Last night’s Porn Star Karaoke was so hot that my cock stuck to the floor, so I spent most of the time outside.
Thinking I would only swing by on my way to my nightime roundtable of porn industry insiders in which I would dictate our strategies for the coming fiscal year as they all listened intently, wishing they had my experience, my connections, my ability to use meth without it taking control of me, and my 20-year friendship with Roy Karch, I stayed late.
Sardo’s owner Seymour told me that a Famous Person had dropped by the other evening, having anticipated his bar’s being named Burbank’s Finest. Hint: It was neither Lou Ferrigno nor McLean Stevenson.
The Gaelic Faerie Sophie Dee took issue with “something nasty” I’d written about her earlier. I couldn’t think of what it might have been. I asked her to tell me something that no one else knew.
“I like big black cock,” she said.
“I will endeavor to grow one,” I replied.
Both she and Tia Brodie are leaving for the U.K. next week. I will miss them. I will miss our afternoon teas, our eel pies, our bubbles and squeak, our soccer hooliganism, our preference for Ginger over Posh Spice, our subjugation of India, and their many rides on what they affectionately called “Gram’s Lorry.”
Speaking of the English, Layla Jade, too, was hanging around outside. She was wearing a pre-ripped top. There was, apparently, a demon inhabiting her person.
Q:What happens when you don’t pay your Exorcist bill?
A:You get repossessed.
I don’t ask people to flash me in front of Bank of America ATMs, but I am always happy when Flower Tucci does. For some reason she is rocking the cornrows this week, but she will only have them until Friday. “I have the biggest booty of any white girl,” she said to a fan.
That is why I would like to be He Who Walks Behind the Rows.
Keiko was there as well and I have noticed that her hair color is inversely proportional to husband Rob Longshot’s health. Theirs is a symbiotic porn marriage. Rob had injured his leg wrestling and was hobbling around on a crutch. Keiko, outside, sported hair several shades lighter than her recent fire engine red.
“The King and the Land are one,” I said, and left.
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