebag with wanting to kick them square in the fleshy patch of skin where their genitals should be. Because really, that's what this book is about: Hipsters. Unfortunately, no one would buy a book about things hipsters liked, because no one cares about what hipsters think anyway.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: read one entry of "Stuff White People Like". Laugh about it. Then close the browser and never read the site again. Believe me, you'll thank me later.

Cannonball Read Entry #32: South Park and Philosophy - Richard Hanley

You know, I learned something today; There are two types of South Park fans in the world. The first are people who watch the show and actually understand the message of the week's episode. The other group consists of those who watch the show and merely impose their own tightly-held belief onto it.

Guess which group Richard Hanley, the mind behind South Park and Philosophy: Bigger, Longer and More Penetrating, belongs too?

That's not entirely fair; as a professor of philosophy, Hanley has interesting ideas, and while they're not always entirely right, they're never entirely wrong. It's just that, well, the dude is just so fucking smug about them. So smug that he ends up suffering the same fate as San Francisco does in "Smug Alert", disappearing up his own ass.

If we're using the "Dicks, Pussies and Assholes" dichotomy from Team America: World Police, Hanley is an asshole that likes to think he's a dick. While he likes to think that he's fucking the system good and hard, all he's really doing is shitting on everything. He shits on religion, he shits on banning steroids, he shits on anyone who doesn't agree with him ... After a while, you just want to grab his smarmy little mouth and seal it shut.

Not to say the book is completely full of it; the essays NOT by Hanley are well worth the price of admission. Not only because they aren't completely up their own ass, but also because they actually examine the characters, ideas and philosophy behind the show, unlike Hanley who just says "This is what I believe" and then picks a bunch of clips from the show to prove his point. Honestly, I'd much rather read about how each of the boys represents a function of the human psyche then suffer through some tripe about how Richard Dawkins will save us all from the religious zealots.

In the end, about 1/3 of the book isn't written by Hanley, and this is the part of the book that I most enjoyed reading. It's one thing to have ideas, but if you're only going to use them as an excuse to shit on other people's ideas, then you're really just an asshole ... Or at best, a limp dick.

The Editing Room

This is what I've been staring at for the past 3 days. One week people ... One week ...

Waiter Games: How to Fuck With Your Customers Without Their Knowing

www.superpoop.com
Since I'm leaving Montreal in almost a week, I've already taken the time to formally quit my job, which is kinda disappointing since I always wanted to storm off dramatically to the sound of applause. Anyhoo, since my big "Fuck you, MAAAAAAN" moment will probably never happen, I've taken it upon myself to start getting back at my more careless and rude customers via passive-aggressive mindgames and general fuckery most foul. The neat thing about quitting your job is that in the space of those two weeks, you essentially live a life devoid of consequence. And without repercussions, you can pretty much do whatever you want to a reasonable degree, and still know that there's a job lined up for you on the other side. It's a pretty sweet niche. Anyway, here are some of the games I've come up with.

ALL OUT

This helps if you work in a restaurant with a wide variety of food. If an asshole asks you for a recommendation, or if you're in a position to give one, suggest something you really like. Play it up as much as you can; make them really want it. Then pretend to go get it and come back five minutes later saying that you're all out. Repeat as many times as you can. Award yourself points based on the quality of the food you're withholding.

HEY BIG SPENDER

This one's a bit easy. If you notice your customer is leaving you a shitty tip, start humming the tune to "Hey Big Spender". You know the song, right? Right. Anyway, award yourself points based on how loud you perform, and double your score if you actually sing the song. You win the game if you can full on belt it in front of everyone there; trust me, your complete lack of shame will earn you extra guilt-tips in the long run.

UNWELCOME

It's a waiter's duty to make their customers feel welcome. This game is meant to do the exact opposite. When a table comes in, come up with the most awful, foreshadowing and unpleasant way to greet them. My personal favourite: "Welcome to [insert name of restaurant here]! Our food probably doesn't have salmonella, but there's only one way to find out!

THE WAITING GAME

If a customer demands to know why he/she/it's been waiting so long for it's food, despite waiting for all of two minutes in total, tell them that the meal is being prepared right now, but "The pig/cow/chicken more of a fight than we expected". Award yourself points based on the look on their face, and award bonus points for any of the following:

• You whip out a blood-stained knife at any point
• Someone faints
• You unleash a battle cry going back to the kitchen
• Children cry
• They ordered veal

TOO MUCH/TOO LITTLE

People assume that they're being judged when they eat in a restaurant. This is true. If a morbidly obese person ever orders more food than anyone should ever eat, tell them in the most backhanded way that they might want to lay off for a bit. For example: "You sure you should be eating all that?", "You want your belt to buckle, not your chair", and "OH CHRIST IT'S COMING RIGHT TOWARD US oh wait never mind it's just a customer".

ALPHABET SOUP

Let's say your customer orders a large amount of little free bits of food so that basically, you're running around like a madmen for a tip that in all likelihood won't be that great. What do you do? Simple; if they order a huge tray of little free extras, feel free to rearrange them to spell cute little words like "Cunt" or "Dick". The longer, the better.

Anyway, that's all I could think of for now. If you had a any pranks you played on customers, feel free to share with the class.

Boy Next Door

www.nataliedee.com
There's a very good reason why I always check things a thousand times before I leave home: Because if I don't, I'll forget something. The funny thing is, whenever I check to make sure I've forgotten something, I'm always fine. On the other hand, whenever I refuse to check said 1,000 useless things, there's always something that manages to totally screw me.

Case in point: On my way to my shoot with Next Door Studios today, I forgot to charge my iPod. Normally, travelling without music leaves me super fucking cranky. It was only when I got to the point I was supposed to be picked up at that I realized I had forgotten something else: the phone number for my pick-up.

Fuck me running.

In what I can only describe as the most fucked up twist ever, my aunt was there in her car waiting for my cousin. Cue the choir of the angels. I dropped every last bit of shame I had on me and asked if I could borrow her cell so that I could find the number, since mine decided to give me the white screen of death a couple days before. Worst timing ever, cell phone.

After calling around and convincing a friend to log into my email and find the number, I called and found out that the driver was actually about twenty feet away from me. Nifty. As it turns out, I looked so drastically different from when I had just gotten out of the hospital (go figure) that she didn't recognize me from the picture they had given her. In turn, she was actually a 20-something tattooed punk rocker chick, which I have to admit, kinda threw me for a loop.

Having never actually been to a major ass production like this one, I was a little amazed at the sheer amount of camera men running around and naked people milling about with their cocks leading the way like big, fleshy divining rods. Needless to say, I was starting to wonder if there was any way of wiggling out of my place in Toronto and setting up shop where the wild things (and their wild dicks) were.

The shoot itself was a ton of fun and I finally found a way to perform a solo with all the bells and whistles attached, something I had never been able to do previously. After taking a metric fuckton of sexy pics on a rock outside the cottage (and somehow finding a way to self-suck on said bumpy, uneven rock) we traveled over to the jungle gym behind the house where I jacked off and self-sucked on a slide and masturbated next to a swing set.

I would be lying if I said I didn't love every single minute of it, and that the scene will be the hottest thing of all time.

After that I played Air Hockey with one of the other models while I waited for my ride home because oh yeah, THEY HAD AN AIR HOCKEY TABLE TOO. Needless to say, Next Door Studios really takes care of their models; specifically, the ones with a hankering for air hockey.

This was honestly one of the only times I've ever been sad to leave a shoot. Seriously, I think this was one of those super amazing experiences everyone keeps talking about, so thank God I landed it.

Aural Sex (18/07/10)

You probably assumed from "Breathe Me" that all Sia knows how to do is brood and croon. Not so much. Here she is singing a song less likely to make you curl up into a little ball on the floor and cry: Sia's "Clap Your Hands".

