AVN Awards Coverage III: Table 14

The ticket Jeff Steward gave me was close, Bob Uecker close--front-row, stage left. I sit down, I'm tired from not sleeping the night before. There's a list of the categories and nominees. [b/]It's exensive. For the casual raincoater this requires some research. There are verious other people sitting there by the time the lights go dim, some I recognize. Jim Norton is one. Jim can run some shit, he was on Colin Quinn's last failure "Tough Crowd." Again, I recognize 3 attractive female faces, but can only put a name with one of them, Hillary Scott. I've glanced at all of them and am rifling though my brain to see if I can come up with something. Nope! The AVN ticket said "cocktail attire." I won't go into the himbos' collective response because I don't have enough Tums for it. The women took it fairly well. There are fewer than I expected who interpreted "cocktail attire" as "reveal as much to look like the sluttiest skank possible without getting arrested."

Up comes Greg Fitzsimmons. I've never heard him before, but he's OK--Norm MacDonald with better material and a quicker delivery. Obviously all the jokes are about porn. The insiders laugh at some, and are eerily silent at others. No one realizes that the humor in porn is the best-kept secret. I guess that makes Jonathan Morgan the George Soros of smut. Jesse Jane has sometimes been accused of being limp in bed, a Y2K Savannah. Since the average life of a whore is 3-4 years, this must have been one of porn's Triple Witching days, 'cause the teleprompt mistakes are priceless.

There was indeed an ensuing double love-in for Janine and "Pirates." Since when does throwing tons of cash at porn ever make it any better? The best porn has always been about making more with less, kind of like the Oakland A's. Later I'll write about a stupid article in the AEE Expo Guide about how a mysterious "ex-Wall Street banker" (read: under NASD lifetime suspension) who will help bring in $100 billion in investment capital into porn. Yeah, a tenth of a trillion dollars. You people are drinking your own Kool Aide. If I had that budget, I'd call up Grip Johnson and have a 600-hour version of "Donkey Punch" ready for the presses. As much money as necessary would be thrown at a few of my favorite whores: one being Ava Devine. What a fuckin' trash-talker.

Anyway, the love-in progresses over to Janine, who says she's so touched (cue tears) by this outpouring of love. You know what would trigger an outpouring of love from me--get on with your life. You proved you are hot and daring, why do you need a porn redux? It's sad to find a boxer with the "1000-yard stare" noted elsewhere on XPT. Mainly because she was a champ, and faded. Rob Black is next up to cry crocodile tears. Not being "in porn," I know enough lawyers who opine Rob's aggressive stance is probably the worst thing for the industry; maybe take one for the team. No one wants to hear it, but listen to Mark Grace on "slumpbusting." Savanna Samson is the last and arguably the worst. What an ugly brew of emotions this must be. This beuatiful whore has been in porn for almost 5 years now. And getting up on the dais, she thanks, well obviously not Mom and Dad...she thanks the very people she should be avoiding, her coworkers. Savanna, quit drinking that wine. You know more than 3/4 of those in attendance would pay double if you suddenly went from "Kiss Me Stupid" to "Cum-Filled Asshole Overload 57." And you're thanking them because your family doesn't approve? Whore Memo 2: Porn people's love is no substitute for your own blood. Fix that fence if you can.

Finally comes the one moment I've wanted to see--towards which whore will Cytherea shit her meth-induced vitriol. Nice lip implants, Cy. I really don't know much about McKenzie Lee, other than a lot of people share my thought. My hoped Cytherea/Jenaveve Joli whore fight will not come to pass. Although I did learn one thing: how to pronounce Cytherea (sigh-THEER-ee-ya), and I quickly start to reform Louis Armstrong's "When The Saints Go Marchin' In" along the lines of the Cheers episode where Coach helps Sam get a GED by teaching him geography...

Albania, Albania...
You border on the Ad...ri...atic

Cytherea, Cytherea...

____________________________. ( you finish it. By now I know Hillary Scott has been hosed, and I take my leave.

If you ever act on anything I've said so far...find (preferably for free) the video interludes with Randy Spears. Randy's been around for a long time, and has some legitimate acting ability. Personally, if his dick never showed up in porn again I wouldn't care, but he's got a knack for the self-deprecating Everyman, and that counts for something. The setup is simple...technophobe Spears gets his first DVD and hits "play." On come a variety of whores tempting Randy into several rather unwholesome acts:
Thumb in ass with Stormy Daniels (no...not her ass): NOOOSIRREEEE
Gag Factor 267: Randy Spears anda largemouth bass: YESSSSSSSS
Hunting the Bukkake Rooster 2: Randy sodomizes a broiler-ready Tyson hen...YESSSSS
One-Guy Cream Pie 1: Randy Spears and banana cream. YESSSSS

It get my AVN Award: Best Poultry-Themed Porn. Last year's award went to Hunting the Bukkake Rooster.

