“Everyone dates the demise of our neighborhood…..from the suicides of the Lisbon girls. People saw their clairvoyance in the wiped-out elms, the harsh sunlight…” – from “The Virgin Suicides”
The summer slowdown was nowhere as apparent as at last night’s Porn Star Karaoke, at which I was able to have a pleasant series of conversations with friends without the distraction of porn stars nearby.
“It’s great to talk to you,” I said to my friend.
“Yes, it is pleasant to hear each other without discerning the smell of well-used vagina through hastily-applied pants,” he said.
“Do you still need to borrow my truck on Saturday?”
“Yes. Normally I’d suggest we discuss this outside where it’s quieter, but we can do it in here because there are no porn stars.”
“I think I’ll order some fries.”
“Good idea; you won’t have to worrry about anyone mashing her boobs in them because there are no porn stars here.”
Like cows in a field sensing an imminent tornado, the porn stars have fled Porn Star Karaoke. It is an indicator of lagging DVD sales and a general malaise.
Only Kristen and Konnie were at Sardo‘s last night representing the female side of the industry, and as such they were below-the-line personnel. Neither has ever disrobed for a camera, aside from candid snaps distributed among a small group of photography enthusiasts.
Things will pick up again and then it will be like it used to be, but PSK has always been a leading indicator of the general health of the adult business, as have Rite Aid’s strategic enema reserves and Costco’s party platter stockpile.
It should be no surprise that one can walk into any pharmacy in the Valley and get all the douche he needs.
You have naked snapshots of Kristen Spillers??