Making Porn, Episode 2: Hot As Hell

Future and current pornographers, take note: Never schedule a shoot during a heatwave. I should probably explain here: You see, in Montreal the heat tends to fluctuate between between "Holy Shit, it's so cold I can't feel my extremities" and "Oh my God, am I on fire?" depending on the season. God help the person who has to suffer the latter in an enclosed space with stage lighting and absolutely no way of staying cool whatsoever.

As you probably guessed, this is exactly the sort of shit I went through yesterday. It never occurred to me that, when I scheduled the scene, I might want to think about how not to die of heat stroke. The problem was first brought to my attention when about half way through my first scene of the day with Jake Manhole (subtle name, huh?) when we had to keep taking breaks every five minutes so that he could stand in front of my fan and I could stick my head under the kitchen sink and run cold water on it.

If you've never had to fuck underneath stage lighting, consider yourself lucky; it's like trying to bone in a goddamn toaster. This was in no way helped by the fact that (A) it was my first time topping and (B) as it turns out, topping is a TON of work. Bottoming is more of a mental game while topping is more physical, and as it turns out, thrusting plus massive amounts of heat = me losing about twenty pounds in water weight.

Thankfully, other than the fact that we damn near caught on fucking fire, my first scene as a top (yeah, that sounds weird to me to) went pretty damn well. I maintained wood without the help of viagra (oh, the perks of being nineteen...) and even managed to shove what was nearly my entire fist up his ass, which very nearly qualifies me as a fisting top. What is that, like, a bronze in the fisting Olympics or something? None too shabs.

Between shoots one and two, Bruce (one of the guys from Videoboys who also doubled as my camera guy) grabbed some pizza and tried desperately to figure out how the hell to import video onto Premiere. This was no easy feat, since I'm generally somewhat e-tarded and Premiere is about as user friendly as a bear-trap. Granted, we finally figured it out, but not before the idea of picking up my laptop and punting it off the balcony crossed my mind.

And just in case you were worried that my one shot as a top somehow made me quit dick-taking forever, well rest your pretty little head because my second season quickly reestablished that my ass is really only good for one thing: Accommodating penises. As it turns out, I'm even getting better at it; I've gone from barely being able to take a nine incher to pretty much having fit in there like a fucking glove.

And of course, the room still felt like we were fucking in a goddamn sweatbox. As it turned out, being on the receiving end of a slam-fuck didn't bode much better for me because we were both still sweating absolute fucking buckets. The man who manages to create a non-heating stage light will die a rich man.

Anyway, the good news is I now have all the scenes I need filmed for the start-up of the site, which means I now have a metric fuckton of editing to do, which is where the actual work kicks in. Editing, besides being an incredibly ugly word to say out loud, also happens to be confusing as hell, but hey, if someone who cried at the end of Twilight (seriously; Twilight? Pussy) can edit a video, absolutely anyone in the entire world can.

Aural Sex (17/07/10)

Okay, so no one can top the original by The Pixies, but still, it's a pretty cute song and she does a good job. Here's Meaghan Smith's version of "Here Comes Your Man" of the (500) Days of Summer soundtrack.

Aural Sex (15/07/10)

Hey, if I'm gonna start it off with anything, I might as well start things off with my favourite band ever. So here's Metric with Dead Disco.

Babies Are Awful (Or: Why I'm Pro-Choice)

www.nataliedee.com

I'm severely misanthropic by nature. I think we can all agree on that. Hell, it's part of my charm. But if there's one group of people I tend to come down hardest on, it's terrible parents. You the kind: People who think that because they can put Penis A into Vagina B, they're suitable parents. Based on that line of thinking, the minimum requirement to be raise a child is having enough cognitive function to put together a coffee table from Ikea.

While the overall thought pattern and questionable morals of these parents are annoying on an unapparent level, the resulting behaviour of their demonic little hellspawn is obviously irritating you can see it from space.

Through a two-foot thick wall of concrete.

While blindfolded.

Take for example a group who came in to eat the other day. Not only were the couple incredibly unfriendly and unresponsive to my cheerful greetings, choosing to stare blankly at me as though I had grown a second head when I said "Hello", but they brought with them, of course, a baby. Now, there are some babies I find cute. Quite ones. But for the most part, babies are little more than id machines; screaming, crying, pooping, biting, shitting, eating, barfing id machines. Yet people always look down on me for not cooing the moment one of these is thrust upon me.

This one, however, had apparently progressed to the point where it could feel schadenfreude, and did nothing but scream for the entirety of the meal. Now, I don't mean just little, high-pitched squawks thrown in intermittently either. I'm talking "Banshee at the gates of hell" levels of screaming here.

At no point did it occur to the parents to either settle him down or take him outside.

Now, usually I can deal with difficult tables. Do I like having them? Christ no. But I tolerate them because I know they'll be gone soon and I'll get a tip. But it's another thing when you're table is so patently obnoxious that you actually lose customers because they don't want to be seated in the same section as the screaming baby. And God help me, when I lose two tables because you don't have the decency to take your baby outside for five goddamn minutes, you better believe I'm rubbing your bread on my taint.

Ordering the food itself, since the penis-bearing half of this horribly misguided union was so fat the words could barely escape from the blubbering hole in his face. Seriously, it was like trying to talk to the Swedish Chef. And when the food arrived, the only thanks I got was the baby looking me dead in the face for five seconds, then grabbing the plate and hurling it to the ground. The baby then turned back to me, looked me straight in the eyes again for what felt like an eternity in hell, then laughed. And I don't mean just a little baby giggle, but the full-on laugh of the damned.

The parents did (wait for it...) nothing.

At this point, I had reached the limit of my kindness. I had already lost out on two tables, and the parents seemed all too willing to let me clean up the mess their parental failure had caused. Literally. I spent the length of their stay hidden from sight so they couldn't ask me for anything, while praying to whatever God/gods would listen to shut the little Gremlin up.

The good news is they tipped 15%. The bad news is they should have tipped a hell of a lot more. I may be gay and all, but God help me you better fucking believe that the moment they left I was on the phone scheduling my vasectomy, just to err on the safe side. I bid them goodbye, adding to the mother, "I think your kid might have a future as a FOX News correspondent."

And that is why I'm pro-choice.

Aural Sex

You may have noticed something different when you got here: Namely, no music. Don't worry, I still have a playlist, but I've gotten rid of the auto-play function. For the most part, you guys seem to like the music, but hate having it jump on you like an auditory ninja. So I fixed that.

In its place, not only have I created a newer, sleaker player, but I'm also starting a new addition to the blog: Aural Sex. It's like one of those song of the day things where you can listen to the song now, and then if you want you can pop out the music player to your right and listen to it, along with the songs of the day for the past 15 days. See? I DO listen! I just happen to be really stubborn is all.

Anyway, here's your first dose of Aural Sex: "Crash Years" by The New Pornographers.

The Girl Who Cried "MISOGYNIST!"

So last Friday I posted a link on Pajiba Love about how Glamor Magazine, which I can only guess is one of those generic Cosmo knock-offs you find on the check-out line rack at Borders, tried to come up with words for ladies to use in the sack. While most of them were sad to the point of being funny (I defy you to call your queef a "hippo giggle" with a straight face), everyone seemed to be able to call a spade a spade; The article was clearly misogynist.

The sad part is, the woman who wrote it (and I'm only assuming it was a woman since this was an article about female sexuality in a woman's magazine) probably thought she was being either really funny or honestly helping women everywhere out. No more would a woman have to tell her man she wants him to eat her pussy! Because as we all know, woman are dainty and elegant and would never partake in anything as vulgar as cunnilingus.

But the fact of the matter was, the entire thing was degrading to woman. Why? Because it underestimated women, and only served to further push the notion that woman obtain zero to no pleasure from sex. I mean Christ, I'm gay and even I know that women are vastly more sexual beings then men. So why beat around the bush and pretend that real woman don't enjoy open and honest communication about sex? Hell, Pajiba's own sex column is written by a woman, and so far she's kicking a pretty Costco amounts of ass.

