Last night’s two-year anniversary of Porn Star Karaoke was kind of crazy. As America’s Only Porn Journalist, however, I chose to remain above the fray. It was reminiscent of what my friend Murray Head told me about international chess match arbitration:
“Thank God I’m only watching the game – controlling it.”
I had to get some money, but before I stopped at the ATM I was confronted by Lurk Ford, who again seemed drunk, slurring his words and weeping uncontrollably.
“Lurk, are you drunk?” I asked.
He giggled and breathed into my face. I thought: This is the last thing Kitten Natividad ever saw.
I told a woman that she looked like she should be painted on an airplane. Later she handed me her cigarette while she disappeared for several minutes into a Maserati. I don’t smoke.
Gathered around a flaming barrel, trying to keep warm, were Jimmy D, Tim Case, and Harry Weiss. Jimmy D, like Chuck Colson, has apparently found Jesus. Read his site for more information on this. He moves in strange, rarefied circles, that guy. I hadn’t seen Harry Weiss since my final week at AVN, hadn’t met Tim Case but last week, and had never meet Jimmy D before, except via e-mail. So it was like we were all gathered on the flets of Lothlorien, and I was like, “nice rings, Elf-Lords.”
Once inside, the usual suspects abounded. There seemed to be a ringer couple, however. I hadn’t seen them before, but they were like the guy who wins at three-card-monty in order to drag other people into the game. They seemed like they were trying to act like porn stars but they were a Mentos ad version of porn stars. Hard to explain. The bottom line is the woman stepped on Keiko’s foot.
“Who is the blonde girl?” Keiko asked, “because I want to bawl her out for breaking my toe.” Keiko seemed fine afterword, though, as she made out with various PSK attendees seemingly arbitrarily for cameras.
The gang from XBiz was there. I didn’t notice them at first because I thought they were all talent, whooping it up and shouting hoarsely. Usually when they venture out as a group they are in high, starched collars and ashamed that their publications cover the adult industry. What made this night different from any other night?
Later I was standing next to XBiz rake Martin Murphy as he was propositioned by a tipsy woman. Here is the exact conversation:
TW: Your wife wouldn’t mind if I sucked your cock?
MM: No, but she’d have to be there.
TW: She’d probably want to join me?
MM: It would take the both of you to accommodate it.
I am searching for the word – the Germans probably have one – that describes not recognizing a porn star in person whom one has seen on film or in a magazine. Such was the case with Felicia Fox, who said, “Hi, Gram.”
“Get away from me!” I cried. Our shared love of Supertramp and White Castle sliders attracts and repels me, as I am fearful of all commitments.
On stage were Genesis Skye and Jesse Harnell. Genesis is someone who prompts one to think, She does not have my best interest in mind. It’s very exciting. Harnell, who keeps being introduced as “the guy from Survivor,” is not listed in any of the 80’s band’s online biographies. Perhaps he was in a Survivor cover band, like Rising Up with People? I only know that he does/did voices for Animaniacs and Drawn Together and he can sing like Steve Perry and Bruce Dickinson had a chiid who looked like Mott the Hoople married Slash.
Sardo’s manager Seymour is like Mr. Rourke, if Mr. Rourke drank coffee in the Fantasy Island parking lot out of a brown ceramic cup. nHe knows everybody. “Smiles, everyone – smiles,” he says to his henchmen, who say they rarely have to deal with disturbances greater than Robyn Rosenberg’s and Lurk Ford’s forbidden love.
At the end of the evening my new favorite porn star, the Kentish Tia Brodie, was being harangued in the parking lot to show her ass. She thought of England and obliged. As people kept asking, though, getting lower and lower to the ground outside of Von’s, she asked, “How far underneath me do you want to get? Jesus!”
The answer, as always, is mostly.
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