Solange Magnano dies After Elective Surgery to Her Buttocks
So?
The 37 year old mother of twins and former Miss Argentina died on a cot after receving collagen implants in her already rotund globular buttocks yet all I can think about is myself, languishing away in a public library in a dour town on a grey December day. Right now I’m feeling feeble and depressed, as if there was no recourse or love in the world; yet the sun is shining; and I just took a whooshing shit; so things could be worse, although just as easily they could be far better.
I SAW A FAKE ASS ONCE while in the gym in Los Angeles, it was in 2004. The owner of the false ass had red hair and was about 35 years old. I saw her taut and saucy buttocks ballasting against the silk sweatsuit, and they caught my eye. They did. She had the J. Lo model so popular then. I had no idea that anything was amiss, though, until I saw the woman climb upon the assisted pull-up machine. Her body and mind was carried upwards; but her ass moved not at all. It was poison, pure poison. I wondered what it must feel like, to sit on a ball of wax, day in and day out.
I FELT A FALSE BREAST ONCE, well more than once, but I remember one instance in particular well, it was the right breast of an actress who I’d somehow managed to fall into a demented hour of sex with, and her name was Juliana, and the site was her apartment, in Woodland Hills, and she was light, so light, so skinny, so damn rail-thin skinny that she must have weighed only 96 lbs. But now she was pushing 100, easy, with the addition of two strong and exactly circular spheroid boob-cans. They were high on her chest and bobbed and weaved like basketballs as her body was pushed down into the couch by my heavy and hairy thighs. She squealed with delight. I closed my eyes and then felt her hair, which was silky, and her skin, which was soft and perfect and young, and tried not to touch the breast. But then out of curiosity and perhaps in a vague attempt to explore, know more about life, I grabbed it and shook it and wondered what would pop out. It was hard and stiff and an appendage. No milk would come out of that sucker. We fucked and I gnashed her new boob experimentally between my teeth. Minutes later we stopped having sex, neither of us coming and we went to go to Denny’s where we spent $28.49 between the two of us and, magnanimously, I paid for dinner.
Brilliant, Sam. This made me chuckle - not out of the sheer lunacy of someone actually dying from getting a prosthetic (sort of) ass installed, but because of the tone of the whole thing. Well done.
Hey Sam, just read your book and dug it immensely. Hats off! Felt like a modern-day Bukowski in the porn world. I would have loved more though, maybe you can bust up a Part 2 down the line?
You are indeed an artist, the vid-clips on your site are gold. I first came here via lukeisback.com, where they referenced your great Damian Michaels interview in an article about his death. LIB was kind enough to post the link to the source of the interview, and the rest is history. You have a fan here.
I see that you were bitchin’ and moanin’ that nobody comments or participates, but I also don’t see any responses from you on any of the few comments that have been posted. Why not respond? Why not get a dialogue going? Fuck PM’ing. A lot of folks are hitting your site, trust me. Talk to them on the comments-section, and more will show up like flies.
As miserable(and fascinating) the sections about Alex and Divina were to read…did those two incidents make you quit porn by themselves? I doubt it.
What made you not want to shoot anymore?
You still have a foot in the game as you have this site up, and don’t seem quite set to shake it. What’s next for you?
You are a terrifically ballsy dude…might you be the next Luke? Would you want to be?
As for any of you lurkers, buy Sam’s book, it’s an awesome read. It cost a whopping ten-bucks on-line. Get off your butts and support someone who dived into the muck and lived to tell about it.
Hey Johnny! Thanks for the comment dude. Okay, i’m going to try to take your advice: i will respond to my commenteers. And you say more comments will follow? Well it’s your ass if they don’t. You are personally responsible to me.
Thanks for the Bukowski comment. Bukowski is my favorite living writer who’s actually dead. Just decided that right here and now. I was actually reading Post Office when I wrote the sixth seventh and eighth chapters of my book. I channeled his manic claw.
Part two (I just wanted to see if I knew how to make a comment; I do; it works; part of the reason I never responded to a comment is ‘cuz I think I tried to once and it never showed up; who cares): I’ve been reading a lot lately since I’m temporarily living in a desolate outpost wherein I have no friends and no enemies. I’m trying on Jonathan Lethem for size and tunneled my way through a William Vollman book. Have you ever read William T. Fucking Vollman? There’s something wrong with this person. It’s like they gave him a McArthur Genius Grant and he ate it. Now he’s trying to shit it out through his fingers. This person is smarter than the rest of the room - just like David Foster Wallace was - but I’m just not sure it makes them great storytellers. Yeesh. I picked my way through Wallace’s non-fiction collection earlier this year, and apart from a great essay on David Lynch, I found it way too show-offy. Same with Mr. Vollmann . . . he essentially wrote an encyclopedia (Rising Up and Rising Down) that McSweeney’s published, and it’s just intimidating and fiercely odd. I don’t aspire to be like them, because it seems they’re needlessly complex. Now, someone like Bukowski, he had fire in the belly and just blazed his honesty across the page. Out of everyone out there, I truly believe he didn’t give a fuck, and we all know that’s the most attractive thing going.
As for your question about a Part Two, yep, there’s more to come on this li’l volume . . . I spent the fall working on what has become like a “second half” of the book. It’s still getting worked over and with any luck someday it’ll come out of the shadows. Writing is awful. It takes forever and that’s just getting started.
S’funny that you mention that I don’t have a foot in the game, but don’t seem quite ready to shake it, either . . . astute! I actually hate porn, but I’ve been coming to feed at the jaws of this master for so long I’m not sure I know how to slaver anywhere else. There’s plenty of other interesting topics out there, yeah, but I need to find something as provocative and as interesting and as sick as porno if I’m going to replace it. It’s a hard nut.
To be honest, I wouldn’t mind sticking around, making a life’s work out of it, if I could make a decent documentary film or an audio-documentary piece that would concern the porn industry. I’m sick to death of Los Angeles’s warm vagina, so maybe a travelogue on the various Porno’s of the World would make me happy . . . who knows . . . thanks for encouraging me . .
When I first read this a few nights back I laughed, then I realized this poor girl actually died trying to look pretty enough, not for herself, but for anyone who’d give her a paycheck to look that way.
Porno is on the other side of the scale from modeling, so “they” say, but aren’t they pretty much the same thing as well?
Pretty people (and sometimes not so pretty) get paid big money to be photographed and video’d selling their image of what someone else wants them to be for the hour or hour and a half they’ve contracted their services out to be.
God damn I’m jaded to the whole thing - i’m not even affiliated to either profession, but when it’s served up on billboards, commercials, and especially on the internet, ugh, it turns my stomach after a while.
I feel bad for the girl, but if she had survived, would we have really known about the dozen or so others who have died since this procedure started becoming in vogue a few years back?
Either way, I say feh to it all.