AVN Awards Coverage II: Whore Staging Area

For some, the Gauntlet can be time consuming. The only thing Jenna Jameson and I have in common is that we probably occupy the opposite ends of the Gauntlet record books, me for the fastest, her taking her diva-time (that and living in P.V.). When you're at the end...everyone lines up for a security check. There's a tight security control not on knives or guns or bad pimp outfits, but on cameras. AVN is eventually going to try and resell this. Which raincoater is gonna buy this CD? The most graphic sex in this show is Chi Chi Larue reaching down into it's jock to retieve some artifagts. That and some extended nipple licking and Randy Spears fucking a thawed, but uncooked, chicken. Randy Spears saves this show from being enormously boring, as you'll hear.

So you've cleared security and you buy something to drink. You're next accosted by the mob of porn reporters who wanna know what you think about all this. Just like fanboys will take a picture of anyone, porn reporters will interview anyone, including ME? What.The.Fuck? I'm sure there are some non-porn reporters there, hard to tell them apart. Some person did catch my eye, asked my name and who I was with. I gave her my name and said I was a guest of JM Productions, which was true.

"How did you become involved with them?"

I briefly explained XPT, fans & talent interacting, moderators, etc. etc. The same stuff we read the first time we ever visited XPT, and now have bookmarked past.

"So do you get involved in the filming process?"

Believe it or not, I anticipated this happening. Someone asking me the dumbest question ever. Is she a lucky reporter? I think, yessssssss. Yes, honey, there is a desparate need in porn for stuntcock of Irish descent that has Doron D's body type and has a receding hairline. But I have the comeback ready. "I don't make porn...I make light of it." With no notetaking done, this awkwardly ends the chat and I can finish a $6.00 Heineken.

I do take some time to watch the diva level as people file in. Some come in rather casually, Lexi Lamour seemed laid back, my right hand is familiar with her. Some stop to talk with the pornporters, actually many of them. The real attention whores get offended that they were not recognized by the cameras...so they double back and try again. Julia Bond dragged her suitcase "pimp" back through at least 4 times. Is he really a "pimp" if he's the one being led around? And sorry to single you out, Julia, but when you're dumb enough to have "Daddy's Little Girl" tattooed on the top of your ass... Then the ultra-divas arrive, who do the non-touching kiss, because you wouldn't want a little fraudulent kindness to spoil the trowel of junk on your face. As Jeff Mike advised, the key was to witness the fake emotions. You could feel the ghost of Ayn Rand over the whole affair.

I try my best to match names and faces, but it's hopeless unless you work full-time in that stuff. Earlier in the day I saw some whores peeved over a fanboy asking their names. Whore memo: there are too many of you to remember. I'm sorry. It's fun to try and keep up every now and then, but you are constantly changing (now acting, now retired, more boobs, lips, lipo, ass implants, on meth, off meth, you name it). When one of sufficient stroke-worthiness is found, we sometimes forget the others.

AVN Awards Coverage I: The Perp Walk

Before I start this rant...Jeff Mike is very cool. In the middle of Saturday afternoon when the fanboy swarm was reaching flood stage, Jeff starts talking to me about the AVN Awards. I personally think they are the biggest waste of time and prove that most porn is overthought and taken too seriously (except for Randy Spears). Jeff offers a ticket to the show. Jeff says, It's close to the front...you need to see the crocodile tears and all of the fake bullshit upfront. I think it's cool because I may be able to shoot spitballs into Jesse Jane's hair and see if the Aqua Net repels them. No..not really. He describes something like a gauntlet and suggests getting there 30 minutes ahead of the printed time. So I do.

If you know anything about convention-type hotels (and I don't) there is the enormously long corridor along which there are numerous ballrooms, meeting rooms, etc. In the case of the Venetian...it's more than 200 yards. All day the hotel staff has been detouring the fanboys and CES people around this hallway to get things ready. I arrive around 10 to 8 (Missed meeting Burg, Luke Ford and someone else @ a bar), and I'm relatively close to the front of the line.

One half of this hallway is roped off...lengthwise. One half is for the attendees to walk down...the other is filled 4 rows deep (and I am not making this up)...the entire length of the hallway. Everyone has their cam phones and digital cameras out. These freaks have waited over 3 hours since the convention shut down for the day for this moment. They start letting people walk down the hallway...gradually. I'm a few in line behind Kurt Lockwood, who has finally put on some clothes.

This is an utterly disgusting sight. People are taking random pictures of the people (including ME???), like next year I might be the next super-pimp that they "saw before he was big." I'm not much for hyperbole, but I imagine the characters in Alfred Jarry's King Ubu plays feel the same way when they first perform those roles live. I though I had seen displays of fanboyism unmatched before...but this was the ultimate...a jizz-soaked red carpet (well, it was some melange of tan and burgundy and whatever).