Veil of virtue hung to hide your method ... -- #358
Sad news from the Land of Fudge today: Chocolate Jesus got canceled. Yeah, I'm pretty broken up about it too. The interesting thing to note about the article is that apparently Chocolate Jesus was also anatomically correct and featured a fully visible chocolate schlong and some chocolate nuts (no confirmation whether they were almond).
I won't comment further on the sad saga of Chocolate Jesus, lest I offend some of those "Christian sensibilities" that the Catholic League has their pious undies in a bunch over. And frankly, I think it was stupid for an artist to carve a six-foot naked Jesus out of milk chocolate and not think that some people might be upset over this. [Insert joke about Chocolate Jesus = outrageous while pedophile priests = concerning.] Something something, freedom of speech, Chocolate Jesus spoken about in Revelations, can't we all get along, blah blah blah.
Anyway, all this discussion about Chocolate Jesus makes me hungry, which brings up my next question: What is the cut-off age for it being acceptable to get an Easter basket from your parents? I still get one. I'm 33 (ironically same age as non-chocolate Jesus when he died). I still want one, especially if it has those shitty hollow boxed bunnies with the candy eyes and clever names like Fuzzy Candytail or Mostly Sucrose. I'm not talking about coloring eggs or anything stupid like that. Just getting some candy from your Mom and Dad, in a decorative basket, on a Sunday morning. That's still OK, right? Right?
what would chocolate jesus do?
It wouldn't pain me more to bury you rich, than to bury you poor. -- #467
So I'm not really sure where I stand on the "Chocolate Jesus" controversy. Don't know about the Chocolate Jesus controversy? You can read about it here.
Apparently, some creative artist who specializes in the medium of food decided that it would be a good idea to sculpt a six-foot statute of the Son of God out of delicious milk chocolate, just in time for Easter celebration. And he called it "My Sweet Lord" which I guess is better than some of the alternative (My Sweet Creamy Lord, for example). Obviously people are offended by this, and not simply because the Messiah melts both in your mouth and on your hands, which I'm pretty sure has been against Catholic dogma for centuries, ever since the infallible Pope Pius IV declared that Jesus had a "thick candy shell."
Initially I was torn by this. On the one hand, I'm theoretically Catholic. I don't go to church or anything, I disagree with/disobey most of the rigorous disciplinary doctrines (particularly the ones involving my penis), and I'm embarrassed by the leadership -- but I plan on acting like the religion matters to me when I have children or approach certain death, whichever comes first. So that side of my life is infuriated that someone would dare to mock my Lord and Savior with a representation of His Holiness as an ephemeral sugary delight. Under no circumstances should someone be able to enjoy biting the head off of Jesus. I feel pretty strongly about this.
On the other hand, chocolate is delicious. So there's always that argument.
When I first encountered this story, I did not realize that we were talking about a large sculpture, but rather I thought that some budding Willy Wonka was mass producing these things to line Easter baskets for the coming Sunday morn. Now this would have been awesome. I totally would have loved to get a Chocolate Jesus, wrapped in shiny Jesus foil, perhaps with a creamy nougat center. They could have made a different Jesus for all fourteen stations of the cross. Heck, I would get behind all sorts of Easter-themed candy treats. Virgin Mary jellybeans. Crown of Thorns rock candy. Depictions of the crucification made of Peep. What better way to get the kids fired up about the resurrection of Christ than to have him come back to life as tasty goodness inside their mouths?
And then I got a look at this thing. Holy Hell.
That is one scary looking Chocolate Jesus. I didn't realize that it wasn't going to be kind, friendly, just woke up from his nap Jesus. This is agonizing in his final moments Jesus, battered by Roman torture and suffering from his sacrifice into human mortality. This is what my Chocolate Jesus would look like a few days after Easter, with some of his back shaved off by my incisors and his ears missing. The fact that he's both yummy and horrifying stirs me with inner turmoil. By eating him, just as God intended, am I inflicting pain? Or should I simply stand by to watch him melt, his delectable body going to waste for some higher cause?
You can see my quandary. Like real Jesus, I think Chocolate Jesus came to this world to teach us above love and humanity and faith and a bunch of other stuff. He is also made to die for our sins, particularly the sin of gluttony. Either way, Catholics have been chowing down on Jesus for centuries. Imagine how different the world would be if the apostle Paul brought his fondue pot to the Last Supper like he was supposed to. So I say embrace Chocolate Jesus! Actually, don't embrace him -- you'll get Chocolate Jesus on your clothes. But figuratively embrace Chocolate Jesus! By eating him! Chocolate Jesus would want it that way.
So I'm not really sure where I stand on the "Chocolate Jesus" controversy. Don't know about the Chocolate Jesus controversy? You can read about it here.
Apparently, some creative artist who specializes in the medium of food decided that it would be a good idea to sculpt a six-foot statute of the Son of God out of delicious milk chocolate, just in time for Easter celebration. And he called it "My Sweet Lord" which I guess is better than some of the alternative (My Sweet Creamy Lord, for example). Obviously people are offended by this, and not simply because the Messiah melts both in your mouth and on your hands, which I'm pretty sure has been against Catholic dogma for centuries, ever since the infallible Pope Pius IV declared that Jesus had a "thick candy shell."
Initially I was torn by this. On the one hand, I'm theoretically Catholic. I don't go to church or anything, I disagree with/disobey most of the rigorous disciplinary doctrines (particularly the ones involving my penis), and I'm embarrassed by the leadership -- but I plan on acting like the religion matters to me when I have children or approach certain death, whichever comes first. So that side of my life is infuriated that someone would dare to mock my Lord and Savior with a representation of His Holiness as an ephemeral sugary delight. Under no circumstances should someone be able to enjoy biting the head off of Jesus. I feel pretty strongly about this.
On the other hand, chocolate is delicious. So there's always that argument.
When I first encountered this story, I did not realize that we were talking about a large sculpture, but rather I thought that some budding Willy Wonka was mass producing these things to line Easter baskets for the coming Sunday morn. Now this would have been awesome. I totally would have loved to get a Chocolate Jesus, wrapped in shiny Jesus foil, perhaps with a creamy nougat center. They could have made a different Jesus for all fourteen stations of the cross. Heck, I would get behind all sorts of Easter-themed candy treats. Virgin Mary jellybeans. Crown of Thorns rock candy. Depictions of the crucification made of Peep. What better way to get the kids fired up about the resurrection of Christ than to have him come back to life as tasty goodness inside their mouths?
And then I got a look at this thing. Holy Hell.
That is one scary looking Chocolate Jesus. I didn't realize that it wasn't going to be kind, friendly, just woke up from his nap Jesus. This is agonizing in his final moments Jesus, battered by Roman torture and suffering from his sacrifice into human mortality. This is what my Chocolate Jesus would look like a few days after Easter, with some of his back shaved off by my incisors and his ears missing. The fact that he's both yummy and horrifying stirs me with inner turmoil. By eating him, just as God intended, am I inflicting pain? Or should I simply stand by to watch him melt, his delectable body going to waste for some higher cause?