The sucky thing is, between Hippo Giggles and Mel Gibson's insanely sexist and racist rant, where are all the fingers being pointed? At Jon Stewart and The Daily Show. Seriously. Apparently, Jezebel wasn't too thrilled about the fact that they hired Olivia Munn, so obviously the hiring of an attractive woman was some sort of slight against those with two X Chromosones. How dare they hire someone attractive!

Look, I can understand why someone might not like Olivia Munn as a correspondent; her timing is off, she lacks the ability to turn awkward moments against themselves, and her delivery still lacks the smarmy faux self-importance. That's not to say she can't improve, it's just that right now, she's not great. It's not because she has a vagina or because the writers are threatened by anything lacking a penis; she's just not up to it yet.

The sad thing is, Jezebel could have been supportive of Olivia. She's not the best, but she at least has a rather solid resume and potential. Instead, by trying to portray The Daily Show as a boy's club, they only further perpetuated the anti-feminist sentiment they say they're trying to destroy. Obviously, no one would give a woman a job in comedy; obviously she was only hired for her tits and ass. Project much?

The problem I have with the political correctness Jezebel strives for is that, essentially, it's the same game actual misogynists play: they're trying to impose a boy v. girl, us v. them mentality on a situation that it obviously doesn't belong on.

So what can they do? Well, they can go back to focusing on actual women's issues, avoiding sensationalist stories that only further degrade women, and maybe reconsider their standards on comment moderation. Or they can continue to fling the M-word around like poo-flinging monkeys, because obviously this is working so well for them. Their choice really.

Cannonball Read Entry #31: I Know I Am, But What Are You? - Samantha Bee

Samantha Bee has long been my favourite Daily Show Correspondent, and no, it has nothing to do with the fact that she has boobies, Jezebel. So please, by all means, please take your cries of "Misogyny!" and shove them up your ass. Oh, wait, was that a sexist thing to say? My bad.

Anyway, baseless claims of women-hating aside, Samantha Bee has always been one of the Daily Show's strongest assets. Why? Simple: She never let herself get bigger than the joke she was delivering (with perfect comedic timing, I may add). Some may say this is the reason why she's never really had any major roles while Colbert, Carrell et al. have moved onto the screen, but quite frankly, I appreciate a comic who takes a backseat to their material.

Thankfully, I Know I Am is Bee's way of finally unleashing her personal life onto the general public in a series of short stories from her life, much in the vain of Chelsea Handler. Admittedly, it takes a little while for the book to really get going. Sadly, a lot of Samantha Bee's early life is nowhere near as funny as her adult years. For those of you who read the book and wonder why you aren't laughing right out of the gate...well, hold on. It gets better, I swear. Honestly, the bit about her performing in a Sailor Moon show while Jason Jones yells at little kids about Cancer and anuses had me doing that thing where you chuckle for about five straight minutes afterwards.

Anyway, choppy beginning aside, Samantha Bee herself is a good enough reason to buy the book.

Cannonball Read #30: Fool - Christopher Moore

Christopher Moore is his own worst enemy. And considering the man is my favourite authour and that his work easily take up a rather large portion of my Top 10 books, that's saying something. I'll go into this in a bit, but let's start with the obligatory plot synopsis and things I liked, shall we?

Fool is set entirely in the universe of Shakespeare's King Lear. Hey, it works for Tim Burton, doesn't it? Anyway, the story is told by the titular Fool, Pocket, a tiny little guy tasked with cheering up Lear's youngest daughter Cordelia. The plot is set into motion when Lear decides to divvy up the land based on how well his daughters can stroke his ego. Lear's first two daughters, Goneril and Regan, bullshit him to within an inch of his life and are rewarded with huge swaths of kingdom (don't spend it all in one place!) Cordelia, on the other hand, tells her father she loves him but refuses to stroke his ego, and is justly given das boot. Lear, now fully enraged, dumps his closes friend, gives away Pocket's best friend Drool and generally goes about creating a huge clusterfuck which Pocket now has to clean up.

From the perspective of actual writing, this is easily one of Moore's tightest narratives. Unlike a few of his other books, each scene has at least some impact on the plot altogether, rather than feeling like a clever little aside. He even manages to incorporate Shakespeare's lingo in a way that feels natural without turning the book into either outright mockery or a strict wall of impenetrable text.

The downside is that his characterization, if I may say, fucking awful. Christopher Moore has a bit of a habit of sticking himself into his stories the same way a toddler might force two puzzle pieces together with a hammer and sheer determination. Sometimes, this works (see: A Dirty Job), but usually the protagonist ends up being a lame dork who for some reason walks around knee-deep in A-class poon, thus making them aggravating AND wholly unbelievable.

And that's what Pocket is: An irritating little man who somehow manages to bang chicks and my God does he ever bang a lot of chicks. And just in case you're worried these women have anything resembling a personality, surprise! They don't! The women in the story essentially hang around as a place for the men in the story to put their penises. Hell, even Lear's daughters are essentially characterized by their sexual fetishes. There are about two women in the entire story who have anything close to resembling an actual personality, and even they barely do anything more than play around with his libido. Christ, you'd think with all the flack Jezebel is giving The Daily Show for hiring Olivia Munn, they might maybe lob a couple rocks over at Moore.

It hurts me to say this, but despite a tight narrative, Fool may be one of Moore's weaker books, based solely on just how dreadfully bad he writes his characters. Come on Chris; try writing about someone other then yourself for a change here.

Waiting For The Burnout

www.nataliedee.com
I'm pretty sure my job is slowly killing me.

No, not the porn thing. I'm still at the point where it's making me metric fucktons of cash and I still enjoy it. No, as it turns out the job that society deems 'proper' is actively driving me absolutely positively fucknuts.

Here's the deal: My job is to serve ribs and chicken to people. That's it. That's all we have at the restaurant I work at: Ribs and chicken. Not exactly a life or death decision here. The money is good, but that's really only to offset the fact that the decor makes T.G.I.Friday's look like The Cordon Fucking Bleu, and the music seems to be picked exclusively from that part of the 80's that time wishes it could forget but can't.

The clientele isn't any better. In the words of Rebecca from Ghost World, "Some people are okay, mostly I just feel like poisoning everybody." Okay, so granted I'm a natural misanthropist, so the fact that I hate people probably shouldn't come as much of a shock. But just to show you the kind of assholes I have to deal with, here's a quick rundown of some:

Groups who come in five minutes after closing, sit around doing jackshit, and don't bother leaving for a good hour.

Parents who have zero control over their screaming, obnoxious, crying, loud-mouthed kids. On the plus side, it convinced me that I really need to get that vasectomy.

Old people who come in and complain that $10 for a full restaurant meal is expensive. Sorry if your sarsaparilla cost you nickel back in 1901, but much like your waist line, prices are subject to inflation.

Giant ass groups who come in, make a huge mess, go through my personal belongings, then leave me with a giant fucking mess to clean.

Babies. Hoooooooo God do I ever hate babies. You know why they're cute? To make up for the fact that all they do is eat, shit, scream, cry, puke and throw shit around. I absolutely defy you to find anything redeeming about that. Hell, if there was a committee to round up everyone under the age of eighteen and ship them off to an island until they come of age, you better fucking believe I'd be President, V.P., treasurer and secretary.

Point is, the job that people think is good for me and keeps me grounded is making me go staunchly in favour of Cocoa Puffs. Thankfully I can rest easy with the knowledge that I'll be out of here in about three weeks.

Making Porn, Episode 1: The Creation of JeremyFeistXXX.com

As it turns out, creating a porn site is a lot like giving birth to a baby: It's a long, arduous process, but in the end what comes out of it is a part of you that you can be proud of. Also, it involves sticking your penis into other people.

