Porn for Chicks

A while ago, in her post on the Toy With Me website, Crissy had this idea about Porn for Chicks™.  It intrigued me.  I like porn and I like chicks.  And I like porn chicks.

It’s true that most non-porn chicks do not seem to like porn.  And by “porn,” I mean the porn that dudes like: dude porn.  As an example, if I wanted to create an awesome porn movie for dudes, I might hire, say, four hot sluts and fifty whatever dudes.  I might tell the sluts to skip the obligatory colon-cleaning enema before the shoot, and I would have the fifty dudes fuck the four women up the ass.  I would call this epic Shitty Shitty Ass Bang.  Voila!  Instant bestselling porn classic.

But chicks would not find this entertaining.  Only dudes would buy it.  I have no idea why.

And women don’t like those awesome sex moves you learn from porn, either.  Like, for instance, I have not yet met a woman who wants for you to lean over and spit on her asshole right before you fuck it.  Go figure.  Women are strange.

Anyways, my point is, Crissy is right: chicks do not like dude porn.

In my epic, Shitty Shitty Ass Bang, notice that I did not even try to come up with any plot.  Who cares?  I could just do it gonzo, with almost no plot at all: the fucking is the story.  Or, I could come up with some flimsy set-up and call it a plot.  In fact, it could end, just like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, with a fudge recipe.  I am all about The Irony, peoples.

Women want a better story.  For men — admit it, dudes — Ron Jeremy epitomizes everything that is wonderful about porn.  He is pretty much a huge dick attached to a hair-covered Hot Pocket®.  One of those meatball and cheddar Hot Pockets® that fell behind the stove and got covered in grease and hair and who knows what the fuck else.  Dudes think, “But look at that dick coming out of it! And that Hot Pocket® sure knows how to use that dick, too!”

But women want a story.  Why is that slut fucking a hairy, greasy Hot Pocket®?

That’s why Crissy and I got together to create Porn for Chicks™: porn that has the story women want but also has the fucking that men want.  Our first efforts to storyboard our ideas follow.  We used the stories from timeless literary classics — Chick Lit — and stayed utterly true to those storylines.  But we also provided the sordid details left out by the censors.

So, you know, go over to Crissy’s or to her latest Toy With Me post and let us know which of these ideas you like best.  Crissy has some time off around Crissymas or something so we plan on shooting one of these straight to video then.  Or something.  But don’t even bother telling me which one you like unless you’re ready to either fork out twenty bucks for the DVD or, you know, accept a leading role or something.

That’s all I have to say about Porn for Chicks™ right now.  We are going to start producing these right away, so place your orders now.

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The Evolution of Porn

So, you have until the fifteenth to vote for Crissy for Hottest Mommy Blogger and thereby automatically enter to win over $1,200 in sweet camera gear.  Get moving.  Do it!

Enough of these work-friendly political posts.  If you’re at work, go vote for Crissy and then do your fucking work.

So, I was watching porn and eating cake the other day when it occurred to me just how immorally advanced porn has become. First I watched a little of Dirt Pipe Milkshakes #2. But I felt like I was missing something. See, I hadn’t seen the original Dirt Pipe Milkshakes so I thought, hey, maybe I should watch that one first because maybe then I will get a better understanding of these characters’ motivations. Like, what exactly inspires them to get together and fuck? Why do the dudes always cum in the women’s asses? And what, exactly, inspires the women or a girlfriend to suck the cum out of that ass and drink it, thus inspiring the title?

So, second, I watched Fuck Slaves. Actually, I had seen some of this movie before, but I tend to watch porn in like fifteen-minute to half-hour intervals. In one scene in Fuck Slaves, a dude uses a turkey-baster type thing to inject milk into a chick’s ass sort of like a milk enema. Then she squirts it all out onto the tile floor and then licks it up. I’m serious. That’s one of the scenes.

Now, am I wrong, or does Fuck Slaves have a more authentic recipe for dirt pipe milkshakes than Dirt Pipe Milkshakes?

Anyways, it occurred to me that these movies were really high in the evolutionary depravity food chain. Like, you can’t get much nastier than these movies. Oh, you can throw in some bukkake and maybe even a couple of granny amputees and some piss for good measure, but you can’t really ever add all that much to drinking stuff you squirt out of your ass.