You can see my quandary. Like real Jesus, I think Chocolate Jesus came to this world to teach us above love and humanity and faith and a bunch of other stuff. He is also made to die for our sins, particularly the sin of gluttony. Either way, Catholics have been chowing down on Jesus for centuries. Imagine how different the world would be if the apostle Paul brought his fondue pot to the Last Supper like he was supposed to. So I say embrace Chocolate Jesus! Actually, don't embrace him -- you'll get Chocolate Jesus on your clothes. But figuratively embrace Chocolate Jesus! By eating him! Chocolate Jesus would want it that way.
9:00 P.M. to 10:00 P.M.
How old are you?
Are you old enough?
Should you be in here watching that? -- #1257
The following takes place between 9:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m.
Jack Bauer: Bill, it’s Jack. I’m at the staging area. What’s the latest intel look like?
Bill Buchanan: It’s not good, Jack. Here at CTU we have a possible leak within the agency because we don’t know how to conduct a proper background check. Morris’ drinking problem has flared up and he had to be relieved of his station because he, um, relieved himself at his station. And Ricky Schroeder is here for some reason. We don’t know what to do with him, Jack. His bad skin is starting to creep everyone out.
Jack: Dammit! Have Milo open up some channels and sockets.
Bill: Jack, Milo and Nadia are busy having sex in the copy room.
Jack: Dammit! What’s going on with Washington?
Bill: It’s not good, Jack. There was another internal conspiracy in the government that resulted in an assassination attempt on President Palmer. And former President Whatshisname is dead, stabbed in the neck by his psycho ex-wife. That could be two assassinated presidents within the course of a few hours. Powers Boothe wants to start a nuclear war. Oh, and we’ve had two nuclear devices go off in California today. Sean Hannity is killing us right now. I can’t even imagine what Stephen Colbert is going to say later.
Jack: Dammit! Is there anything else I should know about?
Bill: There is, Jack. You’re entire family is dead. Father, brother, maternal grandmother, paternal grandmother — all dead. And all your pets. And your vegetable garden was burned and the earth scorched. And all your ex-girlfriends are dead too, Jack. Jenny McCready? Your prom date in 11th grade? Killed by a mortar shell to her car two hours ago. Wendy Simmons, who once gave you a handjob at the ZBT house during spring rush? We found her head in a freezer at a terrorist safehouse in Pamona. Anyone who has ever touched your penis is dead, Jack.
Jack: Dammit! Dammit dammit!!
Bill: What is it, Jack? What’s wrong?
Jack: Dammit, we’ve run out of plot devices.
Bill: That’s not possible, Jack. There have to be more options.
Jack: Dammit, Bill, I just used a retarded kid to lure an international terrorist out of hiding. We don’t have any choices left.
Bill: Hear me out on this one, Jack. Why not have one of CTU interns watch the Russian so that he easily escapes, and in the process of tracking him down, you get caught, get mercilessly tortured until near death, and then you narrowly escape by chewing your own arm off and beating your captors with your own bloody limb.
Jack: Dammit, that won’t work, Bill. I’ll pass out from shock before I eat through my arm. We only have one play left here.
Bill: I understand, Jack. It’s your call.
Jack: Dammit! Put Chloe on.
Chloe: Jack, it’s Chloe. What can I do?
Jack: Dammit, Chloe, go get pregnant. We need to make sure that you’re with child when we expose you to radiation at the end of this season.
Chloe: What, Jack? I don’t understand.
Jack: Dammit, Chloe, don’t argue with me. We need you to give birth and your mutant super-baby to destroy Los Angeles or they won’t renew us for another year. Do you understand, Chloe? I will do whatever it takes to save this show for one more season! Do you understand!?
Chloe: OK, Jack. I understand.
Jack: Dammit!!!
Are you old enough?
Should you be in here watching that? -- #1257
The following takes place between 9:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m.
Jack Bauer: Bill, it’s Jack. I’m at the staging area. What’s the latest intel look like?
Bill Buchanan: It’s not good, Jack. Here at CTU we have a possible leak within the agency because we don’t know how to conduct a proper background check. Morris’ drinking problem has flared up and he had to be relieved of his station because he, um, relieved himself at his station. And Ricky Schroeder is here for some reason. We don’t know what to do with him, Jack. His bad skin is starting to creep everyone out.
Jack: Dammit! Have Milo open up some channels and sockets.
Bill: Jack, Milo and Nadia are busy having sex in the copy room.
Jack: Dammit! What’s going on with Washington?
Bill: It’s not good, Jack. There was another internal conspiracy in the government that resulted in an assassination attempt on President Palmer. And former President Whatshisname is dead, stabbed in the neck by his psycho ex-wife. That could be two assassinated presidents within the course of a few hours. Powers Boothe wants to start a nuclear war. Oh, and we’ve had two nuclear devices go off in California today. Sean Hannity is killing us right now. I can’t even imagine what Stephen Colbert is going to say later.
Jack: Dammit! Is there anything else I should know about?
Bill: There is, Jack. You’re entire family is dead. Father, brother, maternal grandmother, paternal grandmother — all dead. And all your pets. And your vegetable garden was burned and the earth scorched. And all your ex-girlfriends are dead too, Jack. Jenny McCready? Your prom date in 11th grade? Killed by a mortar shell to her car two hours ago. Wendy Simmons, who once gave you a handjob at the ZBT house during spring rush? We found her head in a freezer at a terrorist safehouse in Pamona. Anyone who has ever touched your penis is dead, Jack.
Jack: Dammit! Dammit dammit!!
Bill: What is it, Jack? What’s wrong?
Jack: Dammit, we’ve run out of plot devices.
Bill: That’s not possible, Jack. There have to be more options.
Jack: Dammit, Bill, I just used a retarded kid to lure an international terrorist out of hiding. We don’t have any choices left.
Bill: Hear me out on this one, Jack. Why not have one of CTU interns watch the Russian so that he easily escapes, and in the process of tracking him down, you get caught, get mercilessly tortured until near death, and then you narrowly escape by chewing your own arm off and beating your captors with your own bloody limb.
Jack: Dammit, that won’t work, Bill. I’ll pass out from shock before I eat through my arm. We only have one play left here.
Bill: I understand, Jack. It’s your call.
Jack: Dammit! Put Chloe on.
Chloe: Jack, it’s Chloe. What can I do?
Jack: Dammit, Chloe, go get pregnant. We need to make sure that you’re with child when we expose you to radiation at the end of this season.
Chloe: What, Jack? I don’t understand.
Jack: Dammit, Chloe, don’t argue with me. We need you to give birth and your mutant super-baby to destroy Los Angeles or they won’t renew us for another year. Do you understand, Chloe? I will do whatever it takes to save this show for one more season! Do you understand!?
Chloe: OK, Jack. I understand.
Jack: Dammit!!!
the douchebag diaries
Red, red wine, all the time. -- #367
I had what I thought was going to be a great blog entry for something I want to make a running theme: my attempt to become even more of a douchebag by doing things that I know douchebags like to do. Here was the setup.
The first entry was going to be about my foray into the douchetastic world of wine tasting. I had it all planned out in my head. I was going to go to my local wine store, also known as the corner gas station, find the cheapest bottles of wine that I could, and write reviews of them, all the while ridiculing the techniques and behavior of douchebag wine enthusiasts. I bought some cheese and crackers, cleaned the apartment. I even went so far as to download some music that I thought would better set the mood. This was going to be the highlight of my week. Aside from getting told off by the director of "Grudge Fuck 6."
