-When we left Jersey Shore yesterday, JWOWW (Jennifa) was prick-teasing her pathetic boyfriend, Tommy, on the duck phone. As she spoke to his gullible, idiotic, cuckolded ass, toying with the cord of her duck phone, and insulting him at will, she also idly fingered her silicon-infested boob and then, seizing upon an idea, found a serrated knife and began to saw at her own nipple. Soon blood was running down her open-necked guido t-shirt, and, thick with self-hatred, she continued to mutilate her own body, drunkenly butting Marlboro cigarettes into her now festering nipple wound. Well, it didn’t take long for Vinny to break out the video camera! His waxed eyebrows gleaming in the sun, Vinny jumped into the hottub, went to the gym, did his laundry, and then returned to continue making a snuff/self-hatred film that starred JWOWW, who by now had progressed to “cutting” and had made a bevy of horizontal razorcuts into her left breast, which had deflated and now was leaking green, sickly silicone.

At the sight of the industrial-grade tit-poison, Vin instantly took a haricut, ate a tray of manicotti, and briefly fist-pumped, but luckily had the wherewithal to place the VHS-C videocamera in Nicole “Snooki”’s rigor-mortis-frozen pig mouth, which served as a sort of tripod. WOWW, still hatefully berating her boyfriend, Tommy, on the duck phone, then began to insult The Situation, and his fade. The Situation and Pauly D then retreated to the beatific solitude of the hottub; Pauly D brought his turntables in with him, which electrocuted them both, although not fatally. Nicole “Snooki”’s body was tossed into the hot tub; but the stench her rotting flesh created when melded with the chlorine was almost too much for the boys to bear, and Sammi “Sweetheart” was called to take a bulimic laxative shit into the burbling waters, and the gang headed to Karma, to dance the night away.

JWOWW’S LEFT BREAST HAS BEEN SEVERED BY A KNIFE

-Ronnie, sickened the largesse of his roomies, fastened a noose around his bullneck and hung himself in a relatively clean closet on the second floor of the beachfront apartment. Finding his giant, dead corpse hanging by a string, Mike “The Situation” and Pauly D immediately commenced to buggering Ronnie’s still warm and suprisingly moist asshole. Pretending they were “macking” on “a woman” in a dance club, The Situation and Pauly D shaved Ronnie’s sack and upper thigh area with a straight razor, then used a hammer and a Phillips-head screwdriver to make his bloody anus more dead and more accessible to both of their dicks at the same time. Performing a “double-anal” on Ronnie’s dead ox body that still hang from the strong length of rope, The Situation and DJ Pauly D tongue-kissed soulfully, their erect penises rubbing up against one another, with little spurts of cum dribbling onto the now-cold body. Italian guido jizz dripped onto the bloody, wet floor of the closet.

RONNIE: NO MOTHER IN THE WORLD WOULD TOUCH HIM

Finally off the duck phone, Jennifa (JWOWW) came into to gawk at Ronnie’s horrible body, quickly suggesting that the “gang” rent an affordable chainsaw so they could dismember then eat Ronnie’s flesh, and possibly make Tequila Sunrises from his body, if there was enough pus to go around.

Sammi “Sweetheart” was sent out into the night to procure a cheap tequila; her heart was pounding into her perky, springy-fleshed boobies. She bobbled down the Jersey streets, nervously, her stomach tight and alert. Dropping to her knees with sudden pain, Sammi cried out, sliding her rubber thong out of the way, and shitted explosively and uncontrollably. Hot turds diddled her black, stupid, shiny heels.

SAMMI: SHITTING ON HERSELF BULIMICALLY SINCE 1998

Meanwhile, Vin was threading his eyebrows with dental floss and Twittering relentlessly with his mother, her Twitter handle being @Italian_Lard_Fuck. Taking out his small (but extraordinarily thick) penis and placing it into his right paw, Vin began to squeeze his rod gently and think about his mother - not in a romantic way, he told himself, but more as if they were “fuck buddies.”

He continued to masturbate while imagining his obese and diabetic mother’s grey back hair that spread from the cleft of her water buffalo ass all across her sacrum and up to the middle of her back like a matted cum trap. He splooged all over the duck phone, then absentmindedly used dead Snooki’s dusty hair to wipe his balls clean.