In an effort to start creating content for JeremyFeistXXX.com, I went to Pride for a double helping of Pride and shooting. I had scheduled a scene with Xander Cruise, a friend I had met back in December, along with one with Xtube's Techboy.

The first scene with Xander took place in the pretty little hotel I booked for the night specifically for the scene. Unfortunately, despite asking for a single bed, I got two. Fuck. So of course, I ended up rearranging the entire room to put the two together, and Ryan Russell, our cameraman, was able to set up the lights around the big stupid bed.

The scene itself went amazingly well, although I'm going to play my cards close to my chest on this one. What can I say? Body parts went into other body parts and we looked pretty damn good doing it. More than anything, I was amazed I managed to schedule an entire porn shoot by myself. On the long list of firsts I happen to be proud of, my first homemade sex scene ranks pretty high up there, especially when you consider that I have the organizational skills of a golden retriever.

The Techboy scene was set-up as a sort of mutual benefit sort of thing: we both get to use the video, no one has to pay anyone, and I got a bowl of Miss Vickie's chips to nosh on between shoots. I think we can all agree that chips are delicious, right? Right. Anyway, another hot scene wherein I show off my mad dick taking skills was successfully in the can, and I finally knew what it felt like to take an actual 10 inch black dick.

... Ahem.

Anyway, off camera I ended up going to Toronto Pride's beach party for some much needed beach boozing with Xander Cruise. To be honest, Xander and I have known each other for about eight months so far, and lately, I've been having...feelings. Now before you start assuming that I'm jumping into this willy-nilly, just remember who you're referring to here; I need to make a Pros/Cons list and a Powerpoint Presentation just to decide what to have for breakfast.

The point here is that I may have fallen for him a little. One teensy little problem with this: While I was moving to TO, he was moving to fucking Atlanta. Oh fate, you are a cruel, cockteasing cunt of a mistress. I was doing a pretty good job of hiding those feelings, although it didn't help that we were walking hand-in-hand down the streets of Toronto, kissing openly and generally being very public in our displays of affection. At one point, on the ride home from the island he laid down on my lap while I rubbed his back and tried very hard to convince myself that this wasn't romantic at all and that I wasn't falling for a guy who would be leaving just as I was coming.

Nope, no way that could go horribly wrong.

The next day, we met up one more time so that I could get the pair of jeans I had left at his place. Once again, not romantic whatsoever. We met at a Pizza Pizza by his place where we reenacted that scene from Lady and the Tramp with french fries. This was spotted by a group of lesbians, who looked at us and remarked about what a cute couple we were.

Which got me thinking: When even lesbians, a group of people diametrically opposed to penises, can see that two guys are a cute couple, despite the fact that I was trying very hard to convince myself what we had was good ol' fashioned, no-strings-attached friendliness, then what does that mean? Were they seeing what I was trying very hard to tell myself wasn't there?

We went back to his place where Xander, still a little drunk, told me that I was the only boy he ever let sleep over when he was in Montreal, and that he was disappointed he was leaving when I was coming over. And then he fell asleep while I gave him a backrub.

It was at this point that the floodgates more or less opened. Why the hell had I been so fucking stupid? Who the hell falls for a guy they know is just going to move away? I had this bittersweet lump in my throat; I had finally found a guy who felt as comfortable with me as I was with him. And he was going to be moving to a different country. All I could think about was that it wasn't fair. Was I doing something wrong? Why was it that whenever I finally found a guy who was right for me, we'd end up apart?

The next day, when I was back in Montreal and he was on his way to Atlanta, I did something I never did before: I sent someone a note letting them know how much I cared. I stole away onto the computer at work and typed out the following:

And about all the things you said last night ... Not sure what this counts for, but I think I LIKE like you. Like, a lot. Just saying.

It's remarkable how I can pretty much revert to a high school mentality when trying to convey shit like this. LIKE like? Really? Christ, I might as well have sent him a letter asking if he liked me back with boxes to be marked as "Yes", "No", or "Maybe".

But then he answered with this:

I LIKE you too Jeremy. I feel very comfortable w u.

Cue the over-analyzing. He capitalized the word "LIKE", which could mean more then just regular like. But he also only answered with one "Like". Were his feelings different then mine? And what did he mean by "comfortable"? I was, and still am, confused. I mean, do friends walk around holding hands? Or give each other public back rubs? Did I fuck this up by telling him?

I remember feeling the same way about Clyde: we never actually said what we were, but in the end he felt the same way about me as I did him. The way I felt around Clyde was almost like the way I felt around Xander: Safe, comfortable and happy. But was it actual full-on "LIKE like"?

All I knew was that it felt a hell of a lot better than the one-sided clusterfuck I had with Captain Bitchtits.

The rest of the trip was less emotionally confusing. I marched in my first pride parade wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of boxer briefs and a pair of Chuck Taylors, and I even went to see Cyndi Lauper perform and managed to squeeze into the VIP section. So that was pretty cool.

Anyway, for now I'm gonna try and mull over the difference between regular, normal singular like and the more serious, crushy, double "LIKE" like. Help me out people; am I wrong to assume that maybe this might be LIKE like and that I'm so afraid of becoming emotionally attached that I'm ruining something perfectly good?

Are You A Crazy Cat Lady?

If there's one thing no one wants to be, it is a Crazy Cat Lady. Crazy Cat Lady's don't really do anything aside appearing on the local news to either shout racist things into the camera or die alone in their apartment. Need to make sure you're not one of them? Now you can with this handy little quiz!

#1: Look around you: What do you see?

A) Sofas, coffee tables ... Nothing out of the ordinary here!
B) A couple cat toys here and there. Awwww, Mr. Whiskers is scratching the ottoman!
C) A sea of cats. Everywhere. When my army strikes, there will be no survivors.
D) WHY IS THE COMPUTER TRYING TO SPY MY HOUSE? OUT FOUL BEAST!

#2: Complete the following sentence: I think cats are:

A) Cute I guess. I'm more of a dog person.
B) They are just SOOOOO adorable! Sometimes my friends send me these pictures of them with funny captions. Love it!
C) The only people who understand me. Fluffernutter and I would be married if those activist judges stopped getting in the way.
D) Delicious.

#3: How's your sex life?

A) Great! I have regular sex with people I care about.
B) Okay I guess. Men/Women just don't appreciate my personality and the fact that all my clothes smell like cat pee.
C) Lonely ... So very lonely.
D) My seed is precious, and I like to keep it in hollowed-out Precious Moments figurines.

#4: You're going out in public; what do you wear?

A) Jeans, a clean t-shirt, maybe a jacket if it's brisk.
B) A sweater that's three sizes too big and sweat pants that make my ass look like a solid wad of dough.
C) A bathrobe, slippers and absolutely nothing else.
D) Tin foil hats keep the Illuminati from reading my thoughts and can also keep food fresh.

#5: Oh look, a camera crew is coming up to your front door. What are they here for?

A) I dunno, probably one of those pieces where they ask random people for their opinions on shit no one cares about.
B) Oh my God, did I win something? Is my ride getting pimped? I have to go tell my family, they'll be super jealous!
C) They're here to ask me about Obama again. Is it my fault that he's a mind-reading Kenyan who wants to put old people in Auschwitz?
D) THE LIZARD PEOPLE ARE APPROACHING. YOU MUST GOUGE OUT THEIR UNBLINKING EYE BEFORE THEY DEVOUR YOUR SOUL.

#6: When you hear someone tell a story about nearly losing a child, what's your first reaction?

A) Christ, that's scary shit. Hopefully everything worked out okay.
B) Oh my God! I saw something JUST like that on Oprah the other day. She is so smart. People sure like to kidnap adorable white children, don't they?
C) That's just like the time Mr. Whiskers went out after dark for half an hour. Losing a cat is the hardest thing to experience.
D) The child was obviously trying to learn the way of the wolves for when computers enslave us through our Wiis and force us to mine for cocoa beans.