Turns out though that this was incredibly unfunny. And pathetic. What I anticipated would be a quirky little drinking story came off more like a sad attempt to seduce myself -- I had candles going and everything -- which was a complete waste of time because, like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman", I'm a sure thing. Nothing remotely amusing came out of it, aside from calling Jack Johnson a "regular douchebag's douchebag," which should be the title of his next album. Even the wine wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be, just generally bad. And I made the mistake of buying a "wine-like product" that I thought was just cheap wine, which I guess I can save for the next time I'm hanging out with tramps down at the hobo camp.
So my awesome idea for entertainment turned out to be me, by myself, chugging merlot straight from the bottle and watching "Poseidon." The end result was a blistering headache and a feeling of absolute self-loathing. I hate myself right now. The lesson? You can't force yourself to become a douchebag.
I had what I thought was going to be a great blog entry for something I want to make a running theme: my attempt to become even more of a douchebag by doing things that I know douchebags like to do. Here was the setup.
From time to time on this blog I’m going to write about stuff that I think douchebags like to do, in order to broaden my douchebag range and unlock my inner douche potential. Where does the douchebag like to travel? What kind of restaurants do douchebags frequent? What is it like to be on a date with a douchebag? These are things that the world need to know. And I’m just the douchebag to tell them.
The first entry was going to be about my foray into the douchetastic world of wine tasting. I had it all planned out in my head. I was going to go to my local wine store, also known as the corner gas station, find the cheapest bottles of wine that I could, and write reviews of them, all the while ridiculing the techniques and behavior of douchebag wine enthusiasts. I bought some cheese and crackers, cleaned the apartment. I even went so far as to download some music that I thought would better set the mood. This was going to be the highlight of my week. Aside from getting told off by the director of "Grudge Fuck 6."
Turns out though that this was incredibly unfunny. And pathetic. What I anticipated would be a quirky little drinking story came off more like a sad attempt to seduce myself -- I had candles going and everything -- which was a complete waste of time because, like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman", I'm a sure thing. Nothing remotely amusing came out of it, aside from calling Jack Johnson a "regular douchebag's douchebag," which should be the title of his next album. Even the wine wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be, just generally bad. And I made the mistake of buying a "wine-like product" that I thought was just cheap wine, which I guess I can save for the next time I'm hanging out with tramps down at the hobo camp.
So my awesome idea for entertainment turned out to be me, by myself, chugging merlot straight from the bottle and watching "Poseidon." The end result was a blistering headache and a feeling of absolute self-loathing. I hate myself right now. The lesson? You can't force yourself to become a douchebag.
satan is in my belly
I am just a cowboy, lonesome on the trail. -- #666
Last night my vegan friend whipped me up what looked like scrambled eggs and sausages from some ancient vegan secret recipe or something. I like to make fun of vegans. Because they don't eat meat. Admittedly, this is pretty dumb.
Anyway, my friend was absolutely delighted that I was enjoying the vegan food, even though I kept tempering my enthusiasm by mentioning "You know I'm pretty drunk right now?" I would have eaten a used Maxi-pad if she told me that it was a burrito covered in barbecue sauce. Anyway, the meat stuff that she was using is called seitan, which I had never heard of because I eat cows and chickens and pigs and goats and lobsters and pretty much anything else that is living that I can assert dominance over. By eating it. As an added bonus, seitan also sounds like you're saying "Satan", which means that you can endlessly amuse yourself by saying things like "I'm eating Satan right now" and "Satan is in my belly" and "Satan is a healthy alternative when you're drunk and hungry."
She also has an environmentally friendly toothbrush. This little thing:
It looks like a regular toothbrush, only it coats your teeth with an extra level of self-righteousness. I kid, Earth lovers. Keep fighting the green fight. Someday your hippy utopia of petruli skies and streets lined with granola will come true.
Last night my vegan friend whipped me up what looked like scrambled eggs and sausages from some ancient vegan secret recipe or something. I like to make fun of vegans. Because they don't eat meat. Admittedly, this is pretty dumb.
Anyway, my friend was absolutely delighted that I was enjoying the vegan food, even though I kept tempering my enthusiasm by mentioning "You know I'm pretty drunk right now?" I would have eaten a used Maxi-pad if she told me that it was a burrito covered in barbecue sauce. Anyway, the meat stuff that she was using is called seitan, which I had never heard of because I eat cows and chickens and pigs and goats and lobsters and pretty much anything else that is living that I can assert dominance over. By eating it. As an added bonus, seitan also sounds like you're saying "Satan", which means that you can endlessly amuse yourself by saying things like "I'm eating Satan right now" and "Satan is in my belly" and "Satan is a healthy alternative when you're drunk and hungry."
She also has an environmentally friendly toothbrush. This little thing:
It looks like a regular toothbrush, only it coats your teeth with an extra level of self-righteousness. I kid, Earth lovers. Keep fighting the green fight. Someday your hippy utopia of petruli skies and streets lined with granola will come true.
the claudia principle
I don't usually say things like this to girls your age ... -- #457
Every Wednesday night, like 12 million other Americans, I watch "Lost." And like most of those 12 million, my interest in it has slowly waned since the start of the season. "What? The survivors stumbled onto another oddity on the island that makes no sense, never gets explained, but yet no one seems the least bit freaked out about it?" It was bad enough that they killed off the lovely Michelle Rodriguez, but when the best character on the show, Mr. Eko, was tossed around by the charcoal smoke monster -- and no one seemed phazed by it -- that's when I started to get pissed off at "Lost." Think about it. You're trapped on an island with no hope of escape, there's very little food, a mysterious group of people keep picking members of your party off, there's a polar bear running around in a f**king jungle, and then the biggest guy in camp is killed by global warming with teeth. I'd flip out. You'd find me the next day isolated in a palm tree, wearing Charlie's skin for protection.
Anyway, there is one saving grace to the season: lovely actress Tania Raymonde, who plays Ben/Danielle's daughter Alex. I get an extra little kick out of seeing her, because I remember seeing something special in her years before. About seven years ago I was watching "Malcolm in the Middle" one night and I developed a COMPLETELY NON-SEXUAL Timothy Hutton on Natalie Portman in "Beautiful Girls" crush on Malcolm's rejected girlfriend, Cynthia. She was kind of quirky, she knew Krav Maga, and she didn't care what you thought. You just knew she was going to grow up into a total heartbreaker. Malcolm was such a twit for not realizing this. What the hell was wrong with that little punk that he could blow off cute Cynthia like that? He looked like newborn left in a dumpster by his prom-going mom. I friggin' hated Malcolm.
But the actress playing Cynthia was Tania Raymonde, same gal now starring in "Lost." Here she was then:
And here she is now:
I know! Baby is definitely all grown up.
But this got me to thinking. In the age of Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears and Hillary Duff, we're absolutely inundated with these kids and we basically watch them grow up behind a camera lens. Some of these kids turn out very well -- LeAnn Rimes, Mandy Moore, Jessica Simpson. Some do not (look at the tragedy that seems to be unfolding with poor Kirstin Dunst). Either way, predicting the career arc of young Hollywood should be course of study in college. It's certainly more important than something like sociology or "political science." Let's get working on this America. For the sake of our futures, and our children's futures.