To a porn actress, having someone squirt milk up your ass and then drinking it must just be a career killer. I mean, how can you top that? Everything is downhill from then on. Imagine David Blaine suspended naked in the dead of winter upside down over a driving range for sixty days while Tiger Woods takes shots at him. Yeah, I would watch that and I would bring cake, but how could he ever outdo that stunt? He couldn’t.

And, you know, there has been an evolution in porn. Like, some time ago, fucking on film was risqué. Then there were the classics, Deep Throat and Devil in Miss Jones, that everyone thought broke all the barriers. Yeah, they were breakthrough films. But since then, we have ass-to-mouth and full swallowing and gangbangs and creampies and a whole lot more. For those of you who have never seen a bukkake film, let me explain the setup. These movies are really popular in Japan, hence the Japanese name. There have been a few American bukkake movies made, but they pretty much suck. Ha ha. I said they suck. No, I mean, they really do suck. The same way we haven’t been able to take a Japanese horror film like Ring or Ju-on and make a decent American version, American porn makers don’t seem to be up to the simple task of having forty dudes cum on a chick.

Anyways, bukkake works like this: a Japanese woman, often dressed in schoolgirl garb, is in a room with thirty to fifty dudes. They usually stand in one long row in front of her, beating off. They all wear their underwear throughout, which is a nice touch because looking at Japanese dudes’ asses is just not why you watch these films. But mainly it’s because it is illegal to show genitals in Japan. Yes, that’s right, all the cocks and balls and cunts are blurred out if they do show up on camera.

But anyway, all the dudes then cum on the woman or in her mouth. Now, covering the chick with splooge is the point of some of the lamer bukkake films. But in more progressive bukkake, all the cum is collected—she spits it into a bowl or something and it is scraped off her face with spoons—and then, at the end, it is all placed in an impressive laboratory-style beaker. The point of the beaker is, no doubt, so that you can see just how many milliliters of sperm has been collected. It usually looks like two or three cups. That is a lot of sperm. And then, she takes the beaker and drinks the whole lot of it. Yum! And, when she’s done, she holds up the empty beaker at the camera and smiles one of those Ovaltine smiles.

So, think about how far we have come in the 36 years since Deep Throat. And, watching the chick who squirted milk out of her ass and then lapped it up, I found myself wondering, what the fuck could be the next thing to come in porn? How can porn outdo itself?

I have some ideas.

But there is a point where it gets to be too much. You know? And then it’s just unwatchable. Because, believe it or not, eventually it seems like it could get a little gross. Like, I don’t even want to think about pookkake.

And then people will just get sick of porn. And then what?

Here is what. Pussies will come back in style. That’s right. Good old-fashioned pussy fucking will make a comeback. It will look something like this.

That’s all I have to say about the evolution of porn.

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Carville’s Angels

It’s been a long time since I posted or even read a blog, and I apologize for that.  My computer went nuts and then I decided that I would build a new computer to replace the old one.  And it really is a sweet computer now that I have it together.  But what a fucking ordeal.  And it wasn’t one bit cheaper in the end than buying a system already made.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about the election season a lot as it winds down.  I worked on this comic a little while I was not working on my computer.  I can’t really post a lot of very long comics because they literally take me days and days to do and I just don’t have the time, but here you go.

More very soon.  No more breaks for me!!

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Holy Zombies

I know that, at the end of my last post, I said I would soon write about the difference between porno and real life, and I will get around to that in a post or two, but first I want to clear something up. 

Some people were insulted by my last post about chick flicks and dick flicks for a number of reasons.  I did not mean to insult particular movies, however contrived, formulaic, or overhyped those movies might be.  Nor did I intend to insult the people who enjoy those movies, however idiotically sheep-like and mindlessly stereotypical those people’s reactions to those contrived, formulaic, overhyped movies might be.

I don’t mean to insult anyone.  I just want to make that clear right now.  I love movies.  And I don’t mean only porno movies, although I do love porno.  I mean mainstream movies.  I am especially fond of horror movies and, in fact, I have probably seen every zombie movie ever made, including the many very hot porno zombie movies, like 28 Lays Later and Night of Giving Head.

That is why I have decided to devote this blog entry to an uncontroversial topic that will showcase my knowledge of popular culture while also demonstrating to you, my loyal readers, that I mean to insult no one: Jesus was a zombie.