#7: Be honest: How many cats do you own?

A) None.
B) 1-3. I don't want them to get lonely!
C) I don't know. I've lost count and my house reeks of cat shit.
D) I have owned several and through time I have gained their strength through osmosis. I will be ready to face the New World Order when it arrives.

#8: Who's your favourite singer?

A) Right now I'm feeling The National, Broken Bells, Hot Chip ... shit like that.
B) Lady Gaga! Oh my God, I totally saw her in concert once, and it was amazing! Even if she did show up 2 hours late.
C) Toby Keith. The man speaks the truth. U.S.A.! Boot up yer ass!
D) Vuvuzelas

If you picked mostly A...
Congratulations! You are a normal human being. Go out with your real friends. Enjoy your catless life.

If you picked mostly B...
You're still relatively normal, but hold off on getting any more cats. Otherwise you can kiss any chance of ever having anything remotely resembling a social life goodbye.

If you picked mostly C...
You are a Crazy Cat Lady. Your cats have overrun your one bedroom apartment and are biding their time for when you die. Your days are numbered.

If you picked mostly D...
You are Gary Busey.

Pajiba Love: Not Just A Gay Sex Position

Alright, so a few new developments:

Yeah, that's me with a cupcake on my head for no reason.

#1: I've been hired to write on yet another site. The best part about it? It's Pajiba. Seriously, considering that this is the blog that pretty much convinced me to get into blogging, this is all kinds of fucking amazing. I'm on as the writer for Pajiba Love alongside Stacey, so for those of you wondering, yes, she's still there too! That being said, if you ever have a neat little link or a funny video, or if you need me to rig an online competition for you, I'm your guy. And of course you can also check me out on popbytes too. I'm pretty sure I already said that, but what the fuck ever, it bears repeating.

#2: So the shooting part of my new site begins FRIDAY. Which is technically tomorrow, give or take, so yeah, EXCITEMENT! To be honest, scheduling as been a bit of a hassle, what with changes of plans, raising money, finding equipment...But whatever, it's finally happening! Thankfully, I managed to tack a second one on too, this one in partnership with another site which means it's free bitches. Huge load off my mind.

#3: The Toronto move is moving along...sort of. I have two places I'll be looking at this weekend, and they're both in nice neighbourhoods, so chances are I'll be grabbing at least one of them. And even better: I'll be marching along in the Pride parade on Sunday along with the Pride Marshalls, Mandy Goodhandy and Todd Klinck. And for those of you who are saying they don't deserve it or are in any way trying to detract from this: Please line up and bite the fattest part of my dick.

#4: There actually is no number four. I just typed it and then was too lazy to backspace it. It's probably more work to write all of this rather than just deleting it, but shut up your face. So instead, here's a music video dedicated to someone. All I'll say is: Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah.

Cannonball Read Entry #29: Candy Girl - Diablo Cody

Back in 2007, a little movie called "Juno" came out to adoration of indie movie lovers everywhere. It was a well-written coming of age tale about a girl who grows up amidst an unplanned pregnancy and learns that yes Virginia, there is a Great Love. Hell, even Dan Carlson titled his review of it "I Didn’t Think I’d Find You Perfect In So Many Ways". Hell, if that's not a sparkling recommendation, I don't know what is.

But then Juno made the ultimate mistake in indie cinema: it became successful. The success of Juno was like blood in the water for prentious hipster snobs everywhere, who descended upon the movie and all those involved of the white-hot wrath that can only be fueled by Caffeine-Free Skinny Chai Tea Lattes, ironic facial hair and Apple products. Diablo Cody was a sell-out, the character of Juno was unrealistic, and the dialogue was "too quirky". What they didn't seem to realize was that Cody was simply good at her job, Juno's non-adherence to the traditional teenage model was what made her reliable in the first place, and that most people will never in their lives pen anything nearly as flawless as Juno.

In many ways, Cody's memoir, Candy Girl, confirms all of this. A veteran of north-western titty-emporiums, Cody's book goes into detail about her various stints as a stripper among the strip clubs in a small, white bread town. This is offset by her burgeoning romance with her eventual husband Johnny and her relationship with his daughter.

I'm sure this must come as a shock to you, but I found the entire thing to be absolutely brilliant. No lying here: Candy Girl was what inspired me to originally step into the world sex-for-cash. Say what you will, but in my mind Diablo was living breathing proof that someone could proudly wear the badge of a sex-worker and be accepted by mainstream society. Hell, they gave her an Oscar. A fucking Oscar dude.

For those concerned with whether or not Cody's uniquely floral speech pattern, well you better believe it's on, homeskillet. But much like Juno's preggo eggos, the cutesy quirks are meant to move the story along and establish her voice and personality, rather than a useless device meant to be clever for clever's sake.

Furthermore, the way she portrays her gig is never derogatory or judgmental; the way she sees it, it's just another job. Mind you, one with more money and less clothes, but a job nonetheless. Her departure from the game has nothing to do with a descent into drugs/booze/sex, but rather, a simple realization that she's just done with it. It's not for her anymore, so she's moving on.

If you're going to write off Juno or Candy Girl for anything, you're going to have to do a lot better than saying it's unrealistic. Or quirky. Or cutesy. Because guess what? All the best stories are.

Fool Me Twice

I recently decided to trust someone again I shouldn't have trusted. Guess how well that went?

I won't name names, mostly because I'm pretty sure that's exactly the sort of thing he wants. But here's what happened: He lied to me, and I (under the assumption he actually cared about me) believed him. Fast forward two days: My best friend will barely talk to me and I'm getting insulting emails. Why? Because I believed you.

So yeah, this? Right here? Consider this the last time I let you fuck up my life. You want to run around harping on everyone else because you think the world owes you something? Fine. You want to bitch me out everytime you feel jealous that I'm getting attention from other guys? Fine. You want me to feel bad about myself because I have my own ideas and thoughts? Also fine. But you and me? Through. Done. Not happening ever again. You've hurt a lot of people and I'm the one stuck with the blame here.

Right now, I feel stupid for trusting you, I'm getting shit from anyone over it, and where are you in all of this? Whatever dude. I'm just sick of you attacking everyone. I can't believe I let your negativity into my life and now I'm stuck apologizing for you.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: bye.

If You Can't Say Anything Nice...

There's a reason I don't get into public feuds with people: I hate fighting. It's never been my strong suit. I've spent most of my life going as far out of my way as possible to avoid conflict, but apparently not far enough.

I have a bad habit of letting people into my life who, while well meaning, usually bring enough baggage with them to crash a fucking plane. I like to believe in the best in people, but it's a little hard when they're trying to make me believe the worst in people. Lately, I've been hearing shit from everyone about everyone else, and right now, the only thing I can believe is that everyone hates everyone and I have little to no fucking clue as to what's going on anymore.

So yeah, lesson learned: Stay away from other people's fighting an feuding and all that other bullshit. Let's face it: At this point, I have 99 problems; 100 if you count the bitch. Why do I need to start bringing in other people's problems into my life? Christ, I can't even solve my own problems, what the hell makes you think I can solve yours? I know it sounds selfish, but hey, when what you're sharing is negativity, then yes, hooray for selfishness. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's time I start moving away from other people's problems and start focusing on my own shit. Personal responsibility is a bitch, isn't it?

Pros & Cons: Finding A Boyfriend

Pros:

• Walk around the city and see things you've never noticed before
• Makes a terrible job feel much better
• Cooks homefries in the morning
• Laughs at the same things I laugh at
• Makes me feel safe
• Calls me "Feisty" and it sounds charming instead of annoying
• Always encourages me
• Comes home with Big Macs and we eat them in bed
• Washes my back for me
• Makes me smile when no one else will
• Makes me feel beautiful when nothing else will
• I love him

Cons:

• He's dead

Conclusion

• I still miss Clyde.
  