Either way, I'm tentatively calling this phenomenon The Claudia Principle, after one of my friends would insist -- and yes, it was very creepy at the time -- would insist that little Claudia Salinger on "Party of Five," played by Lacey Chabert, was going to grow up to be a total hottie someday. Did I mention that we thought it was really creepy at the time? I can't stress this enough. Here's Lacey then:
And here she is now:
I know. It was creepy. But damn if he didn't nail it.
Every Wednesday night, like 12 million other Americans, I watch "Lost." And like most of those 12 million, my interest in it has slowly waned since the start of the season. "What? The survivors stumbled onto another oddity on the island that makes no sense, never gets explained, but yet no one seems the least bit freaked out about it?" It was bad enough that they killed off the lovely Michelle Rodriguez, but when the best character on the show, Mr. Eko, was tossed around by the charcoal smoke monster -- and no one seemed phazed by it -- that's when I started to get pissed off at "Lost." Think about it. You're trapped on an island with no hope of escape, there's very little food, a mysterious group of people keep picking members of your party off, there's a polar bear running around in a f**king jungle, and then the biggest guy in camp is killed by global warming with teeth. I'd flip out. You'd find me the next day isolated in a palm tree, wearing Charlie's skin for protection.
Anyway, there is one saving grace to the season: lovely actress Tania Raymonde, who plays Ben/Danielle's daughter Alex. I get an extra little kick out of seeing her, because I remember seeing something special in her years before. About seven years ago I was watching "Malcolm in the Middle" one night and I developed a COMPLETELY NON-SEXUAL Timothy Hutton on Natalie Portman in "Beautiful Girls" crush on Malcolm's rejected girlfriend, Cynthia. She was kind of quirky, she knew Krav Maga, and she didn't care what you thought. You just knew she was going to grow up into a total heartbreaker. Malcolm was such a twit for not realizing this. What the hell was wrong with that little punk that he could blow off cute Cynthia like that? He looked like newborn left in a dumpster by his prom-going mom. I friggin' hated Malcolm.
But the actress playing Cynthia was Tania Raymonde, same gal now starring in "Lost." Here she was then:
And here she is now:
I know! Baby is definitely all grown up.
But this got me to thinking. In the age of Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears and Hillary Duff, we're absolutely inundated with these kids and we basically watch them grow up behind a camera lens. Some of these kids turn out very well -- LeAnn Rimes, Mandy Moore, Jessica Simpson. Some do not (look at the tragedy that seems to be unfolding with poor Kirstin Dunst). Either way, predicting the career arc of young Hollywood should be course of study in college. It's certainly more important than something like sociology or "political science." Let's get working on this America. For the sake of our futures, and our children's futures.
Either way, I'm tentatively calling this phenomenon The Claudia Principle, after one of my friends would insist -- and yes, it was very creepy at the time -- would insist that little Claudia Salinger on "Party of Five," played by Lacey Chabert, was going to grow up to be a total hottie someday. Did I mention that we thought it was really creepy at the time? I can't stress this enough. Here's Lacey then:
And here she is now:
I know. It was creepy. But damn if he didn't nail it.
spring is crazy
Done! Done! Onto the next one! -- #279
A couple a years ago a girlfriend on mine bought me prints of Mucha's representations of the seasons. Here's Spring:
Decent stuff, right? Maybe not a perfect ten, but kind of a looker. Nice gams, well-bodied hair, erotic little robe, flowers all around. You'd probably buy Spring a drink at the bar, try to get her number, maybe even take her to see a movie starring Drew Barrymore and/or one of the Wilson brothers.
So today, outside right now, there's a foot of snow covering all the greenery. Every walkway and parking lot has close to a foot of loose mud. The sun is blazing in the sky, only it's still considerably cold out -- hat weather, is the best way to describe it. Yesterday it snowed, tomorrow it might rain. The sun melts away a few inches of snow in the afternoon, and at night when the temperature drops below freezing, everything turns to ice.
A couple a years ago a girlfriend on mine bought me prints of Mucha's representations of the seasons. Here's Spring:
Decent stuff, right? Maybe not a perfect ten, but kind of a looker. Nice gams, well-bodied hair, erotic little robe, flowers all around. You'd probably buy Spring a drink at the bar, try to get her number, maybe even take her to see a movie starring Drew Barrymore and/or one of the Wilson brothers.
So today, outside right now, there's a foot of snow covering all the greenery. Every walkway and parking lot has close to a foot of loose mud. The sun is blazing in the sky, only it's still considerably cold out -- hat weather, is the best way to describe it. Yesterday it snowed, tomorrow it might rain. The sun melts away a few inches of snow in the afternoon, and at night when the temperature drops below freezing, everything turns to ice.
Spring is a real crazy broad. She might look all inviting and refreshing and indicative of a period of rebirth, but when she goes home I bet she dresses one of her several cats up in baby clothes and pushes it around her apartment in a stroller while saying "Mommy loves baby, Mommy loves baby!" and shaking Xanex into her mouth.
things you can't unsee
Let the children lose it, let the children use it, let all the children boogie -- #69
John Locke (not the one from "Lost") once wrote: "I attribute the little I know to my not having been ashamed to ask for information, and to my rule of conversing with all descriptions of men on those topics that form their own peculiar professions and pursuits." And that's why I decided to watch the AVN Awards on Playboy TV one afternoon.
AVN stand for Adult Video News, the premier media outlet for the adult entertainment industry. In other words, the AVN Awards are the porno Oscars. Every year the fine folks responsible for those delightful films that grace the shelves of rooms surreptitiously snuck into in the back of video stores get together with a few thousand other degenerates, perverts, freaks, geeks, pimps, ho’s, amputee midgets, circus clowns, pizza boys, cable installers, pipe fitters, chicks with dicks, scat fanciers, and gerbil enthusiasts — all to celebrate the latest high achievements of our basest form of culture. It’s basicallytelevised Sodom
So honestly, how could I resist. And how could I not provide a play-by-play account of the whole thing.
Before we begin, we’re forgoing the traditional time designations for each entry, as best employed by Bill Simmons, because when you’re under the siren spell of Sweet Lady Pornography, time has no meaning. I also don’t want to constantly remind everyone that I’m sitting alone watching pay-per-porn at 3:00 in the afternoon.
... AND WE'RE ON! Tonight’s ceremonies are being preceded by a half-hour red carpet show, hosted by Playboy/porn personalities Jesse Jane, Kirsten Price, and Daisy Marie. It’s an opportunity for the girls to ask the performers, “So who aren’t you wearing?” Thank you, remember to tip your servers. I’ll be here all week.
... Some highlights from the red carpet show:
Mandalay Bay Resort Center in Las Vegas , Nevada Reno
... A member of the paparazzi jumps out to snap Jenna Jameson's photo. Jenna silently nods to one of the Club Jenna girls, who casually removes a pin from her hair and whips it into the photographer's jugular.
... The host for this magical evening is buzzcut comedian Jim Norton. George Clooney must have been their second choice. By my estimation, Norton is probably the fourth most famous person in the room, behind Gene Simmons, Jenna Jameson, and Carrot Top, and just ahead of Dustin Diamond. Don’t worry,America
... Jimmy goes into a five-minute bit about his new girlfriend’s bedroom proclivities, which remarkably makes uncomfortable a room full of people that tape each other having sex. They haven’t seen anyone bomb like this since Peter North started his own website.