Now, this is pretty straightforward.  If you look up the definition for zombie in the dictionary, it says, “a dead body that has been brought back to life by a supernatural force.”  Done and done.  That’s pretty clear, huh?  Plainly, Jesus is, by definition, a zombie.  According to Christians, Jesus died and then rose three days later.  Once you have been dead, the only thing you can later be is undead.

But I don’t mean to get all Christian on you.  Here is what I am getting at: when Christians watch zombie movies, why don’t they root for the Zombies?  What would Jesus do?

In some George Romero zombie movies, he uses this line: “When there’s no more room in hell, the dead shall walk to earth.”  No, George.  Sorry.  You’re wrong.  When there’s no more room in heaven, the dead shall walk to earth.

See, everybody should agree that a world filled with zombies is pretty much the very idea of Christian paradise.  And it’s not like Jesus didn’t start the whole, “eat my body and drink my blood,” thing.  Does he have to knock you over the head with his zombie message for you to get it?

Look at the world around you and maybe you see sin, right?  Fornication?  Death?  Prejudice?  War? 

Think of your best idea of heaven.  It is a world where you wind up after you are dead, but without any of the sin.  You don’t even think any bad thoughts in heaven.  You just sort of mill around doing whatever.  Sounds heavenly, doesn’t it?

Now watch your favorite zombie movie.  If zombies took over the world — after they killed all the people (a.k.a. sinners) — there would be no war, no death, no jealousy, no coveting, no prejudice.  Zombies are never racist, sexist, or homophobes.  You will never see anything like this in a zombie movie.

Zombies feel no pain.  They have no diseases.  They don’t recognize handicaps.  They never argue or bitch or whine.  They only do what God intelligently designed them to do: eat sinners.  And eating a sinner is a transformative process.  After the sinner dies, he turns into a zombie — a perfect, sinless human being — completing the heavenly circle. 

Zombies in most movies don’t even bother with animals.  Animals are free to roam and play.  Zombies don’t eat apples, either.  How much does this sounds like Eden to you?

After Zombies had eradicated all non-zombies, the world would return to a state of nature.  People would all be zombies.  And the world would be a perfect, Christian paradise.  Eden on earth.

So, the next time you see a zombie flick, if you call yourself a Christian, cheer for the zombies.  Ask yourself: what would Jesus, king of the zombies, do?

That’s all I have to say about that.  More porn and cake to come.

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Suckage Part 1

I read a couple of months ago that 11% of women and 5% of men are on antidepressants in this country.  Eleven percent of women!  That means that, when you walk into a bar, you have a one-in-ten chance of bringing home someone who is depressed even before the whole hump & dump thing.

According to the article, most of these people are not actually ill with depression.  They do not have clinical depression, which is the only thing antidepressants have been approved to treat.  That is a good thing because clinical depression is supposed to feel something like being the pope’s hard-on.  Forever.

No, the vast majority of people who take antidepressants take them because they are depressed the way that everybody gets depressed sometimes.  You know, like because Natalie Portman will probably never star in even one porno movie or because statutory rape laws have killed the passion you once had for a career in teaching high school.  Without really using my imagination, I have a hard time seeing any upside to bringing somebody who is already depressed home with you from a club or a bar.

So why the fuck is everyone so gaddamn depressed?  I have given this a lot of thought and the best answer I can come up with is suckage.  Life is just full of suckage.

There are many sources of suckage.  Work is all about suckage.  Families have closets full of suckage.  Suckage is all around us.  But I think the biggest suckage indicators are the movies.  See, art is jam-packed with suckage.  Art=suckage.  Nowhere is this clearer than the difference between real life and the movies.

Women like romantic comedies.  You know, those formulaic social commentaries that feature perfectly dressed women with fabulous hair who would be models of stability were it not for their fucked up relationships with men so statuesque and beautiful that they must be CG.  These movies go perfect with a chilled chardonnay and a big ol’ box of chocolate-covered strawberries.  And a box of Kleenex.  And a few shots of insulin.

Men have their own dick flicks.  I don’t mean porn.  We will call porno “skin flicks.”  I mean movies where things get blown up and a lot of people get injured and killed.  Those are dick flicks.  Also high on the dick flick list are recent movies like Superbad and Forgetting Sarah Marshall, dude-buddy unromantic comedies so crammed with dick jokes that they make vaginas seem about as fashionable and sexy as bicycle helmets.