Shit That Irritates Me For No Reason

Ever get annoyed by something really, really tiny and think "Wait, that's nothing. Why am I getting so pissed off over something like this?" But then you tell someone else about your minute pet peeve and they're like "Wait, you hate that too? I thought I was the only one!" Anyway, here are a couple of those things that apply to me.

Groups Of People Who Walk Really Slowly In Front Of You On The Sidewalk

I've never really measured how wide the sidewalk is in the city, mostly because I have a life and also because I'm way too lazy to do it. That being said, there is absolutely no fucking reason why two old people need to take up the entire length of a sidewalk. This logic also applies to the gaggle of dumbass teenage girls who keep stopping for no reason. I am late for work bitches; move your asses!

People Who Stand At The Register Fucking Around With Their Wallets

You know when you're at Starbucks and the bitch in front of you finishes buying her skinny non-fat mocha chai latte (with extra foam), and then when it comes time to pay, she whips out a purse that can adequately fit three bowling balls and still have enough room to store a fully-assembled Ikea bookshelf? And then she upends the contents of her purse onto the counter, and then has to put it all back in afterwards? HATE. THAT. Seriously, just grab your purse, move over to the left a bit, THEN work on your stupid purse.

People Who Try Think There's A Difference Between House And Electro

The only difference between these two is that House makes me want to jab forks in my ears; Electro makes me want to stick knives in them. That's it.

People Who Keep Sending Me Those "Free iPad!" Events on Facebook

I'm sure this must come as something of a huge shock to you, but no, Apple will not give you a free iPad for clicking on a button. The only thing sadder is the fact that people fall for this shit and then send them to me. If you fall under this category, please unplug your modem and step away from the computer; you are officially to stupid to use the internet.

Apple

Oh isn't that cute, you think your Macs are creative and that people who use them are free-thinking individuals! You know, sort of like the billions of other people who have exactly the same product. Good for you. The only difference between you and Windows is that you guys just happen to have a competent marketing team.

That's all for now. There's probably more, but that's all I can think of.

Cannonball Read Entry #28: Dharma Punx - Noah Levine

I'm not a fan of organized religion, and God only knows I've never tried to pretend that I am. Sure I believe in the existence of a higher power that I refer to as God for the sake of simplicity, but I just think that the term itself, "Organized religion", is at best an oxymoron. I have yet to meet any two people that have exactly the same religious beliefs and share the exact same ideas. Organizing them seems arbitrary at best and completely impossible at worst.

But I can also acknowledge the fact that for some people, organized religion gives them a purpose, and let's face it: a life without purpose is wasted. The magnitude of that purpose is neither here nor there; it's the fact that you have a purpose, something to live for, that matters.

Such is the case with Noah Levine's Dharma Punx, a book that chronicles his journey from a drugged-out, self-destructive punk rocker to a Bhuddist teacher. Admittedly, the concept of the memoir wherein our hero turns his life around with the help of religion is a bit played out, but that's a discussion for another time.

Noah is the product of a broken home, an abusive stepdad, and various other trappings of white suburbia. And like most kids, he turns to punk rock and self-destruction as a means of rebellion. Fast forward a couple of years and Noah is a homeless drug-addict stuck in a padded cell to keep him from going Gallagher on his cranium.

Thankfully, in comes Bhudda to provide a moral compass to the wayward Noah. For those of you expecting a half-assed religious conversion were Noah slaps the "Bhuddist" tag on himself and calls it a day will probably be surprised with how in depth he actually goes with it. He travels abroad, sees the Dalai Lama, begins an experiment where he lives as if he only has one year left...You get the point.

This may be the strangest distinction I've ever made when it comes to literature, but bear with me: From the perspective of Noah Levine as the human, it's an extraordinary tale. I'm not going to try and take away from his triumphs and accomplishments, especially when you consider how quickly he managed to turn that ship around. However, from the perspective of his story as a book, his writing doesn't feel strong enough to properly convey his story. At times, moments of beauty feel just overly-sentimental, while at others it barely separates his story from the countless other stories on the bookshelf. Yes, his story is inspirational and truly remarkable, but so is everyone else's on that bookshelf. Everyone overcomes adversity in their lives in order to become a better person; all I'm saying is, if you're going to capitalize off of it by writing a book, you have to make sure you're writing makes it stick out from the pack.

Ultimately, that's the problem: It's a great story, and I'm very happy for his accomplishments, but at the same time...Well, everyone has a story. You just have to be able to tell it well.

10 Best Dumb TV Characters

It's easy to write a dumb character: It's essentially like writing a normal character, only you don't have to bother with a personality or any semblance of intelligence. A good dumb character, however, is damn near impossible. Why? Because it's hard to make a blank slate likable. But when you do, it's pure fucking comedy GOLD. For the sake of qualifications and so that you guys don't end up sending me the obligatory "YOU FORGOT THIS PERSON GRAAAAAAAH!" comments, in order to make the list, the character must be on TV, must be purposefully written dumb, and have to be both funny and at least likable on a personal level. Also, I eliminated any character that was on a show comprised entirely of stupid people (i.e. The Simpsons, Family Guy, South Park, etc.) And now, in absolutely no particular order whatsoever...

Hank Yarbo (Corner Gas)
Sample Dumb: "(Re: The riddle about where you bury survivors) OHHHHH! The *survivors* ... Bury one on each side.

T (United States of Tara)
Sample Dumb: I'm here because she went all CSI on your pubic patch you call a backpack and found those kill pills I got you.

Brittany (Glee)
Sample Dumb: Did you know that dolphins are just gay sharks?

Philip J. Fry (Futurama)
Sample Dumb: He wasn't an astronaut, he was a sitcom actor. And he was only using space travel as a metaphor for beating his wife.

Cerie Xerox (30 Rock)
Sample Dumb: These sunglasses have a chip in them that makes the lenses change color as my iPod loses power!

Anya Jenkins (Buffy The Vampire Slayer)
Sample Dumb: I like you. You're funny and you're nicely shaped, and frankly it's ludicrous to have these interlocking bodies and not... interlock. Please remove your clothing now.

Valerie Cherish (The Comeback)
Sample Dumb: You see puppies, I see Korean barbeque!

Buster Bluth (Arrested Development)
Sample Dumb: No mother, I can blow myself. You've interfered for the last time.

Michael Scott (The Office)
Sample Dumb: I guess the atmosphere that I've tried to create here is that I'm a friend first and a boss second, and probably an entertainer third.

Meatwad (Aqua Teen Hunger Force)
Sample Dumb: I don't have any real dolls, I prefer to use my infinite imagination... cause I ain't got no damn money.

We Now Return To Your Regularly Scheduled Life

So as it turns out, I'm perfectly capable of hauling ass when need be. Blessedly, it's not exactly like the ass in question is all that heavy, but that's neither here nor there.

So what have I been doing? Well, first thing's first, I've been trying to sell my car. I tend not to pimp myself out too much here, mostly because I find self-promotion, at least for myself, a little weird. But hey, if you're in the Montreal area and you want to get your hands on a beautiful blue 2002 Pontiac Sunfire for the low, low price of $3800, you know where to find me.

See what I said about it being weird?

And now the interesting part: Why am I selling my car? Well, here's the thing: I'm starting up my own porn site. I know, right? And as it turns out, you need money in order to make the money in order to make more money. Isn't it nice to see that I managed to retain some of the information I learned in business class? Anyway, I decided that if I need a buttload of money, I might as well sell the car. Sure cars are nice, but having my on site would be nicer.

For the time being however, I've been working on scheduling scenes and finding models and blah and blah and blah. Did you know that there's more to porn then just beautiful people having sex? As it turns it's an actual job, wherein you're responsible for setting up dates and times and locations, keeping records on hand, and finding and maintaining the necessary components for creating videos. Who knew?