... Co-hosting tonight is Jessica Drake. She has a classic pornstar look: peroxide hair, hard face covered by several inches of makeup, surgically repaired teeth, and enough silicon in her body to kill a pony. I like her. She’s a throwback to a simpler age, like 1986.
... If I were writing a porn script, I’d call it “The Throwback.” It would be about a pornstar with a classic look that does a lot of guys. I think that by typing that last sentence, I just got nominated for Best Original Script in the 2008 AVN Awards.
... First award of the night, Best Supporting Actress, goes to Asian starlet Katsumi, who promptly thanks the room in broken English for not giving her an award involving anal. Ladies and gentlemen, the 2007 AVN Awards!
... They also need to come up with a nickname for the award. I'm thinking something like "The Sploogie."
... Does Gene Simmons look at himself in the mirror before he leaves the house? His hairpiece just started growling at one of his co-presenters. And I’m also not a big fan of his “I’m too big to be here” attitude right now. This is a guy that once whored his band out to sell coffins. Let’s not invite him next year. You’re better than that, adult entertainment industry.
... The very petite Jenna Haze wins Best Oral Scene (along with like five dudes, including one named Arnold Schwartzenpecker). She thanks her boyfriend, who also doubles as her director. Awwww. This is either very sweet or downright horrifying.
... Unfortunately I can’t print any of Jenna’s acceptance speech without sounding like I have Tourette's, but let’s just say that she really really enjoys something that rhymes with “ducking clocks.” Really enjoys it. She’s mentioned it like four times now in the last ten seconds.
... Jenna gushes about her love for ducking clocks again and now I’m wondering if they incorporate the “wrap it up” music at this award show. Wouldn’t it have to be the bow-chicka-bow-bow guitar riff? I’m intrigued.
... After each award they show a thirty second clip of the fine work that earned the honor. It’s just like the Oscars, only instead of a clip of Helen Mirren in “The Queen,” it's Jenna Haze being beaten across the face with a half-dozen baguettes.
... That reminds me: who decides who gets these awards? Is there a porn academy out there? Would it be made up of former pornstars and porn directors? Do you think Christie Canyon gets a copy of “Spunk Guzzlers 8” in the mail along with a note saying “For your AVN consideration”?
... I was just perusing the AVN website to see who's in their Hall of Fame. Sadly, no stats. And I'm still a little confused as to how Andre Dawson got in.
... During breaks in the action, they show little comedic skits featuring male porn stars doing silly things. This one's for Anthony Hardwood’s Pornstar Bootcamp. Based on his accent, Anthony is from … well, I really don’t know. It could be anywhere.Italy Germany
... Porn veteran Savanna Samson comes out looking like one of the chess pieces that Mel Brooks humped in “History of the World.” She’s joined by newcomer Sasha Grey, who’s been in the business for two months and yet has managed to do over 18,000 movies.
... Only two of the four winners of Best All-Girl Scene come on stage to accept their award. I think the other two are refusing their award to protest
... All-Girl winner Sophia Santi is actually non-porn hot, which begs the timeless question: What drives a girl to work in porn? Is it the money? Is it the glamor? Is it the fame? Or is it a disturbing level of childhood sexual abuse at the hands of a close family friend or relative? I think it’s the glamor.
... Three possible transsexuals come out to present Best Couples Sex Scene, each introduced as being a “contract” girl. From what I can gather, being a contract girl means that you’re exclusive to a production company, sort of the way thatHollywood
... OK, maybe “seedy” is a bit strong. After all, I am talking about an industry that makes millions of dollars manufacturing latex anuses of women for lonely men to ejaculate into.
... Porn veteran Janine and some surprisingly charming foreign dude win for Best Couple, which brings up an interesting celeb story that I’m depressed that I know. Janine used to be married to Jesse James of West Coast Choppers fame, and she was known as doing only girl-on-girl porn scenes. They’ve subsequently divorced. He swiftly married a botox-riddled Sandra Bullock, while she decided to start gang-humping men on film. In terms of post-divorce revenge, I’m calling this a draw.
... After showing the montage of hardcore sex clips that earned the award, the audience always responds with a polite golf clap. On a comedy scale from 1 to 10, this ranks about a 69.
... 69 -- giggle. I’m thirty three, by the way. Same age as Jesus when he died.
... The three trannys stay on stage to announce the winner of Best Male Performer. The camera cycles through hysterical glamour shots of male performers with names like John Strong, Justin Slayer, and Scott Nails. I have zero regrets about spending $9 dollars to watch this.
... Tommy Gunn, which is possibly a stage name, wins Best Male Performer. And unconscionably forgets to thank his penis. This is exactly like when Hilary Swank won Best Actress for “Boys Don’t Cry” and forgot to thank her husband Chad Lowe.
... However, Tommy does thank “the powers that let me do what I do.” In other words, he praised God for allowing him to get an erection on cue to have sex with women on film for money. I guess He does have a plan for everyone.
... Did I mention yet that the sun is out right now? And that I’m working on my fourth Guinness? And that I’m watching pornography?
... The Best Impression of a Buttplug Award goes to David Blaine wannabe Cris Angel. Seriously, what a douche. Not only is he a white guy wearing more jewelry than Mr. T, but he’s mentioned his ridiculous magic show about three times. I’m just glad that in about two weeks he’ll be waiting at his doctors office, looking for a little magic to make his hepatitis disappear.
... "They’re illusions, Michael. A trick is something a whore does for money. Or cocaine! " I’m having wayyyyy too much fun right now.
... And the host Jessica Drake wins Best Actress. How rigged are these awards? Where’s the integrity? Frankly I expected a little more from the porn industry.
... Jessica is on the verge of tears. And I had a decent joke lined up right now involving the phrase “showing lots of spunk,” but let’s just let her enjoy the moment.
... Ron Jeremy is like the Jack Nicholson of these things. He sits in the front row, absorbs a third of the jokes, and he’s probably slept with about 80% of the room. Can’t we just get him his own line of Nicholson porn movies? “Sleezy Rider.” “One Blew Over the Cuckoos Nest.” “As Good As It Wets.” I could do this all day.
... Another semi-celeb sighting, as rock star Dave Navarro shows up solely to piss ex-wife Carmen Electra off. Am I the only one who remembers Dave’s early career as a dreadlocked nerd in Jane’s Addiction? Now he’s the top of the feeding chain for tonight’s post-show festivities. And I live in a basement apartment, playing his songs on Guitar Hero. Excuse me while I go chew my wrists open.
... Randy Spears wins Best Film Actor for his sturdy work in “Manhunters.” There’s a running theme tonight where most of the male performers have lost their voice for some reason. I think collectively they decided to scream “I get paid to have sex with hot women!” on the roof of the casino before the show.
... I’m not quite sure what’s going on right now, but apparently there’s some kind of porn dance number being staged, which I can only describe as a live-action version of the video game Megaman. Only Megaman is wearing a thong. And dry-humping the lamp from "Beauty and the Beast."
