As Sasha Grey’s fifteen minutes of fame dilate to a good half-hour — mostly due to the massive exposure and largely favorable reviews garnered by Steven Soderbergh’s The Girlfriend Experience – porn producers the world over are pursing their lips in consternation. And with good reason: given one more “mainstream” success, one of the most remarkable smut stars in recent memory could conceivably vault over the fabled Maginot line that separates the wank leagues from Hollywood — and despite all declarations to the contrary on the part of Ms. Grey, there’s no guarantee she’s coming back.

Thus we — the disgruntled directors, flustered fans, and irate woodsmen of the adult film industry — are banding together as one, swollen member to clamor for our retribution. Which is to say: it’s time to play tit-for-tat.

1. If you get Sasha, We Get a Lohan.

This is just patently fair. Dina Lohan would be fine for a start: she’s half-crazy anyway, and this one-time Rockette is fairly screaming for the chance to “go public” with her brand of rangy, cougarish cum-lust. While it’s easy to imagine Dina stringing together an exceptional run of MILFin’ for Brazzers or some cheap, garden-variety equivalent, she’d also make a fine rum-fueled dominatrix, face-sitting and pee-taunting aging deviant losers in San Francisco fetish films that you used to have to hide from everyone you know – except this time you don’t, because it’s Dina!

The big prize, of course, would be Lindsay herself. No one knows better than we - the general internet-addicted public, who, amongst other things, comprise a massive, loosely-organized band of internet pussy inspectors — that Lindsay Lohan posesses all the natural exhibitionistic tendencies that a girl needs to score big in porn, and then some. Her string of 1,956 bare-snatched nights out in paparazziville has established an international record yet unequaled even by the likes of selfish hag Paris Hilton. Yet anyone who’s been watching Lohan scrupulously for the last couple of years has begun to detect a glimmer of boredom in her taunting displays. It’s just gotten too easy for her — both manipulating the media to further her own weird legend and opening up her incredible legs to show just the right amount of cooter. She needs an outlet: I’m saying it could be porn.

2. Consolation Package

If for some reason LiLo is unavailable (read: she dies of alcohol poisoning) we’ll settle for Lauren Pope (model-DJ who Lohan employed at a recent birthday bash to make Samantha Ronson jealous — ooh!), Ronson herself (or J.T. LeRoy, whoever comes first; and neither if they happen to be the same person), and the No. 2 pick in the fall 2010 American Idol draft. This is not negotiable. And don’t try to sweeten the pot with some lame celebrity sex tape. I can’t and won’t sit through another two-hour night-vision fiasco like the P. Hilton/Rick Salomon “shocker” without a massive snifter of peach-flavored LSD to splash into my eyeballs. We want real meat on the bone: and yes, I’m talking Scarlett Johannsen, in a full-color, hi-definition, two-camera shoot, with good background music and a non-disgusting guy. Period. (Note: does anyone besides me remember Rick Salomon simpering “I got the prettiest girlfriend in the world,” when he’s first filming Paris in her hotel bathroom? Good stuff, Ricky! Apparently, that’s the kind of snappy line that lands you marriages with Elizabeth Daily, Shannon Doherty, and Pamela Anderson. Go, boy, GO!)

And please don’t tell me that Scarlett doesn’t want to show the world how she has sex - of course she does. Hell, that’s what that awful Woody Allen film was about, wasn’t it? Yet Woodster, at the last possible moment, pulled back from what could have been a very entertaining and fully pornographic ménage à trois between Penelope Cruz, Johannsen, and weird Spaniard Javier Bardiem and chose to give us nothing. Look, guys: it’s not a big deal. Marilyn Monroe did it. Marilyn Monroe absolutely made a sex tape. She also posed nude for Playboy and about a million cool calendars that 50’s guys used to keep nailed to clubhouse walls. And it was all very relaxed. She got buck naked, showed her amazing tits, and then nobody cared and she went on to become a national icon, mostly for her acting and then later for fucking the president.

Scarlett, a child star, never got the same chance. I’m giving that to her now.

3. Oh, You Wanna Play Hardball? I can Play Hardball.

Okay: so you won’t send over LiLo, or DiLo, or ScarJo, or even Anne Freakin Hathaway (who would be really, really cool in porn, by the way). I guess we’re gonna have to get rough: we’re taking the boys. Yep: the A-List. Damon, Pitt, Cruise, and Depp. Can’t happen, you say? Hell it can’t.

No, we’re not offering $20 million a movie ($300 and all the Cool Ranch Doritos you can eat is more like it; plus, you should bring your own towel if you want to use one that’s free of dried, matted cum) - but goddamn, man, those kids don’t need more money! In fact, that’s the last thing on their minds. No, what Depp and his ilk need more than anything else is variety. (Counter-point: Cruise, well-supplied with adequate flat-chested bisexual blood-drinking Scientological concubine action, is probably pretty safe here.)

Let’s look at Brad Pitt for a closer examination. Why did he break up with Jennifer Aniston? Here’s a legitimately funny, great-looking woman who doesn’t carry a vial of blood around her neck and happens to have the body of a twenty-year old dancer at Jumbo’s Clown Room. The answer, of course, is variety. Monogamy, pretty much the shittiest plan drawn up in the history of modern humanity, with the exception of the Magic playing J.J. Redick serious minutes at the end of game 2 of the NBA Finals, is a Puritan scourge of the highest order and guys cannot deal with it. They do, because they want to fit in, but I’ll tell you what, they sure don’t like it.

Consider Pitt’s situation. He’s basically been given every power a mortal man could want. He earns an insane amount of money, he’s doing fun, engaging work that basically anyone and everyone would die to do, and he has the ear of most Democratic politicians at a moment’s notice. He’s what you call empowered. Were he single, he could quite literally have any woman in the world at the snap of his fingers; yet due to some rather questionable decision-making, he’s been with Angelina and Angelina alone for more than four years. Sure, the sex was smokin’ the first 700 times or so; but by now, he’s got to have porked Mrs. Smith upside down, backwards, and every way he can think of. Yet he’s in way too deep to back out. For Christ’s sake, he’s got three biological kids with her, not to mention about twelve adopted children and a non-binding agreement to take Anderson Cooper to the park for ice cream cones every other Sunday. He can’t fuck and run, like he did to Aniston.

My sense? 2009 Brad Pitt’s sweating. But if someone were to come to him and suggest that he take on the thespian’s challenge of porn-fuckery — more to challenge the ideals of middle-class American culture than anything else (he can crib this speech from Soderbergh if need be) — then perhaps, just perhaps, he could have his cake, and eat it too.

Oh, you fucked up, Hollywood. You fucked up big-time. And you know what? You brought this on yourself. You shouldn’t have gone sniffin’ where you didn’t belong.

You took Sasha Grey.  Now we’re going to steal something of equal value from you - something that you used to love.