Where your sorry ass been at?

The first meatlights post of 2009 and Jan is already half-over, a case of so much happening that nothing has happened.

Things are in motion and this time I’m going with them.

Even without writing for almost a month, meat-hits remain constant because of posts referring to ‘norpography’. I should send Marc Wallace an e-card.

We’re less than a week away from the Obamessiah taking the reigns. I’m betting it will take less than 4 years for the peeps who voted for him to understand why the other half of the country voted against him.

I see no reason to give His Highness “a chance”. If someone stated his intention to jump off a cliff and meant it, I wouldn’t need to see him do it to believe he was nuts. Obama’s laid out his socialist “plan” and it’s an ‘end justifies the means’ thing. You’ll see. Buy a gun if you haven’t already.

As for the other side, I deem the Bush presidency overall to be a failure (this from someone who supports the Iraq War) because of the bailouts, which are inexcusable; it would’ve been better to let the whole fucking thing collapse. Instead of “saving the free market” Bush cut the ribbon on the road leading to tyranny, and now Obama as Grand Marshal begins the march.

My friends, my friends, let me remind you that it wasn’t deregulation, free markets or freedom that caused this mess, it was government, which treats its citizens’ rights and money like a subcompact rental car.

Enough about pollytix.

Hope you’re enjoying the new year. It’s ridiculous that a man-made invention like calendar time has the power to transform people (more like resetting a computer with a virus) but it seems to help, a little.  New Year’s Day is a symbolic bullet in the head of the corpse of Xmas to assure it’s dead.

Blessings to my 3 readers of the non-sex posts and to the tens of people who read the dirty stuff. Here’s to more sex and filth in oh-nine.

Kaylan Nicole

I see from the “meatstats” men continue searching for Kaylan Nicole. Unfortunately for them (and me) I found this on her official website:

Kaylan has actually split the business, gotten married and moved back to the Midwest. Hope she comes back soon.

I don’t give a shit if she ever comes back. Any pornette that leaves the business even for a year will return to find 3500 skanx burning holes in the carpet with their knees, eyes closed and tongues out under that damned Peter North’s turkey baster. There’s so much damned norpography now there will actually be a day–if only a day–in the near future when the whole world has had enough image-sex and turns it off. Even Homer Simpson has been known to stop eating donuts.

I’m sure KN’s husband was either in the biz along with her, wealthy and/or a swinger. I just can’t imagine any pornette giving up the cock buffet and settling for just one, their brains are wired differently from other women’s. I wonder if the husband is excited by her body…of work, or never bothers. I could never love any woman who’s lain under a Marc Wallace arc of man-yogurt or TT Boy meat-seizure.

Mentally I understand how a man could marry a porn star, despite her past or because of it. My dead heart, however, completely rejects the idea as absurd. That’s why God is God and I don’t want God’s fucking job. I have no forgiveness.

Marc and Me: a love/hate rant

Way back in the early 90s, the four major Cocks of the Compass were Peter North, Marc Wallice, Tom Byron and TT Boy. Of course even then there were many other fellows (and hundreds more now thanks to the web and Cialis) but back in my Time of Pre-jaculatory Innocence it was possible to be familiar with every major starlet’s work and know the names of all the main cocksmen without being Rain Man.

As anyone who’s seen more than one porn movie knows, only the female faces change, a fact “mostly true” even today.

Though I look and “act” nothing like him, over time I “came” to identify with Marc Wallice the most. Wallice’s sexual adventures served as surrogate for my absent, nonexistent ones. I never liked him and still don’t, but as a familiar face in an ever-changing world of cunt, Wallice became sort of a “comfort cock”, exposed to as wide a variety of vaginas as a master chef’s menu.

Chalk it up to inevitability that Wallice as well as the other three aforementioned cocksmen fucked my personal favorite porn starlet several times over the years, leaving me with a permanent welt of blasphemy and loss.

(Aside: When a girl I knew described her feelings about the dudes in porn as “watching someone’s Jewish Dad”, I knew she meant either Wallice or Randy West).

It was already the 21st century when an acquaintance I’d met mentioned he once read an interview where Wallice described being in early morning LA traffic, smirking and gleeful that all the poor slobs around him had to go to some shit job while he was going to get laid and paid.

Whether or not that anecdote is true, I was the last to know that six years earlier, karma visited Wallice with extreme prejudice: he was discovered to be HIV+ and suspected of taking 6 or 7 pornettes down with him, making him a permanent porn pariah (though as late as 2003, it’s rumored he’s been directing/editing with his name off the credits).

My favorite line of the Wallice bio:

Sexually, Wallice cast himself out, and spent much of his time masturbating to magazines and past porn dalliances.

To this day I cannot say, “Past porn dalliances” without blasting the room with hard laughter. (Googling the above emboldened quote you can access Wallice’s personal story on Google Groups).

Over the years my pathetic life has been witness to Wallice’s many conquests, sadly lived vicariously through him; that the pornettes eternally spread their legs only for money is irrelevant. I was amazed and saddened to learn of the end of Wallice’s active career…without him I am alone, adrift on the treacherous sickening seas of present porn without his (Peter?) North Star to sail by.

I was also, of course, filled with only the finest schadenfreude that Wallice, lanky, hook-nosed, pony-tailed bi-sexual fuck machine was cast out of the pornosphere at last, as if now I somehow have a chance of catching up to the 1000s of vaginas and rectums his hooked horn has dipped inside.

What a truly pathetic and non-gay love/hate letter to a man I’ll never meet or want to meet.