It's a Small World (of Porn) After All

 I’ve been sick for a week or so and because I’m thoughtful and responsible like that, I stayed home.  While it was a HUGE sacrifice on my part to miss work and avoid spreading my surprisingly clean germs to my staff, I’m a giver, so naturally I wasn’t going to sit on my ass and do nothing for all of you.  I needed to find a way to continue making important contributions to the National Discourse.  But how to do that while holed up at home?

Porn, naturally.  You can only watch so many reruns of “American Chopper” before feeling the need to end someone’s life, so I spent a large (yet not abnormal) amount of time reviewing pornographic offerings on Al Gore’s Internet invention.  The Internet is a valuable tool for increasing productivity, spreading vital information, bridging international chasms of communication, buying Snuggies, and getting your rub on, if you get my meaning. 

Not necessarily in that order.

I am by no means passing myself off as an expert in the ways of perversion and pornography.  I’m no slouch to be sure, but I am sure that there are millions of hairy-knuckled, pale-skinned, raw-dicked guys out there who spend countless hours every day whacking it and letting loose loads of tadpole shaped palm children on the family drapes.  And I am equally certain that there are millions of women out there rubbing it out au natural or draining batteries like a Samsung Vibrant while watching “Avatar”. 

This is merely a quick review of the state of International porn, a country by country roundup of what’s out there.  And believe me, there is a surprising amount of porn on the Internet.  Yeah, color me shocked.   Fuck 31 flavors at Baskin and Robbins.  There are thousands of sub genres in pornography, and in the 7 days I was stuck at home, I was committed enough to view every one of them.  Yes, I care enough to do that for YOU.  You’re welcome.

Japanese porn is interesting.  They mosaic (blur) the actual genitalia and penetration, but have no compunction in showing the “money shot” in graphic detail.  So I am not allowed to see some Japanese guy’s pecker, but I can watch him skeet soy-flavored semen all over some dentally-challenged ex-Disney Japan employee?  Even through the mosaic, it is obvious that the female participants need to “mow the lawn” a bit before getting in front of a camera.  A little turf on the field is cool, but let’s not get all “grassy plains of the Kalahari”, ladies. 

And can somebody tell me why they always make sounds like a monkey being impaled by a broomstick?  It’s almost enough to make a guy stop watching.

Almost.

One of these girls is named Maria Ozawa and she has spectacular frontal assets.  I mean they are the stuff dreams are made of.  I remember reading somewhere that she is part Japanese and part Caucasian and speaks both languages, which I bring up only because of the fact that she makes those same damn noises when she’s having sex.  But you can tell it’s forced, because when she really starts getting in to it, she loses the monkey noises and appears to have to remind herself that she is required to sound like Curious George humping a flagpole.  I can only conclude that this noise is an affectation that turns Japanese men on for some reason, which reinforces my belief that foreigners are, indeed, fucking strange.

I’ve only seen one actual Chinese porn movie in my life.  And a half an hour later, I wanted more porn!  Hey now!!! 

Sorry, couldn’t resist.  I have actually seen one, actual made in China, porn movie.  And since I am a judgmental prick, I feel it’s perfectly reasonable to judge every Chinese porn ever made by that one example.   It was bizarre, because they couldn’t figure out if it was porn or a Kung Fu movie.  People were spinning around and fucking from treetop to treetop like horny, over-caffeinated pigeons.  And for some reason they wouldn’t get naked.  They sort of just pulled their robes aside, pumped like crazy for a few minutes, then went on their way.  I remember there was a dragon at some point (of course), and a blind guy with a cane (naturally).  Don’t remember if they fucked each other though…

German Porn.  Fuck this shit is sick.  There appears to be a law in Germany that you are not allowed to star in a porn movie if you are a female and: a) under 60 years old; b) own AND know how to use a razor; c) weigh less than a small love seat; and d) are attractive in any way.  There must be some lingering sociological effect from getting spanked in two World Wars, because these people have severe self-esteem problems.  Between letting people piss in their mouths or shit on their chests, there are some serious toileting issues that maybe the school system needs to address or something.  A little fucking decorum is in order, people!  Jesus…

I saw one clip where a hirsute Fraulein found the need to do herself with the stick shift of a Mercedes.  Yes. A Mercedes.

Does she know what that does to the fucking resale value?

Not to mention the sanitary issues.  You’d have to douche with a garden hose and a gallon of Clorox after that.  Worse if it was a rental.  You’d never get the deposit back, that’s for sure…

When they aren’t relieving themselves on each other or violating automobiles, they are industriously fornicating in public bathrooms, on trains, on crowded highways, dressed as farm animals, encased head to toe in latex, wearing gas masks, and hanging from various hooks and other hardware.  It’s a wonder they ever get around to making Volkswagens and Sauerkraut with all the fucking that goes on.  They also like to fuck old people. A lot.  If I never see another grey pube in my life, I will die a happy man.  Distinguished, my ass…keep your old scrotum in your drawers, Hans.  I don’t need to see it.

