Night of Night of the Giving Head

Caroline Pierce stood at the keg, topless, handing out beer.

“I’m Queen of the Zombies,” she said, drawing a nice head on a cup of Oktoberfest, and the night only got better.

I’d been to a couple of events over the past few weeks that ended in tears, the kind hyped by a sleazy promoter as teeming with dozens of porn stars partying on the rooves of Hollywood landmarks but that turned out to be dismal affairs that were moved several times, cancelled before they were started, and uniformly devoid of the people you come to this site to see.

(And don’t try to placate me by saying “Oh no, Grams, I come to your site to be inspired by your insights into the porn world and its machinations. The pictures are secondary to my desire to glean from your dense words a better picture of our life and times, and in so doing become a better person” because I would only believe you a little.)

And so, when I arrived at the original location of porn legend Rodney Moore’s party for hisd new release Night of the Giving Head and was met not by fellatio-happy zaftig sweeties but instead by a burly but pleasant security guard named Brian, I thought I should just go home.

“Party’s been moved,” he said.

Where? I thought. Somebody’s basement? An efficiency room at the Vagabond Inn? I’m done with porn, I thought. I hate these people. They ruin everything.

“You know where Andora Street is?” Brian asked. “The party’s there.”

Usually when a party gets moved the new location is several steps down from the original. Not in this case. When an unbribable L.A. Fire Marshall announced to Rodney Moore’s staff that there was no way 250 people were going to have a party in the warren of studio rooms last seen in these pages housing Lisa Ann’s boobs, the event was moved four miles north and a thousand feet up to a house atop a hill overlooking Porn Valley from such a distance as to make that part of town look nice.

On the way up the hill, I ran over a snake. On the way down, I almost ran over Kylee Reese. What does that mean?

Anyway, the first person I saw upon entering was Caroline Pierce, who lives in Las Vegas and who was last in town for the filming of the movie – at that house – in August.

“It’s cooler, so my nipples are a little harder now,” she observed. So did I.

Pierce is one of the only porn stars I know who has never thrown in the towel and lived in L.A. Instead, when she works here she couch-surfs and then goes home. But to Las Vegas? She is so pale that I worry.

“When you walk out of your house in Vegas in July,” I asked, purposely not looking at her nipples because I am suave, “do you ever burst into flame?”

“Yes.”

All right then.

It was explained to me that Night of the Giving Head involves some kind of space ray that turns women into fellating zombies. I will review it soon in preparation for my lawsuit, as the story was taken from events in my own life.

Propped against some rocks in the back were Kylee Reese and Claire Dames. While they have not been in the business long, both Reese and Dames (who doesn’t look like her one-letter-away mainstream namesake at all, which is fine by me) instantly made out when I took my lens cap off.

I think if Ivan Pavlov were alive, he wouldn’t need to kill dogs in order to prove his theory of conditioned reflexes. Instead he would just quietly remove a lens cap and watch every woman in the San Fernando Valley push her boobs together and floss her labia with a thong.

I asked the two women to pose by the beautiful rocks and soon a ring of cameras formed behind us. This happened throughout the night. Reese and Dames, in red and blue, looked like they were forming a flag for a country I wanted to occupy.

I moved away from the camera circle, and Reese and Dames continued posing. Someone was talking to his bros nearby.

“It’s a pussy, man,” he said. “When she puts her pants back on, it’ll still be there.”

I think this comment reflected his ennui with women in general and the porn industry in particular.

“Who has hurt you?” I said.

“She flashes her pussy and everyone starts taking pictures,” he said.

Down that road lies madness. She flashes her vagina so people will take pictures. People take pictures so she flashes her vagina. It might not happen (enough) at 7-11, but this was a porn party, after all.

In the door walked Kayden Kross. She’s not in the movie but she is like the Sacramento ambassador to Porn Valley. Because she loves me more than any other, we fell into an easy conversation about life, love, the court system, and crucifixion.

“There were buzzards flying over my head,” she said about nothing in particular.

I asked to take a picture or three but soon the same ring of photographers was behind me. I excused myself. Soon poor Kayden was squeezing her boobs together and making out with her friend Amber, who demurely showed nothing as the cameras flashed.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t even get a drink before the paparazzi descended,” I said.

“I don’t drink,” Kross replied, “and people taking pictures is why I’m here.”

“Well, in that case,” I said, “How about you [censored] my [censored] and [censored] it until [censored] comes out of your [censored], nose, and [censored]? I’ve been saving up.”

“You bet your [censored] that will soon be sticking half way out the back of my [censored],” she did not say.

In another part of the property sat dapper Ray of Porn Valley News. He told me a harrowing tale of his site being hacked using iframe-based Trojan Horses. I shuddered and again was grateful that I have built my site using nothing but Silenium electrons and gum.

(One atom picks up another atom at the airport. Arriving Atom says, “Damn it. I left my electrons in Phoenix.” Atom Two says, “Are you sure?” “Well, I’m positive.”)

Two people told me about their plans to release porn on mobile phones. One plan sounded plausible. In other news, only one person of the 200 people wearing bluetooth headsets wasn’t a douchebag, which was the highest percentage of bluetooth non-douchebaggery I’ve yet observed.

There were many people I didn’t recognize, which I like. Even if they’re dressed like the old people, seeing new people at a function like this diminishes the recirculated air feeling I sometimes get.

One new person I met was Rucca Page. Page is not new to porn but she is new to me. Every time I write about her I get e-mails from people asking me to write more. She was recently in a movie called Muffintops.

“Where did you come from?” I asked. A reader named Sherman writes in now and then to tell me to post every picture of Rucca Page that I can. “She is the perfect woman,” he says, and then tells me the things he’d like to see her do. Page seems to inspire this.

“Las Vegas,” she said. Everybody in Las Vegas must be a porn performer or Wayne Newton, or both.

Making his way through the background of his own party was Rodney Moore, a very nice man but also very quiet. It’s strange to encounter that sort of person in the porn world, where everyone wants to tell you about their cellphone-based porn schemes.

Pierce likes Moore but also finds him subdued. Let’s face it: a title like Night of the Giving Head implies tortured genius.

“Rodney is a little inscrutable,” she said. “And I’ve had sex with him. He once gave me an apron.”

I was glad I went to the party. Glad that the noble Fire Marshall had refused an implied blowjob and offers of cash and sent the event up the hill.

See a gallery here.

Watch Night of the Giving Head here
Buy Night of the Giving Head here

Previously on Porn Valley Observed: Aiden Starr abnd Caroline Pierce – just because
See also: Rodney Moore