Friday, July 30, 2010

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.


Jeremy Feist

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

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?

Tuesday, July 27, 2010


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.)

Monday, July 26, 2010

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.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Editing Room

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

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

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

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.


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.


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.


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!


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

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".


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.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Boy Next Door

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.

Monday, July 19, 2010

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".

Saturday, July 17, 2010

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.