It was a little like seventh grade; I walked into the Beauty Bar in Hollywood and everyone was staring at me. Slightly above my head was a monitor playing a softcore screener of Joanna’s Angels, and people were just standing around looking directly at it.
I didn’t want to turn around and become one of them, because I could predict the hot pressure of the pincers on the back of my neck as I gave up my brain to the herd. I thought I’d have a drink instead.
“One of us,” they said.
“Cut it out you trendies,” I said.
“Join us,” they said. “It’s ironic in here.”
The bartender gave me a tiny little amount of Jagermeister in a contact lens.
I talked with Joanna Angel for a bit, sitting her down at one of the hairdresser chairs to have a heart to heart (I believe BurningAngel.com should do a Hart to Hart porn takeoff next. I will play Max. “And when they met – it was triple vaginal penetration with machines”).
I am worried for her because people can’t stop writing about her. The Mike and the Mechanics to my Genesis, Fleshbot, has become a 24-hour Joanna Angel channel. It’s all going so fast. Joanna Angel is only 37″ tall. Can she stay on this crazy joyride?
“I’m sleeping and eating well,” she told me. She goes back to New York City on Monday, then she’ll come back, and then she’ll take a month-long break.
We were interrupted by a sales guy who got within inches of her face and then lifted up per pant leg to see her newly-inked tattoo.
Later, publicist Sean Carnage asked her to sign some posters. “Just ‘Eat my pussy’,” he suggested.
“Wait a minute,” I protested. “Everybody’s getting an ‘Eat my pussy’?”
“No, just you,” Sean said. I imagine there are three dozen Joanna’s Angels posters out there with “Eat my pussy, Dan Miller” on them.
I asked her if she would write something tender and sweet, indicative of our love for each other. She wrote “Eat my pussy” in Hebrew. (I think that’s what it says. If my rabbi tells me it says “Eat my ass,” I’m going to be very hurt.)
Outside was party promoter Laura Jean, who is also the model coordinator for Suicide Girls, which is relocating to West Hollywood. I asked if SG was hard to recruit for in the wake of allegations of hellishness and mind control.
“I get about a thousand submissions a day,” she said, very tall and without her accessory dog.
I left and went to a bar called Big Wangs to meet some “people.”
“No, it’s not a gay bar,” the bouncer said for what looked to be the millionth time.
From what I saw while standing motionless with 50 other people, Joanna’s Angels is a fun fun fun movie.
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