Suddenly enraged, Vin kicked Snooki’s lifeless head with the tip of his expensive sneakers, but, weak, and for all purposes impotent, he made nary a dent.

JUST AN IMPOTENT SACK OF SHIT

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Only a week left to go on Jersey Shore, MTV’s happenin’-est reality show about five guidos and guidettes living the GTL life (Gym, Tan, Laundry) in Seaside, New Jersey. Here’s your intrepid reporter, Sam Benjamin, to catch you up on the recent twists and turns.

- Pauly D’s hair caught on fire while he was cooking some salsicce in the kitchen, drunk, late-night, alone, devestated by the possible loss of a Democratic Senate seat in Massachusetts. The flames spread to his face and then to his testicles. He was carted to the Seaside Emergency Room in a hearse, but no such luck: they were able to operate on his hair and on his testicles, and one testicle was saved. The other was ground into a fine paste and spread on his hair, serving as a sort of gel.

PAULY D

-Mike “The Situation” brought home a girl from the club, much to the disgust of Ronnie, Sammi “Sweetheart”, JWOWW, Snooki, and Vinny. The gang alternately referred to Mike’s date as “a grenade,” a “water buffalo,” a “fuckin hippo,” and a “big bag of smelly cheddar cheese, shaped around a pussy.” The Situation didn’t care; he fucked her anyway. He got his nut. As The Situation spread her hefty, cottage-cheese looking thighs and inserted his small steroid penis into her vaginal canal, The Situation let the itchy pubic hair that grew around the obese guidette’s bikini line exfoliate the red, flaking skin that dotted his nose and throat area. Dead crusts of cancerous epidermis fell to the dirty mottled bedsheets in a suspicious, death-like halo.

THE SITUATION

Later in the show, The Situation invesigated his steroid-biceps and found out he had a “situtation” all his own - a ball of furry pus forming in his left bicepital tendon! This is the kind of thing that can kill you, but no such luck, as Mike was carted to the Seaside Emergency Room in a Hummer Limosuine (Pauly D drove; Ronnie gave Pauly D a quick dicksuck, that no one is allowed to talk about). The doctors operated on The Situation’s bicep with an exacto knife; blood spurted everywhere, filling up two shot glasses mixed with fetid, copper-smelling, pus-dotted liquid, and Ronnie and Pauly D poured the HIV-positive blood all over their broken, scabbed, bleeding faces and laughed, laughed.

Vinny, excluded from this event, further cemented his own status as not “one of the guys.”

-Nicole, aka “Snooki,” was punched in the stomach over and over again by two black mall cops who then proceeded to strangle Snooki until her face was blue and frozen. Delighted, they stuffed a rag soaked in kerosene into her Annie Wilkes-like pig mouth until Snickers unceremoniously vomited, then choken on her own puke in a Mama Cass/’93 Oprah-like explosion. Vinny broke out his mother’s VHS-C camcorder and started alternating making a snuff film and waxing his own eyebrows. Meanwhile Sammi “Sweetheart” curled up in Ronnie’s sweat-stained hoodie and a pair of black denim daisy dukes, and fingered her own pussy, bored.

Sammi perked up noticeably when DJ Pauly D and The Situation started squeezing The Situation’s raw, bleeding bicepital tendon over Snooki’s obviously dead and frozen blue lips until a giblet of yellow maggotpus drizzled on her Guido-ish nose, then hung there. Sammi chose this moment to turn incontinent, and, suddenly crazed on RedBull and and Summer’s Eve Douche, which she had been using as contact lens fluid, ripped her thong to one side and shitted brownly (and solidly) on Snooki’s dead, stringy-mopped head.

IS SNOOKERS DEAD??

What a colossal mess; what a piece of LSD committed to film!

I had never seen this awe-inspiring piece of shit until late last night, when after work, exhausted, I was lurking sadly in the family room and begging for a little quality entertainment. I checked out five wretched minutes of The Bad Girls Club (on Oxygen!), cried with laughter until I basically couldn’t take it anymore (watching the Bad Girls Club being a bit like huffing paint; quite simply, it is the most noxious show in the history of television, maybe), then switched over to HBO Family and caught a glimpse of a movie that would change my life.

