Ron Jeremy had personal doldrums.
Presumably, he’s put this one out of his mind.
I call it Weird Porn Wednesday for a reason.
So… here we are.
I’d like to set the mood.
The entire movie has an awful deep-in-the-thick-of-nu-metal soundtrack provided by Chaotic Order.
Just imagine this on repeat:
Because, you know, this whole enterprise isn’t terrible enough. It needs the band that wasn’t passably ripping off Alice in Chains enough to be Godsmack or Staind.
So, yeah.
Ron Jeremy is sad.
REALLY SAD.
He’s disgusting, and his girlfriend has dumped him.
How disgusting?
Sad disgusting.
Again–this is a promotional video for a sex doll that cost a few grand.
Seriously.
ARE BITCHES ALWAYS SUGGESTING YOU TAKE A SHOWER? ARE BITCHES ALWAYS INSINUATING YOU SHOULDN’T WALLOW IN YOUR OWN FILTH?
FUCK BITCHES.
GET A REAL DOLL.
The busty stand-in for every-girl-who-ever-laughed-at-a-boy-in-8th-grade sends Ron Jeremy off to the bathroom so as to hose off the layer of Cheet-oh dust.
Then she does what you just know Stuck-up Bitches ™ do when they’re left to their own devices.
She masturbates with a big black dildo while he is away.
Then she refuses to give him head. (BITCHES.)
Then she tells him to perform that most degrading of acts: cunnilingus. (WHO NEEDS BITCHES? BUY A REAL DOLL.)
THEN she shames him for being a two-pump chump.
THEN she dumps him for a richer man, who is also a better lover.
So.
Ron Jeremy literally is the guy in the basement we’ve all been warned about.
And he’s got a friend.
Sez Ron: “It’s not easy finding steady sex.”
Sez Bad Ass Rock Star From Mars, Mister Tiger Blood: “Man, you need to give up chicks. I’ve got an unlimited supply of unlimited, free, great sex… every day.”
Mister Tiger Blood explains how expensive Bitches ™ truly are:
Mister Tiger Blood sends Ron off to re-education camp.
There, Ron becomes learn-ed and wise in the ways of avoiding biological vagina.
Verbatim, from Woman-hating Headquarters:
“During the mating process, a woman will slowly dispense sex, like it’s water to a starving man. During the first few weeks of contact, there is little to no sex. Then the sex is dispensed to reward a man for everything from saying the right words, to remembering to buy her flowers. And as the relationship progresses, sex becomes more frequent.
This is a trap to get the man hooked on sex.
Which I might add, works every time.
And once you’re hooked you may as well throw in the towel. She’s got you trapped. And then comes marriage. And if you refuse to marry, the sex you’ve become accustomed to… stops.”
Never mind that no one wants to marry dirty, stinky, mattress-on-the-floor guy. It doesn’t matter.
He’s got a pre-emptive strike.
He doesn’t want marriage. He doesn’t want Bitches ™ stealing his sex life.
This is…
Something.
Sez Ron: “You paint a really bleak picture, Fred.”
Fred, however, is optimistic.
If you buy a real doll, you’ll never get your heart broken again.
If you HAVE A GIRL (which isn’t really a worry) she’s once again “forced to compete.” (VERBATIM QUOTE, PEOPLE. VERBATIM.) “And once she’s competing, you sex life will go from a once in a while event, to several times a day.”
This is an ad that tells people a Real Doll will improve their relationship by forcing women to “compete” with a rubber sex doll.
THEN!!
We are treated to CREEPY NU-METAL DOLL FUCKING.
This includes!!!
Nothing turns a Basement Dude on like latex seams.
The worst part…
The very worst part?
It’s gonna get creepier.
WE ARE NOT AT THE TOP OF CREEP MOUNTAIN.
So.
Mister Tiger Blood tells Ron/Frank that he can lend out his doll right this second. Right in the bar.
Bartender guy:
Ron’s like, WHY NOT!?
Trucker Travis can’t take it anymore.
Mister Tiger Blood sex: “The secret to having great sex with the doll? It’s no gag, man. It’s better if you… talk to her.”
“I have conversations with mine all the time.”
VERBATIM.
Bartender:
So, bartender shakes his head in disgust, and Ron runs off to the sex shop.
Then there is the obligatory hard sell.
Ron handles the goods:
Now we are hitting the fucked up part.
The threshold of no return.
(Yeah, that was probably 2 seconds in, but still.)
So.
Ron is overcome with the realness of Real Doll, and finally, in the horrifying locus of his own imagination, gets his blowjob (That BITCHES (TM) won’t cough up.)
He’s so overcome with lust for the Real Blonde:
That he buys it from the EXTRA CREEPY Brother-in-arms of Sadness.
He takes Blondie home and changes her clothes.
I know you’re super surprised.
He proceeds to have the most horrifying porn conversation I’ve ever witnessed.
In his creepish imaginings, the thing comes to life, and he bitches to it about his ex.
CREEP.
OH, MY GOD.
Sidenote: This thing is old enough that the doll comes with pubes.
And, this thing alternates between creepy doll and real-life lady acting like a doll.
He then verbally abuses her/it.
He eventually tells the doll he must teach her/it a “lesson” and then ties it up and anally violates it.
If dolls actually have anuses.
WE HAVE STILL NOT HIT BOTTOM.
So he punishes the doll.
And he wakes up to this:
He screams repeatedly: “I AM THE MAN! I BOUGHT YOU! I BOUGHT YOU! I AM THE MAN! YOU’RE MINE! YOU’RE MIIIIINE!”
Andrea Dworkin actually spins around in her grave.
Hedgehogs weep.
The doll threatens to anally penetrate him with a rolling pin.
Freud actually dies again.
Oedipus puts his eyes back to rights, then rips them out a second time.
We have arrived.
He calls tech support.
Clearly, his doll is defective.
I can confirm that this isn’t too far off, when it comes to tech support in 1999.
He is told to read the instruction manual.
He is told to apologize to the doll.
“It’s more for you than her, but I think it will do a great deal for your relationship.”
Then there is a lengthy “make-up” scene.
It keeps flipping between real woman and Real Doll.
While nu-metal plays.
Endlessly.
In the end, the Doll tells Ron that she’ll be with him as long as he takes care of her.
Fin.
You’re welcome, Internet.
4 Comments
Twitter: jennylynwrites
Is it just me or does the first doll look like she’s made of chocolate?
You could eat a chocolate doll, at least.
Oh, my word. Where do you find them, Joan?
The depths of hell!
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