... Megaman just got the level where he fights the naked boss in a steel mask holding a dildo. They should just have announced to the room, “If anyone needs to hit the bathroom for a bump, now would be a good time.”
... Shane Diesel, known to the porn crowd as “Blackzilla,” comes out with starlets Flower Tucci and Cassidy. Flower is wearing a ballroom gown with the seat removed, while poor Cassidy would clearly not pass a drug test. If you watch the segment where all this unfolds, I’m pretty sure you can attain a state of nirvana.
... Belladonna, who I remember from her MTV special “True Life: I’m in a Gang Bang!” is up for like her twelfth award of the night (Best Actress Film), only you just know she isn’t going to win. She’s like the Kate Winslet of these things. She should try to figure out how to squirt her orgasm. Come to think of it, they both should.
... And Hillary Scott upsets Missy Monroe (star of “The Da Vinci Load”) to win Best Actress! I have no idea why I’m screaming right now!
... Hilly is wearing a pink see-through … well, I guess that’s a dress. I mean, it’s a piece of cloth stuck on her body, so I guess we can call it a dress. “Hilly” is a cute little nickname I made up for her just now. In case she wants to call me.
... Cassidy just provided the unequivocal highlight of the night, slurring and stumbling through her introduction to Best All-Sex Release (whatever that is) while simultaneously falling out of her top. Do you know these girls have sex on film for money? I had no idea.
... After we shoot “The Throwback,” my next film is going to be called “The Interventionist.” It’s about a pornstar that self-destructs on stage at the AVN Awards and needs an intervention. A sexy intervention. Starring Holden Beaver and Jizzy Curtains. I'm drunk right now, by the way.
... I’m still a little distracted by Cassidy’s Courtney Love impression, but suddenly a cute and pleasant blonde is thanking the crowd for her award in something disturbing called “Blacklight Beauties.” I really don’t want to know. She’s joined by a guy that I think we've all seen: the edgy video store clerk that sneers at all your rentals. I hate that guy. Dark nerd glasses like Rivers Cuomo. Wears Converse sneakers and a dark dress shirt buttoned to his neck. Loves Japanese anime and hates Quentin Tarantino. You just know he got his ass kicked every day in junior high school. Now he’s an award-winning porn director. Take that, lunch money thieves!
... FYI: every single porn producer looks exactly like Jim Dolan.
... Norton introduces unfunny comedian Bobby Slaton, who apparently has hosted this thing three times before, thus making him the Johnny Carson of the porn industry. By the way, if I were ever invited to the Playboy Mansion (it could happen), the odds of me running into certain celebrities at any given time are: Ben Roethlisberger (2:1), Joe Rogan (3:1), Bobby Slaton (5:1), Owen Wilson (3:1) . . .
... It’s a very tight field for the award for Female Performer of the Year. Figuratively, not literally. Remind me to take a shower after I finish watching this.
... And Hillary Scott wins again! What a magical night for her. Watching Hilly stroll to the stage in a sheer pink shower-curtain one can only hark back to a young Grace Kelly enchanting the nation with her feminine poise and delicate smile. Hillary demurely bows her head as they show clips from her movie, “Blonde, Dumb, and Full of Cum.” Her parents must be so proud.
... Big moment right now, Best Film, with the favorite figuring to be “The Provocateur,” the directorial debut of porn kingpin Jenna Jameson. And “Manhunters” wins in a shocking upset! The winning director smiles on-stage to ponder the magnitude of his achievement while Jenna silently closes her fist and reduces a set of dice into crumbling dust.
... Jessica Drake introduces the night’s musical entertainment, Guns and Roses cover band Buckcherry, as performing their “Grammy nominated hit ‘Crazy Bitch.’” That’s not possible, is it? I’m checking this out on Google. I would hate to see the 2007 AVN Awards marred by a factual error.
... Wow. In Bono-like fashion, as the guitar solo winds down, the lead singer of Buckcherry monologs to the crowd, “Do you know what the difference is between a regular chick and a crazy bitch?” It’s like the mystery of the sphinx. The answer, of course, involves how readily the girl accepts his disease-riddled seed on her face. Charming.
... Again, wow. You simply cannot fathom what a raging jag-off the lead singer of Buckcherry is. And I’m making that comment as the camera pans across an auditorium filled with grossly overweight men with fake gold chains and bowling shirts. Now would be a perfect time to play one of those John Mellencamp “This Is Our Country” ads.
... How come they don’t have a segment during the show where they honor all the pornstars that have died over the past year?
...
... Wearing something from the East Tallahatchie Lot Lizard Collection, Kimberly Kane flips off the camera and then points out all the people in the audience that she's f**ked. Get to knitting some more baby clothes, Mom. Your first-born son is in love.
...
... And the Sploogie goes to ... “Corruption,” starring Hillary Scott. 'Atta girl, Hilly! And somewhere I have a joke about how she's going to carry all her trophies home, but this her night.
... WheMandalay
The Da Vinci Load -- heh heh.
A Running Diary of the 2007 AVN Awards
John Locke (not the one from "Lost") once wrote: "I attribute the little I know to my not having been ashamed to ask for information, and to my rule of conversing with all descriptions of men on those topics that form their own peculiar professions and pursuits." And that's why I decided to watch the AVN Awards on Playboy TV one afternoon.
AVN stand for Adult Video News, the premier media outlet for the adult entertainment industry. In other words, the AVN Awards are the porno Oscars. Every year the fine folks responsible for those delightful films that grace the shelves of rooms surreptitiously snuck into in the back of video stores get together with a few thousand other degenerates, perverts, freaks, geeks, pimps, ho’s, amputee midgets, circus clowns, pizza boys, cable installers, pipe fitters, chicks with dicks, scat fanciers, and gerbil enthusiasts — all to celebrate the latest high achievements of our basest form of culture. It’s basically
So honestly, how could I resist. And how could I not provide a play-by-play account of the whole thing.
Before we begin, we’re forgoing the traditional time designations for each entry, as best employed by Bill Simmons, because when you’re under the siren spell of Sweet Lady Pornography, time has no meaning. I also don’t want to constantly remind everyone that I’m sitting alone watching pay-per-porn at 3:00 in the afternoon.
... AND WE'RE ON! Tonight’s ceremonies are being preceded by a half-hour red carpet show, hosted by Playboy/porn personalities Jesse Jane, Kirsten Price, and Daisy Marie. It’s an opportunity for the girls to ask the performers, “So who aren’t you wearing?” Thank you, remember to tip your servers. I’ll be here all week.
... Some highlights from the red carpet show:
- I’ve struggled for about five minutes to come up with an adjective to describe Jesse Jane and still have nothing. She’s a flyweight blonde with about 25 pounds of silicon in her chest, she’s jarringly enthusiastic about the porn business, and she couldn’t be more annoying if she was trying to sell me life insurance. My penis is really confused right now. It’s like he’s playing Scrabble against Noam Chomsky.
- Highest of high comedy is the male companions for some of the nominees. Every single one looks like James Hetfield during the first hour of "Some Kind of Monster," right down to the bad skin, weird facial hair, and hungover/possibly high expression. It's a hoot. If you’ve ever been amused by the look on a guy’s face while he follows his wife around shoe shopping, imagine trying to act supportive of your girlfriend during her bid to win the award for Best Double Penetration.