Now, where was this movie when I used to do drugs? I ask you that. I had a bizarre mushroom trip with my dear friend Rami in Providence in 1995, and after a long, hard day hallucinating in the snow, we had to settle for an episode of Baywatch to crack up over and fall hysterically laughing the dorm-kitchen floor. This “magical Negro” (Billy Preston) “come-to-save-the-day” trope might have actually granted us the ability to fly, had we seen it at the right moment.

But enough of that. Truly, “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band” is a visual abortion, a piece of filmmaking so execrable that it sends me, a former pornographer, serial masturbator, and one of the world’s leading resources on films so bad they will make your testicles furl up into useless, tiny nubbins, actually blanch with horror - and respect.

Wikipedia puts this film into perspective when their anonymous band of writers inform me that the film, while an utter flop in the United States in 1979 when it was released (this film was so bad that the Bee Gees, begged to be released from their contracts when filming began, to no avail), was a hit in Communist Poland. Due to the limited resources behind the Iron Curtain, this film actually looked good to the Soviet-ruled teen Poles, who watched it all the time and probably thought Steven Tyler’s mouth was artificially inflated (a prop from the West).

Sorry, but that clip - Aerosmith as the “Future Villians Band”, doin’ “Come Together” - is just worth the price of admission. If I was a Polish teenager in 1979, I’d be all over Steven Tyler, not to mention weird Joe Perry, blond, charisma-less Peter Frampton, and the one Gibb brother who looks like he’s been sedated.

How did I come upon this masterpiece so late in life?? How?? I am considering buying this film, except that no one should ever buy a hard copy of anything anymore, it’s all digital: and all industries, record, film, and publishing, are doomed.

My reviews for EdensFantasy have been stacking up slowly. While I like the idea of becoming the Roger Ebert of porn, I am, I am coming to realize, mostly a lazy dog. To compound my problems, internet-writers’ block has lodged in my colon, and I admit that I haven’t been able to write a line of much of anything besides a “status update” in the last month or so of 2009. Call it attack of the Twitters. Call it the Slow-Word Movement, come home to roost. Call it what you will.

But now that the New Year has officially been rung in (by a Dick Clark with one foot in his own moldy grave), maybe I can turn the tide of my own slothfulness, and start to rip out scads of good copy - the first denomination of which should by all rights be a review of Xana and Dax: When Opposites Attract, a rather excellent sex-positive documentary-style erotic film by Tony and Peggy Comstock of Comstockfilms.com.

To begin, let me remind you that I’m coming at this movie from the perspective of someone who, at one point in time, tried himself to make a good number of independent pornos: feel-good, small-sized videos that didn’t burn going down. Stuff you could wack off to, and feel unashamed to say you did.  I struggled to accomplish this task; and after a year of my labors, I basically gave up, and threw in the towel, went down to Los Angeles, where I signed on with the bad boys who didn’t try at all, and became an official schlockmeister.

Which is to say,  it’s harder to make “feel-good porn” than you might imagine. Make ‘em too “sensitive”, and they get boring, ring of falsehoods, miss the point entirely. Concentrate too much on the surface, follow your selfish little boner, and you get offensive assembly-line garbage that a monkey could make. So, I am damn impressed by what Tony and Peggy Comstock have put together with Xana and Dax. It’s an interesting film, with sexy people who don’t get degraded or jizzed upon. And there’s no terrible music included - which by God is notable.

The most arresting thing about this movie is how real it is. You have a real couple in front of you, a thin, handsome, dark-haired Brazilian guy, and a thicker, blonde, sexy tatted-up Midwestern woman with an attractive schnozz, who are in a real relationship. I don’t know how the Comstocks found them, and convinced them to get naked - they don’t seem like they’re adult film stars or even “erotic entertainers” - but I have to say, excellent casting here. Sort of like the people you’d see in a coffee shop, fantasize about snagging, never have the nerve to go up and approach . . . and let disappear. But the hallmark of all good porn is fantasy-fulfillment . . so here they are!