Indian porn is…different.  I mean 7-11 Indian, not scalp your ass Indian.  For some reason, they feel the need to wear a lot of jewelry while riding the baloney pony.  The jingling is almost distracting, in a Hare Krishna, selling flowers at the airport kind of way.  Now you have to know that there is a niche where some geographically unaware ass hat finds a hot Hispanic girl, throws her in a sari and some costume jewelry, and has her Bend it like Beckham.  The fake accents are terrible but they are very…enthusiastic.  The authentic stuff is usually much more grainy, filmed with poor lighting, and less energetic.  The men all look like this guy…

/shudder/

Yeah.  I’ll pass.

Friends in Low Places

I have suddenly become very popular with my friends since beginning this blog.  While normal, socially appropriate, and emotionally mature adults would be reluctant to have their misadventures plastered all over the internet, my particular group of malcontents is clamoring to be the next subject of one of my missives.

I received a call from Donny yesterday, extremely excited that he was the subject of the last post.  While most of the content was directed at pointing out what a douche nugget his cousin was, he was happy that his name appeared in the title. 

My friends are easily impressed.

He did, however, lobby for more stuff about him, even pointing out the stupid things he has done recently in an attempt to get more exposure.

“The car thing, with me going into the mountain.  You could have wrote more about that.”

“I could have WRITTEN more about that you illiterate jackass.  And I chose not to because the staggering stupidity of your cousin makes you look like Albert Einstein.”

And he’s not the only one.  I have received calls and emails from people I haven’t spoken to in months, wanting to be written about and basically ridiculed in public.  When I point out that I have not, as of yet, bothered to give my subject’s false names, they are fine with it.  Most are actually counting on it. 

Yes, my friends have problems.

I did, however, receive a tip about my friend Malcolm’s recent experience sleeping at a friend’s apartment that, I believe, illustrates my point about my friend’s being sick sons of bitches.  And not that bright either, let’s not forget that.

We have a friend named Sean who is very gay.  By very gay, I mean he makes those Queer Eye guys look like Chuck fucking Norris.  But he’s funny as hell and can bust balls with the best of them.  And by bust balls I mean give other people shit and not in any other way he may choose to spend his free time.  In any case, Sean is a giant prick like the rest of us and likes to screw with people.  And not in the…fuck it, never mind…

Malcolm, Sean, and another friend named Joe went out drinking last month to celebrate Tuesday or some other inconsequential shit.  My friends don’t really need a good reason to get hammered, so they have been known to celebrate the Vernal Equinox if it can be used as an excuse for a party.  In college, we once held a two day party in memoriam of a girl’s hamster passing on to the great Hamster Wheel in the sky.  And yes, it was a touching celebration of Peanut’s life, as far as I recall…

So it was Tuesday and the three amigos headed out in the early afternoon for a bite to eat and many, many drinks.  Being socially responsible individuals, they parked at Sean’s place and took a cab to the festivities.  After a hefty meal of Indian food to coat the stomach, they got completely and incoherently drunk.  The details of the actual drinking were not related to me, as I am sure none of them have a clear recollection.  The story picked up during the cab ride back to Sean’s.

Malcolm began to get extremely agitated during the ride because he suddenly realized that he needed to take a rather urgent shit.  The other two did not help matters by finding this extremely hilarious and aggravating the matter by purposefully giving the cab driver the wrong directions.  At one point they were actually in front of Sean’s house and made the guy drive two more blocks, claiming they were in the wrong place.

Now this was all well and good until recycled Indian food odors began to permeate the cab as Malcolm began to…relieve the pressure, so to speak.  This sobered Sean and Joe up quickly and they suddenly remembered the correct address.  As Sean unlocked the door, Malcolm bolted past him, unbuttoning his pants on the move, and barely made in to the bathroom in time.  What followed, was described to me by the others as the “most foul, unholy, and deafening crap ever taken”, and literally shook the walls of Sean’s delicate little bathroom.

Emerging from the bathroom shortly afterwards, a very drunk and still agitated Malcolm announced to the other two that he “must have blew an O-ring” during his mistreatment of Sean’s toilet, because he noticed blood when he wiped himself.  Having already experienced too many of Malcolm’s bodily functions and their attendant repercussions, they maneuvered the drunk to the couch and put him too bed, while they finished off a bottle of Cabo Wabo as a nightcap.

Now, as men tend to do when we are drinking in the vicinity of someone who has passed out, a plot began to hatch.  They ran through a quick laundry list of stuff they could do to our buddy but soon arrived at the obvious.  While Joe undressed the still comatose Malcolm, Sean got the camera out, got naked too, and began a photo shoot that would make Caligula blush.  Having enough fun for the evening, they put the camera away and retired.

When Malcolm woke up the next morning, he was understandably fuzzy on the details of the previous night.  By feigning ignorance and acting guilty, Joe and Sean had Malcolm a little worried about what he had done.  Malcolm kept asking if he had forgotten to pay his bill, or had made an ass of himself the night before.  He also made the following statement:

“Speaking of ass, why does mine hurt?  Feels like my butthole is on fire.”