- Within ten minutes of watching this thing and being bored, um, stiff . . . I started to think that maybe this was a bad idea. And then Jesse announced how excited she was to see the cast of the movie “The Da Vinci Load.” Money well spent.
- Most awkward moment of the night came when Daisy Marie interviewed starlet Nautica Thorn and lamented that she hadn’t f**ked her yet, to which Nautica replied, “Yes, you did, about two years ago.” Wow. Palpable porn tension. Daisy quickly defused the situation by showing the viewers her lack of undergarments.
- I don’t quite get it, but apparently Vivid Video and Wicked Pictures are like the Crips and the Bloods of the porn industry. Things could get ugly tonight. Like The Source Awards, only I think with more saline and hair extensions.
... A member of the paparazzi jumps out to snap Jenna Jameson's photo. Jenna silently nods to one of the Club Jenna girls, who casually removes a pin from her hair and whips it into the photographer's jugular.
... The host for this magical evening is buzzcut comedian Jim Norton. George Clooney must have been their second choice. By my estimation, Norton is probably the fourth most famous person in the room, behind Gene Simmons, Jenna Jameson, and Carrot Top, and just ahead of Dustin Diamond. Don’t worry,
... Jimmy goes into a five-minute bit about his new girlfriend’s bedroom proclivities, which remarkably makes uncomfortable a room full of people that tape each other having sex. They haven’t seen anyone bomb like this since Peter North started his own website.
... Co-hosting tonight is Jessica Drake. She has a classic pornstar look: peroxide hair, hard face covered by several inches of makeup, surgically repaired teeth, and enough silicon in her body to kill a pony. I like her. She’s a throwback to a simpler age, like 1986.
... If I were writing a porn script, I’d call it “The Throwback.” It would be about a pornstar with a classic look that does a lot of guys. I think that by typing that last sentence, I just got nominated for Best Original Script in the 2008 AVN Awards.
... First award of the night, Best Supporting Actress, goes to Asian starlet Katsumi, who promptly thanks the room in broken English for not giving her an award involving anal. Ladies and gentlemen, the 2007 AVN Awards!
... They also need to come up with a nickname for the award. I'm thinking something like "The Sploogie."
... Does Gene Simmons look at himself in the mirror before he leaves the house? His hairpiece just started growling at one of his co-presenters. And I’m also not a big fan of his “I’m too big to be here” attitude right now. This is a guy that once whored his band out to sell coffins. Let’s not invite him next year. You’re better than that, adult entertainment industry.
... The very petite Jenna Haze wins Best Oral Scene (along with like five dudes, including one named Arnold Schwartzenpecker). She thanks her boyfriend, who also doubles as her director. Awwww. This is either very sweet or downright horrifying.
... Unfortunately I can’t print any of Jenna’s acceptance speech without sounding like I have Tourette's, but let’s just say that she really really enjoys something that rhymes with “ducking clocks.” Really enjoys it. She’s mentioned it like four times now in the last ten seconds.
... Jenna gushes about her love for ducking clocks again and now I’m wondering if they incorporate the “wrap it up” music at this award show. Wouldn’t it have to be the bow-chicka-bow-bow guitar riff? I’m intrigued.
... After each award they show a thirty second clip of the fine work that earned the honor. It’s just like the Oscars, only instead of a clip of Helen Mirren in “The Queen,” it's Jenna Haze being beaten across the face with a half-dozen baguettes.
... That reminds me: who decides who gets these awards? Is there a porn academy out there? Would it be made up of former pornstars and porn directors? Do you think Christie Canyon gets a copy of “Spunk Guzzlers 8” in the mail along with a note saying “For your AVN consideration”?
... I was just perusing the AVN website to see who's in their Hall of Fame. Sadly, no stats. And I'm still a little confused as to how Andre Dawson got in.
... During breaks in the action, they show little comedic skits featuring male porn stars doing silly things. This one's for Anthony Hardwood’s Pornstar Bootcamp. Based on his accent, Anthony is from … well, I really don’t know. It could be anywhere.
... Porn veteran Savanna Samson comes out looking like one of the chess pieces that Mel Brooks humped in “History of the World.” She’s joined by newcomer Sasha Grey, who’s been in the business for two months and yet has managed to do over 18,000 movies.
... Only two of the four winners of Best All-Girl Scene come on stage to accept their award. I think the other two are refusing their award to protest
... All-Girl winner Sophia Santi is actually non-porn hot, which begs the timeless question: What drives a girl to work in porn? Is it the money? Is it the glamor? Is it the fame? Or is it a disturbing level of childhood sexual abuse at the hands of a close family friend or relative? I think it’s the glamor.
... Three possible transsexuals come out to present Best Couples Sex Scene, each introduced as being a “contract” girl. From what I can gather, being a contract girl means that you’re exclusive to a production company, sort of the way that
... OK, maybe “seedy” is a bit strong. After all, I am talking about an industry that makes millions of dollars manufacturing latex anuses of women for lonely men to ejaculate into.
... Porn veteran Janine and some surprisingly charming foreign dude win for Best Couple, which brings up an interesting celeb story that I’m depressed that I know. Janine used to be married to Jesse James of West Coast Choppers fame, and she was known as doing only girl-on-girl porn scenes. They’ve subsequently divorced. He swiftly married a botox-riddled Sandra Bullock, while she decided to start gang-humping men on film. In terms of post-divorce revenge, I’m calling this a draw.
... After showing the montage of hardcore sex clips that earned the award, the audience always responds with a polite golf clap. On a comedy scale from 1 to 10, this ranks about a 69.
... 69 -- giggle. I’m thirty three, by the way. Same age as Jesus when he died.
... The three trannys stay on stage to announce the winner of Best Male Performer. The camera cycles through hysterical glamour shots of male performers with names like John Strong, Justin Slayer, and Scott Nails. I have zero regrets about spending $9 dollars to watch this.
... Tommy Gunn, which is possibly a stage name, wins Best Male Performer. And unconscionably forgets to thank his penis. This is exactly like when Hilary Swank won Best Actress for “Boys Don’t Cry” and forgot to thank her husband Chad Lowe.
... However, Tommy does thank “the powers that let me do what I do.” In other words, he praised God for allowing him to get an erection on cue to have sex with women on film for money. I guess He does have a plan for everyone.
... Did I mention yet that the sun is out right now? And that I’m working on my fourth Guinness? And that I’m watching pornography?
... The Best Impression of a Buttplug Award goes to David Blaine wannabe Cris Angel. Seriously, what a douche. Not only is he a white guy wearing more jewelry than Mr. T, but he’s mentioned his ridiculous magic show about three times. I’m just glad that in about two weeks he’ll be waiting at his doctors office, looking for a little magic to make his hepatitis disappear.
... "They’re illusions, Michael. A trick is something a whore does for money. Or cocaine! " I’m having wayyyyy too much fun right now.
... And the host Jessica Drake wins Best Actress. How rigged are these awards? Where’s the integrity? Frankly I expected a little more from the porn industry.
... Jessica is on the verge of tears. And I had a decent joke lined up right now involving the phrase “showing lots of spunk,” but let’s just let her enjoy the moment.
