I’ve been gone for a month.

It’s best to come back with a bang.

Yes, that’s a pun.

I’ve been promising to do the Panda Gang Bang for a while.

Today is the day.

This stars Ashli Orion. And, James Deen in a Panda Suit. If you can recognize Deen by the Peen alone, I salute you. It’s the lowest rated offering over at Bound Gang Bangs, last time I looked, and it made quite the splash last year.

Choice comments from the peanut gallery:

“I didn’t find out I was doing the panda porn until I got to Kink that morning. I got off the plane and I saw Princess Donna and she was like “guess what, we’re going to do a panda porn!” and I was like are you serious? Oh my gosh. Because it was Gang Bang, so I was like pandas? This is gonna be great.” Full interview can be found here.

Seriously, that is a hell of a thing to spring on a person. “By the way, later? We are totes doing furry porn. Neat right?”

Trust me. This is the final frontier.

“Yay?”

The real question here, is why pandas?

No one ever calls this thing anything but ‘The Panda Gang Bang.”

Our premise: Ashli passes out watching a nature program about panda mating. Like you do.

Ashli starts to see pandas every where.

At the bank.

“But pandas are supposed to be niiiiice?!”

At school.

“Fuck your book!”

She goes home and decides to get some rest, but the pandas follow her…

Don’t you hate it when sexually aggressive pandas sneak up on you as you’re brushing your teeth?

She goes to bed.

“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Panda Shadow knows!”

And, then things get worse.

Oh, now she’s fucked.

I would like to remind everyone, that this a porn.

Really.

Thanks to the internet I know that someone, somewhere out there, actually jerks it to this image.

This is gang bang porn.

So… well… things are about to get a little graphic.

THE PANDAS ATTACK!

We descend.

This is where one starts to doubt their commitment to Sparkle*Motion.

Despite their panda-ness, they have man hands.

Because this is still a porn, the pandas quickly convince Ashli that, hell yes, it’s panda gang bang time.

Because mysterious porn reasons.

The proceed to the the usual gang-bangish shenanigans…

The mind wanders at times likes these. I mean, really? Why pandas? Is it because they are so notoriously low libido? Is this porn irony? Am I to make reference to Chuck Palahniuk at this point?

Yup.

Yup.

I’m going to do it.

“Pounding that kid, I really wanted to put a bullet between the eyes of every endangered panda that wouldn’t screw to save its species and every whale or dolphin that gave up and ran itself aground.”

Panda porn, people.

Really.

QUICK, WHICH ONE IS DEEN?! I’m guessing Mr. 1 o’Clock.

This shit goes on for about half an hour.

I start to wonder about things like the history of shapeshifting motifs in world mythology.

If you hold James Deen fast and fear him not, does he turn into bear?

They switch up panda positions!

Someone is losing his panda head there on the left.

You wouldn’t want your panda gang bang to get stale and repetitive, right?

Feats of strength! It must be Festivus!

The try to feed her palm fronds, because, I suppose, there isn’t any real bamboo to be had in the entire city of San Francisco.

It’s strange to me that I really consider this the moment of “commitment to craft.” I don’t know why I am more impressed with the consumption of artificial greenery, compared to the willingness to bang a herd of costumed pandas.

Being a gang bang, it ends as all gang bangs do…

How most people feel after a long ride on the Panda Express.

Then she and the pandas all take a nap, to tinkling lullaby music in a creepy minor key.

Rejected Sanrio characters.

Then comes the usual Kink.com post-interview, where Princess Donna asks, “What was the hardest part of being in a panda gang bang?”

I’ll give you a guess…

Who needs to twerk when you can Ride the Panda Head?

Yeah.

Stop! Panda time. It turns out that James Deen is the shortest panda.

Pandamonium is available at Kink.com, if you haven’t had enough panda action for one life time just from these pics.

Ya weirdo.

It’s the porn that Dianne Wiest finds in her son’s room; Keanu has to give the kid “the talk.”

Because that’s what little dudes do.

So, yeah.

Today’s write up is a classic.

