Johnny's Wildest Personal Sexperiences!
The chocolate and pussy have already been eaten, but before getting to this post's review, I'd like to add my own true-life anecdotes to the Voice's Valentine's Day special, which I haven't read.
I once made love to a French prostitute in British Columbia. The other day I figured out how to fellate myself, only to discover I don't swallow. Remember American Pie? After the Superbowl I fucked a stale cupcake decorated with the Steelers logo, then spent an hour looking in the mirror and describing in the third person how much I hate myself. I haven't given a reach-around to a spider monkey while reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, not since the first time. Chicks love my anal banana creampies. The last time I asked a woman “Who's your daddy?” while having sex, her daddy gave me a dirty look. I still follow my father's advice: Do not make beeping sounds when pressing a woman's nipple. The best happy-ending massages begin melancholy. I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom. When I first began masturbating, I'd turn my Virgin Mary statue around, and fantasize about her weeping. I read Playboy for the articles on softcore pornography. I've learned never to tea-bag a just-boiled cup of water or my uncle. Female condoms are for pussies. In my dirtiest dream, Lady Godiva's white horse fell in the mud. In my second dirtiest dream, Courtney Love shat the sperm loads of 16 Hell's Angels onto a bearded lady's face while blowing a leprous sea lion and holding up a large moldy baguette smeared with sundried tomato cream cheese without her hands. Lola. L-O-L-A Lola.
(Apologies to Glen Quagmire, the Digital Underground, and the Kinks.)
Stunt Girl #2 (Hustler) is a typically incoherent, filler-burdened alt-art porno. And the portions are so small! There's four real scenes in all, plus the requisite nudie bar dance-off (why do directors fall back on nudie bar scenes and settings? If you can't be there to answer strippers' questions about your wife and family, what's the point?) and a starlet shot standing naked in a dark barn (why do directors fall back on nudie barn scenes and settings? If you can't there to answer sheeps' questions about your wife and family, what's the point?). The reliably horny Mika Tan (pic) launches Jack Zipper's ehpic taking a man wearing pantyhose (and I don't mean a “doo rag”) on his head in various uncomfortable-looking positions, but apparently, the movie's intended star is the blandly beautiful Kimberly Kane (pic). (There's also Cytheria [pics], Dee [pic], Deja [pic], Jassie [pic], and Jayna Oso [pic].) Kim's shot outdoors, in sepia-toned b&w and wearing suspenders and the top half of a t-shirt, striking various “American Gothic”-alluding poses, and in the barn, which might be an allusion to deleted horror flick scenes. We also watch her hitchhike on a backwoods dirt road, where she's picked up by everyone's favorite punky deepthroater Katrina Kraven (pic), who's driving a '70s muscle car and wearing a trucker cap askew. They eat each other out and poke their fingers in, then, very Lifetime channel, Kim puts a handgun in Katrina's mouth. The final scene, an MMF featuring one of three slim, black-haired cuties that I could not distinguish from one another, was clearly modeled on those admittedly kind of hot American Apparel ads--she writhes around on the bed in tighty-whities before the masked men storm in. Which reminds me: Did I mention the time I received a double-blumpkin from Dov Charney and an air marshal on a Jet Blue flight to Gainesville?
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