Porn's Biggest Scumbags Part 2: Electric Boogaloo!

Welcome back to my men-of-porn turkey shoot! Not sure who this Max Hardcore fella I keep referring to is? Click here. (Like William Shatner says, "Being an icon is overblown. Remember, an icon is moved by a mouse." I don't get it either. I prefer George Takei's coolly deadpan witticisms on Howard Stern.)

Anyway.

Scumroll, please . . .

Facial Abuse Despite having actually happened (in front of a camera), Max Hardcore's spectacles are pretty much an utter perversion of taste, decency, and common experience--they can only seem to exist in the realm of gonzo fantasy. Sites like this--and there must be many of them--mean to take the same exploitable amateurs and prove the pedestrian ugliness of reality. The teasers for their trailers emphasize context, the meta-narratives Hardcore only alludes to in passing: "She is so submissive and likes to be smacked around by older men. Maybe it's due to a lack of a father figure, but she knew how to fuck and suck like a champ and shes only 19"; "You can see it in her eyes she just wanted it to be over with"; "[She] thought she was ready for us because she shot for some guys out in LA. Well she wasn't. Apparently us Jersey Boys bring it alot harder than the LA dudes." They have a point with that last one--this kind of "extreme" deep-throating, creepy verbal insinuation, supposedly non-consensual domination, and generally malevolent packaging springs not so much from the Valley, but the untethered, universally accessible Internet, and the nationwide home offices that feed it.

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The Ringleader of Bang Bus The idea, if you don't know, is that these guys pick women up off the street in their van, and convince them to strip, suck, and fuck. The women are actresses obscure enough to be mistaken for random (attractive) pedestrians, and the illusion hard-won, with a good deal of time spent "convincing" them to go for it in each vignette. The outlandish premise is for that reason seamlessly realistic, a sort of traditional-narrative midway point between Facial Abuse and Max Hardcore. I'm not sure if it's "D. Sanchez" of one of the others (who cares), but the leader tends to start off friendly and ingratiating, and then, once the women are past the point of no return, he immediately turns cold and abusive, gloating like a spoiled teenager. And of course, the coda always involves throwing the woman's groceries on the ground, withholding promised money, or some such dicky move as they drop her off. One word: Florida.

Possibly the Guy From Suicide Girls There's been chatter for months now about how Sean Suhl, proprietor of the big-name "punk" porno site Suicide Girls, is a controlling, egomaniacal, verbally-abusive prick who exploits his models financially. None of this has been confirmed, lawsuits are pending, &tc. Magazines now weighing in don't seem to reveal much more than that. A friend of mine close to administrators of the site says that Suhl's kind of a dick. She also says that he's being unfairly attacked. Other than the issue of whether or not these women are being properly compensated, I don't really give a shit, but that's because I never bought into the site as a utopian ideal. Yes, I'd rather masturbate to real breasts than fakies, and dyed hair, tattoos, and the rest are hot. But alt porn is just a contemporary wrinkle, not a structural industry shift, despite the clever marketing of the models through blogs and profiles. Exploitation happens by degrees. Whatever Sean Suhl may be guilty of, whether or not it's demonstrable in civil court, as far as polluting culture goes, he's no Max Hardcore.

I bet now even you feel dirty. I think I just contracted a virus from my laptop, but forget about me, let's cleanse our figuratively ATM'd palettes with the one exceptional scene from thematically semi-relevant flick Scum Bags I promised to relate last post. Starlets make or break pornos, which helps explain why, one, egotisticular studs feel the need to become prancing scumbags and, two, why this dumb-simple scene on a bed with one rather stationary male transcends the usual muck. Allow me to reintroduce Julie Knight, who I've long admired for her envelope-licking-not-pushing (note: stole that joke from a Comedy Central bumper) intensity, borne of a ravenous cock hunger unmatched in the industry. Here, coupled with a truly remarkable birth-like girth and clutching a small vibrator, she barely scratches the surface of her sloppy throatjob technique, drooling contentedly, artfully even, then putting the supercock to its best purpose: getting her off. Soon after he eases it into her ass, she sighs, "Slide it in all the way," whereupon he buries the final inch, and she's thrown into a breathy ecstasy that lasts the rest of the scene. It's as if--outside of the spotlight in this by-the-book flick, past her most visible moment in the industry--Julie decided to make the most of just another gig her own way. I was right there with her, contemplating another kind of turkey shoot altogether.

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