Thankfully, this is somewhat easier than I thought it would be. Not THAT easy, but still, could be worse. Thankfully, I only need to find one more guy to have enough content for the initial start up for the site (I'm estimating here), so that's a plus. Well, that and I have to find a camera guy, but those are generally easy to find...More or less.

On top of launching a porn site that I've deluded myself into thinking will be the most profitable thing to hit the web since Nigerian Princes, I'm also working on my move to Toronto. Don't get too excited, because my ultimate goal is to get my ass to L.A., so I'm basically staying until I can convince immigration that no, I am not nor have I ever been a terrorist and I would be an invaluable addition to the U.S. So if anyone happens to know anyone in TO looking for a roommate, or if you have a lead on a job I can do down there...Well, once again you know where to find me.

Anyway, that's enough new happenings and shit in my life. So if you or someone you know wants to buy my car, or you just so happen to have $3800 lying around the house that you desperately need to gt rid of, feel free to drop me a line.

Happy 2nd Blogoversary!

Two years ago, I was in my room at my mother's house, creating a blog. I was starting one because, I had reasoned, "everyone else is doing it, so why not I?" I didn't actually think anything would come out of it. I was just out of high school, blithely naive, and I had no idea where my life was going.

Two years later, I'm in my room in my own apartment, still writing the blog. I just visited my high school yesterday, I'm still blithely naive, and I now only have a vague idea of where my life is going. So while it doesn't really sound like my life has changed, it has. Well, sort of.

For starters, I'm now a gay porn star. Two years ago, the idea of being in porn was exactly that: an idea. At the risk of sounding like one of those letters to Penthouse, but I never thought it would happen to me, but...Well, just Google my name and chances are you'll find me naked somewhere.

I never thought I would make it as a writer until my late twenties or early thirties, but so far I've been published on Pajiba, the blog that first inspired me to start the humble little writing space you're on right now, not to mention I've been hired on two different sites, as well as written about on Fleshbot, Queerclick and Unzipped. So, you know, suck on that, everyone in High School who said I'd never amount to anything! Especially Mr. Donovan. That guy can totally bite the fattest part of my dick.

Which brings me to the name change. Some of you are thinking "Oh look, he changed the name of the blog. That's nice." Some of you are wondering "What the fuck? I like the old one! CHANGE IT BACK!" And some of the more mentally unbalanced readers of the blog are absolutely furious about the name change and are currently planning on setting me on fire.

Fact of the matter is, it's been two years since I first started the blog. And while I still retain most of my overall personality, admittedly, I have changed. Mostly for the better, I'd think. This is sort of like my way of updating the blog so that it reflects who I currently am: a sort of mish-mash of both writer and pornstar. I'm still the awkward little nobody you knew from before, only now I'm the awkward little nobody that kinda resembles a somebody.

Anyway, as is tradition, I have to write 25 things you didn't know about me. So here it goes:

#1: I hate my feet. They're not bad feet by any stretch of the imagination, I just think they're weird looking and they smell funky.

#2: I don't floss. Ever. Well, not never; I'll floss if there's an important dinner or something and I'm being super anal about my hygiene, but for the most part, I was just raised in a household where flossing didn't really matter.

#3: I can't tell the difference between Electronica and House music. I'm entirely convinced that there is no difference, and that anyone who says otherwise needs a firm kick in the balls for being a douchebag.

#4: Sometimes when I'm really pissed off at someone, I'll think about pushing them in front of an oncoming train and feel instantly better.

#5: I have absolutely no problem with people calling me a bitch. This isn't some gay/female empowerment thing; people just tend to call me a bitch when I say anything that indicates I have a higher level of brain function then a blow-up doll. So basically, being called a bitch is the equivalent of someone saying that I'm not some brain-dead fuck-puppet, which I think we can all agree is probably a good thing.

#6: I can still name all 151 Pokemon. I grew up in the 90's, so basically every facet of my life as a kid was in some way influenced by Pokemon. Seriously, until I made it to high school, I was pretty much Pikachu's bitch.

#7: I used to have this little heart necklace that I wore everywhere and never took it off. It was a bookmark until I cut it up and turned it into a necklace; honestly, it couldn't have been worth more than $2. But then it broke and I got ridiculously bummed out. If anyone ever finds a heart necklace like the one I had, PLEASE let me know where I can get my hands on it.

#8: I loved Sex and the City. Even when it went into it's sixth season and it started to overstay its welcome I loved it. And for the record: as much as I make fun of her, I really do think Sarah Jessica Parker is, if not "HOT", a beautiful woman. Hell, they all are. I mean Christ, they're in their forties for God's sake; they look pretty damn good.

#9: As a gossip blogger, I am fully aware that most of the people I write about don't deserve the shit I write about them. For the most part, it's just a matter of humour. It's nothing personal, I'm just trying to make people laugh. There are a couple celebs I mock out of hate, but they're few and far between.

#10: For those of you (specifically, Bobby Calamitous from Fleshbot) wondering why I stay so thin when I eat my own weight in butter every day: I have no idea. For the most part, I chalk it up to having a metabolism that rivals Shaggy's from Scooby-Doo, but if you must know, I was a chubby kid. Thankfully, growing up chunky was what allowed me to develop a brain and a personality, so it was a pretty fair trade-off really.

#11: I've never fucked a woman. I've never even kissed a girl. Seriously, I'm like the purest form of gay known to man. Although if given even the slightest opportunity, I would fuck Buck Angel stupid. I don't care what he has down there, he's fucking hot.

#12: A couple people have suggested that Pornstar in the Kitchen become a full-fledged cooking show. If given the opportunity, I SO would. Hey, if Sandra Lee can do it, so can I.

#13: I once walked in on my brother doing it with his girlfriend. It was gross. And her boobs were weird. I don't even think they were facing the same way.

#14: Part of the reason I never go out in Montreal is because...Well, hate to say it, but some of the twinks in this town are fucking ridonkadonk. I saw one out once that was wearing the doofiest rainbow undies ever in the most ludicrously ripped jeans known to man. I was just like "What is wrong with you? You look ridiculous. You shouldn't exist, but you're standing right in front of me!" That shit wouldn't look good on anyone in the world; it sure as hell won't look good on you.

#15: I think couples who wear matching anything when they go out need to be chemically castrated before they taint the gene pool.

#16: The only Ed Hardy a person should have on them is one of his tattoos. If you wear Ed Hardy clothing, you have no taste in anything and you should be deeply ashamed of yourself as a human being.

#17: I honestly don't drink as much as people think I do. If I want to get drunk, then I'll do so as fast as I possibly can, but if I'm out and there's booze and I don't really give a shit one way or the next if I get drunk, then chances are I'll stay sober.

#18: I hate driving. I actually blew all my money on a car that ended up being used more often by my family members than myself.

#19: I've never had Taco Bell. I'm not sure if I'm missing out here or not.

#20: I unabashedly love Kylie Minogue and everything she does. I make absolutely no excuses or explanations for it either. I just flat-out adore her.

#21: More often then not, I usually end up being the butt of my family's jokes. Usually, I end up getting pissed off until I remember that I'm richer, hotter and more famous then they are, and I'm the only one out of them all that people are willing to pay to see naked, and I feel immediately better.

#22: I hate socks. For some reason, I go through socks faster than is probably normal, so right now all of my socks have holes in them. That's why I like sandals now.

#23: I want to cover my entire body with tattoos, but I'm ridiculously stingy with my money. At about any given moment, I have five different ideas about new tattoos.

#24: If given the opportunity, I would be popping steroids like Tic-Tacs. The only problem is that I have no idea where to get them or how much they cost.

#25: If porn and writing doesn't work out, I want to be a professional ukulele player. This would be much easier if I owned a ukulele or had any idea how to play one.