... Ron Jeremy is like the Jack Nicholson of these things. He sits in the front row, absorbs a third of the jokes, and he’s probably slept with about 80% of the room. Can’t we just get him his own line of Nicholson porn movies? “Sleezy Rider.” “One Blew Over the Cuckoos Nest.” “As Good As It Wets.” I could do this all day.
... Another semi-celeb sighting, as rock star Dave Navarro shows up solely to piss ex-wife Carmen Electra off. Am I the only one who remembers Dave’s early career as a dreadlocked nerd in Jane’s Addiction? Now he’s the top of the feeding chain for tonight’s post-show festivities. And I live in a basement apartment, playing his songs on Guitar Hero. Excuse me while I go chew my wrists open.
... Randy Spears wins Best Film Actor for his sturdy work in “Manhunters.” There’s a running theme tonight where most of the male performers have lost their voice for some reason. I think collectively they decided to scream “I get paid to have sex with hot women!” on the roof of the casino before the show.
... I’m not quite sure what’s going on right now, but apparently there’s some kind of porn dance number being staged, which I can only describe as a live-action version of the video game Megaman. Only Megaman is wearing a thong. And dry-humping the lamp from "Beauty and the Beast."
... Megaman just got the level where he fights the naked boss in a steel mask holding a dildo. They should just have announced to the room, “If anyone needs to hit the bathroom for a bump, now would be a good time.”
... Shane Diesel, known to the porn crowd as “Blackzilla,” comes out with starlets Flower Tucci and Cassidy. Flower is wearing a ballroom gown with the seat removed, while poor Cassidy would clearly not pass a drug test. If you watch the segment where all this unfolds, I’m pretty sure you can attain a state of nirvana.
... Belladonna, who I remember from her MTV special “True Life: I’m in a Gang Bang!” is up for like her twelfth award of the night (Best Actress Film), only you just know she isn’t going to win. She’s like the Kate Winslet of these things. She should try to figure out how to squirt her orgasm. Come to think of it, they both should.
... And Hillary Scott upsets Missy Monroe (star of “The Da Vinci Load”) to win Best Actress! I have no idea why I’m screaming right now!
... Hilly is wearing a pink see-through … well, I guess that’s a dress. I mean, it’s a piece of cloth stuck on her body, so I guess we can call it a dress. “Hilly” is a cute little nickname I made up for her just now. In case she wants to call me.
... Cassidy just provided the unequivocal highlight of the night, slurring and stumbling through her introduction to Best All-Sex Release (whatever that is) while simultaneously falling out of her top. Do you know these girls have sex on film for money? I had no idea.
... After we shoot “The Throwback,” my next film is going to be called “The Interventionist.” It’s about a pornstar that self-destructs on stage at the AVN Awards and needs an intervention. A sexy intervention. Starring Holden Beaver and Jizzy Curtains. I'm drunk right now, by the way.
... I’m still a little distracted by Cassidy’s Courtney Love impression, but suddenly a cute and pleasant blonde is thanking the crowd for her award in something disturbing called “Blacklight Beauties.” I really don’t want to know. She’s joined by a guy that I think we've all seen: the edgy video store clerk that sneers at all your rentals. I hate that guy. Dark nerd glasses like Rivers Cuomo. Wears Converse sneakers and a dark dress shirt buttoned to his neck. Loves Japanese anime and hates Quentin Tarantino. You just know he got his ass kicked every day in junior high school. Now he’s an award-winning porn director. Take that, lunch money thieves!
... FYI: every single porn producer looks exactly like Jim Dolan.
... Norton introduces unfunny comedian Bobby Slaton, who apparently has hosted this thing three times before, thus making him the Johnny Carson of the porn industry. By the way, if I were ever invited to the Playboy Mansion (it could happen), the odds of me running into certain celebrities at any given time are: Ben Roethlisberger (2:1), Joe Rogan (3:1), Bobby Slaton (5:1), Owen Wilson (3:1) . . .
... It’s a very tight field for the award for Female Performer of the Year. Figuratively, not literally. Remind me to take a shower after I finish watching this.
... And Hillary Scott wins again! What a magical night for her. Watching Hilly stroll to the stage in a sheer pink shower-curtain one can only hark back to a young Grace Kelly enchanting the nation with her feminine poise and delicate smile. Hillary demurely bows her head as they show clips from her movie, “Blonde, Dumb, and Full of Cum.” Her parents must be so proud.
... Big moment right now, Best Film, with the favorite figuring to be “The Provocateur,” the directorial debut of porn kingpin Jenna Jameson. And “Manhunters” wins in a shocking upset! The winning director smiles on-stage to ponder the magnitude of his achievement while Jenna silently closes her fist and reduces a set of dice into crumbling dust.
... Jessica Drake introduces the night’s musical entertainment, Guns and Roses cover band Buckcherry, as performing their “Grammy nominated hit ‘Crazy Bitch.’” That’s not possible, is it? I’m checking this out on Google. I would hate to see the 2007 AVN Awards marred by a factual error.
... Wow. In Bono-like fashion, as the guitar solo winds down, the lead singer of Buckcherry monologs to the crowd, “Do you know what the difference is between a regular chick and a crazy bitch?” It’s like the mystery of the sphinx. The answer, of course, involves how readily the girl accepts his disease-riddled seed on her face. Charming.
... Again, wow. You simply cannot fathom what a raging jag-off the lead singer of Buckcherry is. And I’m making that comment as the camera pans across an auditorium filled with grossly overweight men with fake gold chains and bowling shirts. Now would be a perfect time to play one of those John Mellencamp “This Is Our Country” ads.
... How come they don’t have a segment during the show where they honor all the pornstars that have died over the past year?
...
... Wearing something from the East Tallahatchie Lot Lizard Collection, Kimberly Kane flips off the camera and then points out all the people in the audience that she's f**ked. Get to knitting some more baby clothes, Mom. Your first-born son is in love.
...
... And the Sploogie goes to ... “Corruption,” starring Hillary Scott. 'Atta girl, Hilly! And somewhere I have a joke about how she's going to carry all her trophies home, but this her night.
... Whe
The Da Vinci Load -- heh heh.
like jesus
This is what you get, when you mess with us -- #477
So I’m like Jesus. Except instead of lepers, I heal iPods.
(
Things actually seemed to get worse. Here’s the best way that I can describe my life. Imagine a standard blind date — you're not expecting anything from it but still want to take your cuts, like a pinch hitter jacking homers during batting practice. So you say something seemingly innocuous to your date like “Oh, I think Coldplay is OK” and she responds, “The Coldplay tour bus ran over my puppy when I was nine.” Well, you’re done. Game over. Waaahhpp waah waaaahhh . . . and Pac-Man’s little yellow mouth closes up. Even when Robin Williams shows up to give you a hug and tell you it’s not your fault, you still feel like a steaming pile of crap. Because you couldn't even jack one out during batting practice. This was my life: bad blind dates, failures to jack one out, and Robin Williams constantly giving me a hug.
(
Excited by this — I mean, who wouldn’t be — I called up my brother. Something good just happened. I needed to give him a little heads up.
"Dude, I just healed my iPod. Like Jesus. Where are you?""I'm in the hospital," he said.
"This is so awesome. Why are you in the hospital?"
"Flesh-eating virus," he said.
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