Wicked does not throw many parties, and I have never attended a Wicked event in the entirety of the three weeks I’ve been involved with the adult industry. So I found myself on Cahuenga Blvd. at the former Crush bar last night.
I spoke with Wicked’s Joy King, a person whose marketing prowess has been inexpertly replicated by her numerous admirers.
“Wicked does not throw many parties,” I probed.
“No, we don’t throw many parties.”
“I see that you have snacks,” I said, changing gears suddenly as per my restless intellect.
“Yes,” she said, suddenly parrying with, “and we also have drinks.”
The occasion was the release of the bounty hunter flick Manhunters, in which jessica drake, Carmen Hart, Kirsten Price, and Exotica received martial arts and weapons training in addition to applying the Turgidifying Arts in the execution of a Brad Armstrong film.
No sooner had I walked in than I was presented with a tray full of snacks.
“Please help me lighten my load,” a waitress said.
Wicked is a classy company, but I still felt the need to say, “Watch out where you say ‘load’.”
I don’t know too much about Wicked. They keep to themselves. They seem shy but kind, like Alan Arkin in The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter.
I stopped the delightful Linda Roberts of SLLABWurks’ The New Neighbors while she was passin’ by. I asked if she’d tried a chicken finger.
“Oh, you ate one too?” she asked.
“So everybody knows the silent partner in your company,” I said, easing my seat back. “Mightn’t the movie sell even better if people knew who it was?”
“Probably,” she said, liking the way the line goes up the back of the stocking.
“I mean, he’s already been outed in a different capacity by another company,” I noted, unchained. “You might as well jump.”
“I’m not sure he wanted to get outed,” she replied, just to try to make herself feel better.
“But isn’t that movie selling a lot more now that his name has been associated with it?” I dove down.
“Yes,” she said wearily. “Now beat it.”
Puma Swede rushed by. I think she said, “My handbag.”
“Oh I know,” I said.
I spoke with Michael Raven, director of The Visitors and the upcoming Samson And Delilah.
I asked if The Visitors was going to be edited down to a G rating and entered into film festivals.
“There are a lot of options,” he said.
As an Old Testament scholar (though our people just call it The Only Testament), I was fascinated that a porn movie would be built around a Bible story.
“It’s a contemporary take on Samson and Deliah,” Raven said. “Herschel Savage plays Samson, a corporate type, and he meets jessica drake, Delilah, in a hair salon.”
I think that story has more sexual opportunities than, say, the Song of Solomon, which always makes people feel uncomfortable when it’s read at weddings. You know that when The Song of Solomon is trotted out at a wedding it’s a signal to the congregation that the couple feels it needs God’s permission to have sex. At that point it’s already too late, and when the reader says “A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts,” everyone squirms.
People are all like, “I don’t want to think about your breasts, Beatrice.”
I am assured that Wicked’s Samson and Delilah will be good for the Jews.
More snacks were brought. Fried snacks. Snacks on sticks.
I met Flower Tucci, celebrating Olivia O’Lovely’s birthday with Alexis Amore. “I don’t want anything fried,” she said.
“Are you breaking up with me?” I cried.
The party at White Lotus was well-attended but not packed. I didn’t feel like a particle in a particularly dense atom or that I was a late, fat arrival in the birth canal the way I sometimes do at these events.
I saw jessica drake.
“Let’s get away from all this,” I didn’t say, gesturing to anyone who would try to hurt us. “I don’t care how old either of us is.”
“It’s not time!” she said.
I don’t enjoy standing behind ropes at red carpets. There is too much pushing and the waiters don’t venture out with snack trays. Here was a nice picture of Randy Spears, jessica drake, and Brad Armstrong. Someone shoved his camera into the shot and now you can hardly recognize them. They might as well be trolls.
Inside, someone asked me, “Why aren’t you taking pictures on the red carpet?”
“I am America’s Beloved Porn Journalist,” I said. “Why aren’t you chasing ambulances?”
Gia Paloma, Georgia Peach, and Lorelei Lee were the last pictures I took as I headed out for Porn Star Karaoke. Lee appears sad, wondering why I am always called away.
“I am the highway, baby,” I said.
Later – much later – I wished I’d had some more potstickers. They were so goddamn tasty I can’t stand it.
Previously: Skylar Neil Memorial Golf Tournament
See also: Wicked Pictures
Leave a Reply