In their buildup to the big photo shoot reveal, Joe and Sean had forgotten about the power poop that Malcolm had pulled off earlier and the resulting…tissue damage…that had occurred.  To quote Sean:

“This was just too fucking sweet an opportunity to pass up.  I just had to do it.”

Thus began the most uncomfortable 10 minutes of Malcolm’s life.  With pictorial assistance, Sean and Joe began to spin the most elaborate load of crap they could think of about the wild sexual encounter that Malcolm had engaged in with Sean the gay guy.  Sean even had Mal convinced that he had been the one who instigated the man on man love, with Sean trying to talk him out of it, but finally “giving in because you were too much man.”

At that, Malcolm just picked up his keys, gathered his stuff, and walked out of the house without saying a word.  He still believes to this day that he had sex with a man.  Hopefully he doesn’t read this and realize that Joe and Sean pulled one over on him.  This is just too good of a gag to let him off the hook so easily.

Then again he’s probably too busy looking at gay porn to read blogs….

The Ballad of Sid and Donny

I had the misfortune of spending some time recently with my friend Donny and his cousin, Sid.  Donny and I have known each other for many years and try to get together for beers and bullshit every couple of months.  This last time, for some inexplicable reason, he brought Sid with him.

In order for you to truly understand, some background is in order.  Sid is a fucking retard.  I say this knowing full well that this is not at all fair to actual retards.  They have much more class and intelligence than Sid, as well as 10-13 more IQ points than this shit hook.  Sid is the kind of guy that would eat the asshole out of a dead armadillo on the side of the road if you offered him a quarter.  And he’d take an IOU because he actually likes the flavor.  In other words, Sid is a jackass and Donny knows I can’t stand him.

Apparently Donny had managed to drive his SUV into the side of a mountain the week before and needed his half-wit cousin to drive him to our get together.  At first, I was blissfully unaware of any of this. Completely ignoring the staggering stupidity involved in riding any form of motorized conveyance piloted by Sid, Donny strolled in to the bar where I had already been waiting for 45 minutes.

“Where the hell have you been?  I’ve been waiting like a stood-up loser.”

“Hey.  Uh, I gotta tell you something you’re not going to like…” he stammered.

He didn’t get any further.  I saw Sid’s smirking visage pop in to view coming in from the parking lot.  I don’t recall the string of profanity that streamed from my mouth exactly, but it would have made a Navy Master Chief blush.  Ignoring Sid’s proffered hand, I glared at Donny, daring him to come up with an excuse for this violation of protocol.  The last time I had been forced to spend time with this asshat, I had expressly forbidden Donny to bring him around again.  I even threatened to, “punch Sid in the fucking ovaries”, if I saw his inbred ass ever again.

Yet here he was standing in front of me.  In all his banjo strumming, toothpick chewing, cousin fucking glory. 

As he told me the story of his accident, I continued to stare at Sid.  To his credit, he caught the signals and had retreated to the other side of his cousin.  He was talking to the bartender, no doubt trying to order moonshine or half a beer on credit.  Donny noticed this and began embellishing his accident story in an obvious attempt to gain sympathy.

He was just getting to the part where, despite his two broken legs, protruding clavicle, explosive diarrhea, hang nail, and being on fire, he was carrying the twelve injured orphans out of the school bus, when I stopped him.

“I’m going to punch Sid in the ovaries.”

Ignoring the physical impossibilities of my threat, Donny came up with an alternative plan.  He offered to pay for my tab that night if I refrained from reducing his cousin to pudding for the remainder of the evening.

Weighing the pros and cons for a fraction of a second, I agreed.  Then I proceeded to order every damn thing on the menu, while reaching levels of drinking proficiency that would have made Nicholas Cage in “Leaving Las Vegas” look like a fucking Mormon.  Payback is a bitch.  Vindictive friends like me, doubly so.

Problem was, the compromise served to embolden Sid, who felt safe from physical harm.  He began to run his mouth and would not shut the fuck up unless he was guzzling tequila or stuffing his face with the food his cousin was now obligated to pay for.  I admit that at first this amused me to no end, but after a while, Sid began to get on my nerves and I was reconsidering my agreement with Donny.

“You see that broad?  The one with the big milk cannons?  She fucking wants it.”

“Wants what, you illiterate horse’s ass?”

“She’s been staring at me.  She wants it. From me.”

“Wants which part? The tiny penis? The live at home with mama, unemployed part?”

“No.  She wants some of the Sid Dog.  She’s staring, man.”

I couldn’t fucking take it anymore.  “She’s staring because you have half a plate of nachos down the front of your shirt and you pissed the front of your pants the last few times you went to the bathroom.  Now shut the fuck up, or I will go to the bank, get a small mortgage, and pay this bar bill myself, just so I can beat you senseless.”

Donny smiled and reminded me that I had agreed to leave Sid alone for the rest of the evening and that I had always made it a large point of honor that I NEVER went back on my word.

And the fucker was right.  I NEVER go back on my word.

But Donny needs to get a fucking watch, because by this time it was 1:00am.  In the MORNING.

Someone’s getting punched in the ovaries….