Unsalted

Alright, tonight's post has some good news and bad news and news that is just generally fucked up. I'll start with the bad news, since it happened first if you're going chronologically.

The bad news: For those of you wondering what the hell is going on with LitelySalted and why the hell you've been staring at Winnie Cooper for the past month...Well, the site has been sold. By the looks of it, the process may soon be complete, and when that finally happens, well, who knows? Neither of us really knows for certain where this one is going, but que sera sera I suppose.

The good news, however, is that I'm not out of the gossip writing game. I've been hired as a writer over at popbytes, where I'll be adding a bit of snark to the proceedings. As much as I loved working for LitelySalted and as much as I adore Stacey, I have to admit, popbytes is pretty goddamn fantastic. So even if LitelySalted is dunzo (once again, not sure if it is,) at least I have somewhere to channel the haterade.

And now for the news that will make you go "Whaaaaaaa?!": a friend of mine, who I won't name outright, recently went quiet for a little while, and the official story was that she was in a terrible accident and hospitalized. Naturally, I felt awful, because she's always been a great friend to me.

And then I found out that she faked the whole thing.

Really.

From what I heard, there's a pretty sizable amount of evidence (and I do mean SIZABLE) that she wasn't in an accident and that she wasn't in the hospital and...Well, that she lied. I really don't want this to be true, since she's been a great friend to me, but on the other hand, the evidence against it is pretty much insurmountable. To be honest, I'm a little pissed. I know I'm not the most honest person in the world, but I can't say I would ever fake something that serious.

I'm not sure what her possible reasoning could have been behind this, but naturally I'm a little upset that she felt the need to lie about something this extreme. I'm sure her actions don't speak for themselves here, but the idea that she could blatantly lie about something like this just makes me feel like an idiot for trusting her. It doesn't negate the wonderful things she's done for me, but I have to say, if this is true, I am extremely disappointed.

Anyway, this has been a horribly depressing and kinda scatter-brained blog post, so I'm just going to wrap this up before it gets any worse. Cheers.

Inglourious Free Bitches: A Real-Time Snarking of Lady Gaga's "Alejandro"

Can you believe it's only been two months (give or take) since the last overly long, product placement laden, completely nonsensical Lady Gaga video? Well lucky for those blue-balled by the wait, today brought fresh Gaga and it's just as terrible as her last video! Only instead of ripping off Quentin Tarantino, she's now ripping off Madonna. Either that or your gay cousin's "Art Project" for film school. But that's besides the point. Let's get to the snark.

0:13 - We start off with a shot of an army boy who apparently just got home from a viewing of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show", which is fitting since this video also features a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania. There are also some obnoxiously huge titles just in case you couldn't remember what you were watching.

0:28 - For those of you who watched the video for Bad Romance and thought "Okay, but it could use some more Nazi overtones", well, here you go. I'm pretty sure this is what Michelle McGee thinks about when she fingerblasts herself.

1:00 - And now for the most oppressive Tae Bo routine ever. "EINS! ZWEI! DREI! VIER! FEEL ZE BURN! NOW SAULT ZE FUHRER TWENTY TIMES!"

1:10 - Incredible; for the first time ever, Lady Gaga has worn something and I have no idea how to mock it. Seriously, what the fuck is this? The best I can do is say that this is half H.R. Giger and half Professor Farnsworth's glasses. Oh, and there's a frozen heart with a bunch of pins in it. Hey, that iPhone isn't the only thing Steve Jobs lost in a bar.

1:40 - Oh, wait, it's all just a funeral! This explains absolutely nothing. I'm just assuming that this is meant to show that there is literally nothing that will keep Lady Gaga from dressing like Ms. Peacock...You know, if Ms. Peacock happened to be a prostitute.

1:58 - And just because she can, here's an almost-naked model covered in what appears to be puppet strings and "Baby's First SS Helmet" holding a gun.

2:12 - "I know that we are young and I know that you may love me, but I just can't be with you like this anymore, Alejandro." Wait, who the fuck is Alejandro? Was he the naked gun dude? The guy in the coffin? Dr. Frankenfurter from the beginning? Because he seemed like a keeper. Definitely a guy you can bring home to Mom.

2:14 - Finally, we get to the actual music. Once again, it takes over two goddamn minutes to get to the actual music. I guess it's sort of like foreplay, if the foreplay consisted of being punched in the balls with a pair of brass knuckles.

2:44 - Let's see: Hardbodied gays in uniform acting under the totalitarian reign of a sexually ambiguous electronica singer? This is what Bill O'Reilly thinks will happen if Don't Ask, Don't Tell is repealed. Seriously, before he goes to bed, Bill O'Reilly looks under the bed for twinks.

3:00 - I gotta say, for all her talk of "Hot like Mexico", this place doesn't really seem like a great place for a vacation. I think this might be that post-apocalyptic wasteland from that Sigur Ros video where all the little kids in gas masks play in black snow and then one of them dies. Good times, goooooooood times...

3:40 - For those of you wondering whether or not gay guys actually have sex by picking the guy up by his hips, slipping him some grade-A man meat then body slamming him onto hard pavement...Well, that's how I roll. Go big or go home bitches. FUCKING ROCK THAT ASS.

3:50 - And we finally have a discernible Lady Gaga costume: Gimp Nuns! Too bad Tony Buff did this over a week ago. (Yes, I'm fully aware that absolutely everyone thought of this. But too bad, I'm whippin' it out too [That's what she said])
Yup, sorry Gaga; You just got T-OWN-y'd.

4:07 - Apparently, Lady Gaga has tired of her hunky military men, so let's go fuck some guys with awful fucking hair. Look, I can handle the Kermit the Frog dresses and the cigarette sunglasses, but bowl-cuts? This woman is pure evil and must be stopped by any means necessary. *Cocks and loads gun* Any means necessary...

4:40 - In every Lady Gaga video, there is always at least one Ridiculous Gay Guy who just fucking kills me and steals my heart. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you...
Shine on, you crazy homo.

5:12 - So Lady Gaga and her Dorothy Hamill looking homos (Dorothy Homos?) seem to be playing that game where everyone gathers around a person and then lifts them up using only two fingers and "magic". True story: For a Halloween party in the second grade, we played this game, and one of the girls we lifted got so scared she started crying and then peed on the teacher's arm. We called our teacher "Mrs. Pee Arm" for the rest of the year.

5:17 - Silly Lady Gaga, anal beans don't go in your mouth! Unless of course your mouth happens to be your...Oh, wait, actually, this explains a lot. Oh, also she has a crucifix on her vagina. Kinda brings a whole new meaning to the term "Nailed to the cross", doesn't it?

5:38 - And now we get to the part of the video where we lose any and all pretense that Lady Gaga is an original artist and jump headfirst into the land of shameless Madonna rip-offs. You can pick up your Spikey Death Boobs and Boy Toy Belt Buckle at the front.

6:21 - Speaking of Spikey Death Boobs, as is the natural progression of all things slut, Madonna Lady Gaga is now wearing a pair of guns on her nipples. I honestly wish I could make fun of this, but really, if they were ever produced for major distribution, you better fucking believe I'd be the first in line to buy one.

6:42 - Gaga, apparently no longer content to only rip off Madonna, is now stealing her look from Bono. Seriously, she even has the terrible hair and the glasses and everything.

8:16 - Lady Gaga decides to needlessly elongate the song by two minutes by repeating "Alejandro" over and over again while replaying clips of the video. Seriously. And then she shows the gay guys her boobs and the gays act like Jesus just came down from the heavens and offered them all deep-fried Twinkies. Please, like any of these guys would know what to do with a boob.

8:36 - We get one last shot of Naked Gun Guy and Lady Gaga's terrible Tony Buff knock-off, and then Gaga's face melts and I finally know what hell looks like. The end.