Posts Tagged ‘vagina’

Determining vaginal value

Thursday, 13 March 2008

Re: Spitzer/Gollum’s call girl.

No pussy is worth 5 grand an hour; this broad sure as hell isn’t worth US $1000/hr.

Mariah Carey or Vida Guerra might be worth 5 grand a night. My once-favorite porn star might be worth double that for a night’s work.

In the end, what’s money got to do with it? What is money, anyway?

Sooner or later every man pays the ultimate price,

while women do their nails.

Quoticle – For vagina, man will give his only begotten son and much, much more

Sunday, 2 March 2008

“The evil that women should turn their men into beasts of burden, to be stripped of spirit, and hope, and faith – only because they have a vagina that can accomplish the deed. If there is a god, he did not mean this to be so.”

~ modified quote from The Ten Commandments

Portrait of a Penis as a Deadly Cobra

Thursday, 3 January 2008

I hadn’t jacked-off in 12 days, some kind of World Record. Mostly it didn’t bother me, but other times–especially when good ass was in sight–my scrotum burned like glass in a blue flame. It could’ve been my imagination, but it also began to feel leaden, less willing to yo-yo in response to stimuli.

Finally the time came to come again. I summoned Kaylan Nicole like a genie from her hard drive bottle, cuing the scene. CC Fafafini, yet another hairless porn-dolphin, was ramming that vagina like his penis was a plunger working to unclog a toilet in a BAD Mexican restaurant. Such a beautiful vagina she had, the close-ups excellent.

With my penis heavy like a shotgun I figured it’d be over fast. Not so!

I got through Kaylan’s plowing twice before sighing with boredom. I debated switching to something else; my left hand clumsily clicked the mouse. Now it was Mack Wallass, he of the hooked nose and horn, working away on one Renee Emerald, one of those women who do only one or two films, then nothing. Sean Elephantay, the Black Stud, was also involved.

The scene, low-key as it was, did the trick, but there was no blast. In the 12 days of inactivity, my poor cobra had forgotten how to spit, leaving only a few weak coins and gurgles of man-yogurt.

I tried again, but the show was over. The Cosmoslick lubricant had actually turned to foam, making it look as if I’d tried to screw a Starbucks latte.

The next night I had no idea of the outcome, but my cock had the block on lock. This time the scene was Wallass with Maya Puissant, which never fails. In short order I was feeling much better despite earlier losing my wallet. A brilliant, steaming Rorshach of white wet music glorified a soon-to-be-trashed sock, testament to the power of happy testicles, counterbalancing an unhappy mind.

Such is the power.

Marc and Me: a love/hate rant

Sunday, 11 November 2007

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.