This was spendy for a porn flick in 1982.

We begin with Jungle Jane.

She’s sort of a sad rip off of Indiana Jones by way of Allan Quartermaine.

They appear to have actually filmed in Mexico or Belize or something.

She sneaks into the Throbbing Temple of Doom.

Again… spendy for 1981.

There she finds rejects from a hair band video.

IT’S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN!

She is duly astonished.

“Uhhhhh…”

The guy in the hat tells her that she is doomed, for they have (DUN DUN DUN) the Goddess.

She’ll get you to her sex planet.

They lock Jane in a cage and force her to watch tanned Loincloth Jimmy up there get it on with the brunette.

“That  styrofoam platform can’t be sanitary,” Jungle Jane protests.

The Goddess recites bad poetry all the while, sitting in the lap of… a monument to cultural imperialism?

In the lap of Huitzilopochtli-Krsna, all spoken word poetry is less compelling.

FIVE MINUTES OF SHITTY POETRY ABOUT SEX, WHILE PERIODICALLY STARING DOWN HAIRY MAN BALLS.

After the poetic ejaculation scene, they tie up Jane for some sexing.

Leopard print was really fashionable in Aztemayincaville.

And, she protests that they cannot rape her, for she…

…is a virgin.

Her tactic backfires.

 All is lost, and then!

Louisiana Smith.

Jane is happy!

Hooray!

Then she’s less happy.

Louisiana Smith has no fear of snakes.

Then, boom! We are suddenly in a non-traditional narrative.

This entire scene so far has been in the head of one Mr. Elmo Smathers, comic book artist.

This dude better have a tremendous schlong.

Apparently, Mr. Elmo has a dirty mind, and the comic book authority doesn’t approve of his work.

Marble Comics office.

He is told to come up with something cleaner.

Something about pilots.

Like Johnny Yank…

HA! HA! HA! I AM TERRIFIED OF HEIGHTS!

He’s a World War One flying ace, as you can plainly see.

And, of course, he’s got a Red Baron:

Once again, it’s Ron Jeremy.

And, they’re dogfight. Or, whatever it was called in WWI.

That’s definitely France.

But, he’s hit!

Ron Jeremy will taunt you a second time!

Lovely young “French” women whisk Johnny Yank away to the Chateau du Boning.

Best green screen ever, right?

They, of course, immediately engage in le acts du love.

“We shall give you an educay-shione.”

But, the Red Baron arrives:

And he does a little dance.

So The Mademoiselles have to hide Johnny Yank.

No one will ever think to look in the weirdly dark green screen room!

And, then Ron Jeremy does the worst German accent you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

Like… think of the worst German accent you’ve ever heard, and then make it a little more nasal and New York than you’re imagining.

The Mademoiselles aren’t enormously discerning.

To his credit, he does say, “I would like to sleep,” before the nymphs descend.

The blonde girl gets bored and wanders off to the green screen room:

LE CHATEAU DU BONING IS ALWAYS SUNNY.

After some serious 70′s porn music, they discover they’re in the same chateau.

And the lamest fight ever happens.

Cock fighting sucker punch.

Then he moves on to the Countessa of du Chateau!

She keeps an ace up her sleeve. GET IT! FLYING ACE!

Then the harp music starts…

Back to the comic book guy.

For some reason the Chateau du Boning really turned the Comic Book Authority lady on.

“Nothing does it for me like *sexy gasp* green screens.”

Which reminds Elmo of another comic he wrote.

Porno Noir…

To be continued…

So, today we’re going modern. This thing is still for sale at AVN.com.

I present The Legend of the Magic Taco.

From Wicked Pictures. 2009.

So, my theory is that these people smoked a lot of weed.

I mean… a lot of weed.

Not just, “Oh, man, I shouldn’t have had that whole bowl to myself” amounts of weed.

No.

We’re talking acres of weed, here.

I don’t know how else you’d end up this deeply committed to the marriage of porn and tacos. I really don’t.

Meet Juan Hernandez Cortez Jones.

“But you can call me Ed.”

He makes tacos.

