Resurrection--From the Dead!

It's a cliché to say that porn is ridden with clichés. But be careful what you wish for. We complained about hip hop's lazy gangsta-isms and product placement, and wound up with ubiquitous boy-about-town Pharrell Williams and "conscious" (whiny, pretentious, college-dissing) capitalist pig Kanye West. The grass is always greener, except when it's not. Bloggers speak admiringly of memes, which are something like Internet clichés. What are porn's chestnuts? (They're not nuts on your chest, OK? And no, I don't want to know what "chin-nuts" are.) And what makes them stick? Here's a thumbnail guide.

  • The money shot: Without it, how would the cum get on her face?

  • The schoolgirl uniform: Wikipedia is clueless. Look at it this way: the other option is to dress like a prostitute, show off the goods. We all know what that requires. But the closest thing we have to a universal symbol of purity is the schoolgirl outfit. (Despite its growing popularity, the chastity ring, not to be confused with the cock ring, is still the purview of Jesus freaks, not girls whose budding sexuality is being sexily repressed by theocratic administrators.) Suggested non-porn viewing: Battle Royal, starring Chiaki Kuriyama.

  • Bow chika bow bow: While you'll hardly ever hear this funky soundtrack music today, unless you pick up a '70s flick re-released and half-heartedly passed off as something new by Historic Erotica, it has become synonymous with porn, and the idea that porn is all about horny housewives, bad dialogue, and bush. Actually uttering the phrase "bow chika bow bow" is now on par with loathsome, deathless '90s whiteboy trends like wearing "pimp suits" on Halloween (or other special occasions). One only hopes that someday we will all be using "skeet skeet skeet skeet skeet skeet" as porno shorthand.

  • Gore: Directors who fancy themselves artists or even just outside the porn mainstream are usually more clichéd than the entrepreneurs they disdain, relying as they so often do on horror cinema's grand commonplaces. Porn and horror share some basic criteria, of course: they're low budget, kinda gross, obsessed over by nerds, and often hinge on the virgin-whore dynamic. Combined, they often cancel out their individual thrills. Gore just isn't sexy. Nor is gorn's aim to service blood-and-dismemberment fetishists.

    Despite being produced by the theoretically progressive Suicide-Girls-style goth-chick website Burning Angel, Re-Penetrator, a single-scene production inspired by H.P. Lovecraft's Re-Animator, proves the point. BA chief Joanna Angel stars as a stripper brought to life by an indie-dork doc (Tommy Pistol). There on the operating table, they truly do the nasty, with blood shooting out of her mouth onto his dick, out of her pussy into his mouth, and every other which way in between--and that's before she tears out his intestines.

    More amusing then all this was Joanna and Tommy's DVD-extra commentary. JA: "You look a lot better in the movie than real life!" TP: "Uh, a-hehehehehehehe." JA: "Don't I really look dead? You have no idea how hard it is to do absolutely nothing!" TP: "Uh, a-hehehehehehehe." JA: "Was I doing a good job [gobbling your knob]?" TP: "Uh, oh . . . yeah!" JA: "It's my goal in life" to suck dick and balls at the same time, "like Bella Donna!" I suppose one could do worse in this banal world of porn than to simply suck it up.

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