White Trash Whores!

Now, I know you're all probably wondering why my column was posted late this week. I have an excuse, and it's better than my normal shtick about "being hungover" (although I am) or "having too much other work"—ha!—or "forgetting what day it is." See, I was going to watch pornos and write last night, or at least leave 20, maybe even 30 minutes to type this baby up before my editor got to work, but instead I had a threesome. Yep. These two chicks invited me over, got me drunk, forced me to take bong hits, and then had their ways with me. And get this—one of them poses nude for a mildly well-known softcore website! Yowza!

Dude, it was awesome. Highly recommended. Also highly recommended are this week's filth flicks, which feature white trash whores. Here in New York City there's no shortage of Euro 'hos, college bimbos, executive floozies, hipster harlots, plain hookers, midnight cowgals, loose models, drug-dealer molls, next-door nymphomaniacs, painted women in dive bars, preppie party girls, scarlet women with social graces, Lower East Side strumpets, high-flying fallen women, assorted tarts, Brooklyn tramps, alcoholic trollops, mid-management working girls, hard-to-talk-to easy lays, hoop-skirted hussies, rotten tomatoes, settled camp followers, insatiable teen slatterns, wannabe-actress chippies, carpet-bagger wenches, dirty little coke sluts, and, of course, the occasional crack whore. But how often do you come across a white trash whore? You have to go to Scarsdale for those, maybe further.

By the way, all this talk of jezebels should not be construed as inspired by last night's events (my first ever threeway—have I mentioned it?). My friends are two very nice women, only one of whom I've ever plied with loads of free cocaine. (Kidding!)

Where was I? Oh yes, WTWs. Teri Star plays one in White Trash Whore 10 (JM). Porno and white trash are a match made in purgatory. Both as symbolic constructions and entertainment—the hilarious Jeff Foxworthy, anyone?—these two marginalized American groupings speak to the simultaneous revulsion and fascination we have with the soft, hairy, Pabst Blue Ribbon-filled underbelly of the U.S. "city on the hill" society. Also, mullets are "funny."

White Trash Whore 10 opens with a skinny man named Deet and his extravagantly—genuinely—mulleted son Zach sitting at their kitchen table discussing monster truck rallies. So far, so good. To his new halter-topped wife, Angel, who's preparing sandwiches with white bread, Spam, and Velveeta, he broaches the fact that her daughter Teri (as in Starr) is being released from prison that day. "First of all," Angel responds indignantly, "she's not gettin' out of prison, she's gettin' out of the halfway house." An argument in which Deet warns wifey to keep the promiscuous Teri away from his Zach, who's "gonna be a monster truck rallier," ensues. Braless and with a big blond 'do, Teri wades into this mess and slaps her mother's ass. Deet lays down the law: "I'm your new father. There'll be no more whorin' and no more crystal meth runs."

Then, of course, he gets laid, after accompanying Teri to her laundry-strewn bedroom and admitting, "You can take the pig outta the mud, but you can't take the mud outta the pig." This little piggie also gives it up to Zach and—after he barges in and exclaims, "You little fucking whore!"—her beefy ex-boyfriend.

Moving right along. A man comes by to see Deet about buying some lawn chairs. But . . . Deet's not around! Wifey brings the man around back; he's unimpressed by the flimsy chairs, so Angel mounts him on one to prove how much weight they can take. Then some black guy shows up and assists in some double-penetration. Everything must go!

Maybe I'm missing some notes, but I believe the next scene's the last. It's a doozy: six black dudes in overalls sit around a auto-repair shop drinking beers and studying a porn mag. Teri comes in to pick up Deet's car, shrilly announcing herself. One mechanic, who we later discover possesses a "tree trunk" (me? Twig and berries), seats Teri on those things they use to raise cars up—a lift?—where she plays with herself, fuck-me pumps dangling a few feet off the floor. Thus lubed, they let her down and "take her for a spin" (irony-indicating quotation marks mine).

Which brings us to the "nasty cum buckets" (that's a quote from the disc's cover) of Inside Shooters Vol. 2 (Elegant Angel). "Hopefully these girls are on the pill!" goes another, ahem, chestnut from the back of the, cough cough, box. (Atchoo! I think I'm coming down with something.) All these scenes—a girl-girl-gross-Australian-guy, shower somethingoranother, wicked young-looking gal with braids and boffo beefcake dude telling red-haired beauty Jasmine Lynn, "I don't wanna sound like a chauvinist, but don't you think it's better for pretty girls to talk with dicks in their mouths?" (Mmm hmm!)—are pretty great, but let's discuss the white trash whore segment, shall we?

A cock crows. A skinny and pale WTW, lookin' nasty-disgusting-hot in, what else, jean cutoffs and a top cropped just below her li'l pointies, walks down a dirt road to where an oddly German-accented jerk with a dick "bigger zan your face" stands by a yellow earth-digging machine. Nearby, a man clutching a pitchfork watches solemnly before coming over and saying, "Let's take 'er over to the fucking post." Done and done. After much pukey blowing, bung reaming, and degrading hick chatter, the cum-not-mud-covered "piglet" gets her face unceremoniously dunked in a water trough. ("Way to go, Jethro!") Shi-it. Truth be told, I prefer dirty little coke sluts.


Elegant Angel, 9801 Variel Street, Chatsworth, CA 91311, elegantangel.com JM Productions, 21111 Osborne Avenue, Canoga Park, CA 91304, jerkoffproductions.com

 
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