There’s a splendid, intimate interview to begin the film - and it’s not just a nod at an interview, this is the real thing: you really get a chance to know this couple, get a sense of their personalities and how they interact. Xana describes Dax, describes what she likes about him, how they met. You get a sense of the dynamics of their relationship: she seems the dominant one, though totally into her partner. Dax is magnetic, very handsome, but within her power. He’s almost feminine. I found myself engrossed in the two personalities. They were beautiful, but also simply had charisma.

The sex starts to get woven into the fabric of the film right off. Tony Comstock has a formula, clearly, yet it’s a formula that works well: one minute of interview; then about fifteen seconds of juxtaposed intimate footage. The sex-part is always just short enough to be sort of enticing. Prolonged shots of sex, even kissing, tend to become quickly boring if you aren’t engaged in your own sort of auto-pleasure, but these short clips made the interview feel spiced up, maybe even sort of dangerous. Even better, you receive a sort of point/counterpoint to the talking, an additional source of information that you can compare and contrast to the details that the interviewees are speaking about.

After about fifteen minutes of this back and forth, Comstock switches over to focusing totally on the sex, I guess as a nod to the genre that he’s working in, and the needs of some of his viewers. Here’s where the film sort of fell apart for me, because I didn’t find the sex compelling enough to masturbate to. I’m picky with what I like, as I imagine a lot of viewers are, but even if I did want to use this film as a sexual aid, well, couldn’t I find that in any random redtube.com clip? Maybe I’ve become a weird sort of porn-watcher, but I don’t really want my porn (at least the porn I get from EdensFantasy) to be masturbation material anymore. I basically don’t care about that. I want porn to be intimate material - and there’s a difference.

I’ve always felt that porn offers up more than just the opportunity to pleasure yourself sexually: it offers moments of unguardedness that the typical documentary film has trouble reproducing. Even just visually, for example, porn functions in a revelatory way: after much discussion from Xana about her relationship, I had formed an opinion of her, and how she operates; but then to see her naked, to witness the way she carries her body and the huge tattoo on her back, the way she gave direction to her partner - it gave me all this new information about her, stuff that only porno could supply. Same for Dax: he seemed a sweet Brazilian guy. But I really knew him better - just saw an added dimension to him - when his guard was down, and he was inebriated by the moment of passion. Sex is a window. We all want to see emotionally intense moments, and sex is one way in.  And so I relished the sex in this movie, though it satisfied none of my prurient interests.

Inspiring job by Tony Comstock. I’m interested to see in what new directions he’ll take his films in coming years. I also recommend his blog: you can tune in here.

And you can buy Xana and Dax: Opposites Attract at EdensFantasy.com.

$35.99Xana and Dax: When Opposites Attract DVD by Comstock Films Director: Tony Comstock Genre: Couples / Straight Buy from EdenFantasys

If you’ve ever wished that there was a place on the internet for you to tell strangers all about the different locations where you’ve masturbated, then today is your lucky day:  The Huffington Post alerts us to a new app called FapMapper, which allows people to “mark their territory” (their term) with the aid of Google Maps.  All you do is log in and list your location, and seconds later a penis icon appears inside a teal bubble, pointing to the location where you dislodged your sperm.

This is disgusting.

Source: Carnal Nation

Note the penises.

“There wouldn’t be much to see until four in the afternoon, which was when Frank’s brand of heroin, Blue Magic, hit the street. During the early seventies there were many “brands” of dope in Harlem. Tru Blu, Mean Machine, Could Be Fatal, Dick Down, Boody, Cooley High, Capone, Ding Dong, Fuck Me, Fuck You, Nice to Be Nice, Oh-Can’t Get Enough of That Funky Stuff, Tragic Magic, Gerber, The Judge, 32, 32-20, O.D., Correct, Official Correct, Past Due, Payback, Revenge, Green Tape, Red Tape, Rush, Swear to God, PraisePraisePraise, KillKillKill, Killer 1, Killer 2, KKK, Good Pussy, Taster’s Choice, Harlem Hijack, Joint, Insured For Life, and Insured for Death are only a few of the brand-names rubber-stamped onto the cellophane bags.

But none sold like Blue Magic.”

- Marc Jacobson, from “The Haint of Harlem: The Nasty Life and Times of Frank Lucas,” in Teenage Hipster in The Modern World

I love this weird machine. You basically just have a conversation with a robot. Insane; just start typing!

Thanks to Last Nights of Paris for the find.