None of these types of films has anything in common with reality.  So, whether you like your movies with a tall glass of estrogen or testosterone, real life is comparatively jam-packed with suckage.  Women want romance and relationships free of turbulence and misunderstanding.  Men want to kill things, to fuck, and to talk about their dicks when they are not killing or fucking.  If life were perfect, every time I told a dick joke or blew my wad hundreds of people would be injured or die.  That must be what heaven is like.

I read this article the other day about how a couple of scientists in Hawaii think some other scientists are going to destroy the universe.  So, they are suing and have started a crappy website.

If this were a movie, the dudes out to destroy the universe would either have found a way to profit from the destruction of the universe or they would be completely mad.  I can’t think of many ways to make a lot of money destroying the universe all at once, even on eBay.  But if the dudes who want to destroy the universe are completely crazy mad scientists bent on annihilation of everything, what good would a lawsuit and a crappy website do?

This, my friends, is the difference between movies and the suckage that is real life.  Instead of sending some crack team of submachine-brandishing muscleheads out after these dudes who are about to destroy the universe, we file some papers with some goddamn court.  No superspies.  No superheroes.  No army of robots with retractable tentacles wielding heat-seeking buttplugs.

A few months ago on a Saturday night, I went out pussy hunting with one of my good friends.  We’ll call him Ralph.  Ralph is frequently my wingman on these excursions, but neither of us played a great game this night so we left with only phone numbers.  So, we’re walking down Second Avenue at about 3am and we are both a little drunk and I turn to Ralph and say, “I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”  You know, like in Fight Club, one of my favorite movies of all time.  So, Ralph turns to me and says, “Really?”  He is smiling.  I can tell he is all into this.  He is already clenching his fists open and closed.

And I’m already starting to have second thoughts.  Ralph is taller than I am.  He weighs more than I do.  He wants to maim people as much as any other dude.  If you can’t fuck and you don’t have a handy dick joke or a detonator, punching someone’s lights out is as good as anything.  But I am brave.  I say, “Sure.”  He says, “Okay.”

So I stand there, waiting for him to punch me.  I think I probably looked very deer-in-the-headlights while waiting to be punched.  Ralph doesn’t care.  He reels back like he is pitching for the majors and swings at me.  But my eyes are open, so I see it coming and move out of the way.  Ralph is one step ahead of me, though, and comes at me with his left fist.  He nails me under my right eye and kind of smooshes my nose.  He hits me so hard that I fall backwards on my ass.

So now, I am sitting in my expensive game clothes on a sidewalk on Second Avenue at 3am on a Saturday in a puddle that is probably some homeless dude’s piss.  Ralph is laughing as he asks, “You okay?”  Then he says, “You’re bleeding.” 

My nose is bleeding and I have a gash under my right eye.  I feel like crying.  But I don’t cry.  I wipe away the shock and blood with my sleeve and get up and say something to Ralph like, “I’m fine, you fucking thug.”  I am pissed and Ralph gets worried that I am really mad at him and whines something like, “You told me to hit you as hard as I could.”  I pinch my nose back to stop the bleeding and say, “I know.  Now you’re supposed to tell me to do you.”  And Ralph says, “Are you fucking nuts?” 

Just then, our dysfunctional relationship is 1% dick flick and 99% romantic comedy.  I don’t feel liberated or manly or transformed.  I am bleeding, for Christ’s sake!  I feel beaten and disappointed, and Ralph feels guilty and sorry.

We shared a silent cab to our respective stoogepens.  My nose eventually stopped bleeding but my eye puffed up.  When I went to work on Monday, somebody asked me what happened and, being the wizard of deception I am, I told him it was a paper cut.  Then people called me “Paper Cut” at work for two months.

That’s what I’m talking about.  That is suckage.  The antidepressants we take dull our senses just enough so that we can’t see the vast divide between what our lives ought to be and what a pathetic pussy-assed world we actually live in.

And that’s just mainstream movies versus our lives.  The difference between real sex and porno is even more stark and depressing, but I will take that up some other time.  That won’t be pretty either so, if you need to refill that prescription, you should do it today.  You have been warned.

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