With special sauce.

No, not that special sauce.

I have no idea why the most magical tacos in L. A. would have Old El Paso hard shells, but I also don’t smoke acres of marijuana, so what do I know?

They are, in fact, so high they’ve forgotten how to correctly approach the task of taco-eating.

Who the hell eats tacos from that angle?

Now, you would suppose that they would immediately just get it on, given this set up, right?

That’s probably because you’ve never smoked acres and acres of weed.

First!

It’s time for some Spanish guitar.

The guy in the sombrero never says a word.

“What the fuck was that?”

Now it’s time to get it on!

Right there in the booth, y’all.

Fade to black.

Scene.

We arrive back at the House of a 1000 Tacos.

When a couple mentions enchiladas, Juan Hernandez Pantero Jones, is outraged.

“But you can call me Al.”

He browbeats the guests into ordering tacos.

And, then he gives it the special sauce, which bamphs them away to a magical place

Wow! Those tacos are so magical, you’ve been whisked away to a home office of some kind!

And, then?!

MUSIC!

Actual lyrics: “I GAVE YOU THE SAAAAAUCE. THAT MADE YOU THE BOSS.”

I am a little sad I don’t do audio with these.

The customers are duly impressed!

“What the fuck was that?”

Then…

We don’t know where they are in time or space. The logical conclusion? GET IT ON!

Eventually word spreads of the magical taco action, and Owner Magician acquires a fancy new hat.

“So what brings you to my House of 1000 Tacos?”

This time he uses green sauce–”especial for lesbians.”

When I was young, you ate pills for this sort of clothes-removing magic, but I guess tacos are more in line with today’s natural foods movement.

We are then treated to awkward lesbian porn.

“Omg, boobs are kind of weird, right? Like, that’s not just me?”

Seriously. AWKWARD lesbian sex.

“Stay still, I can’t get this thing in your mouth.” “Stop stabbing my jaw with it.”

Fade to black.

Scene.

Juan Valdez Sanchez Romero has become an international legend. A trio of pilgrims has arrived.

“I will fulfill all of your sexual fantasies.”

He pulls out the big guns.

Three special sauces!

They eat the tacos of wonder:

Foreign guy in the middle: “The sow-ce. The mah-jeek sow-ce. Eet WOHrks.”

Then?

MUSIC!

“I SPREAD EROTIC SAUCESSSSS THROUGHOUT THE LAND! CHA CHA CHA!”

Then its’ once again time to get it on!

“Fluorescent tube lighting and pleather couches just turn us on!”

And when they have finished their shenanigans in some poor accountant at Wicked’s office, we come to terms with the conclusion.

“Oh, ho ho. The legend of zee tacos. Eezz truuuuue!”

Just in case…

“No, really, you porno-addled stoners, there are no magic tacos.”

FIN.

But, lucky for us, it’s not.

It’s much, much worse.

Yes, my friends. It’s going to be like that.

This is parody porn.

I had no idea there was a serious artistic gap between Rocky Horror and Thriller, but obviously someone saw the potential. They spent 100,000 dollars on this thing. In 1984. For real.

He’s a little bit Jackson and a little bit Prince, and I am pretty sure the vocals are a woman.

So, our leading lady in awesome glasses is at her favorite “hot star” concert, and her boyfriend belittles her taste.

“We could be at an Elvis Costello show, right now.”

They go back to her parents, where he (and I quote) requests that she “suck my wanger.”

As you can see, she’s really into the “wanger” plan.

She sends wanger away, and then goes upstairs to go to bed.

She falls asleep watching a horror movie.

Uh-oh.

And, then…

…a Weird Porn Wednesday first…

JAZZ HANDS!

Sometimes a sexual zombie just has to dance!

Y’all.

At least he appears to be professionally trained.

*sighs*

Okay. So, Zombie Nation finishes their number, and it’s time for sexing.

That is the appropriate expression, my dear.

Only, sexytime gets Driller so het up that he TRANSFORMS.

Sadly, there’s no awesome Vincent Price voice over.

BUT THAT’S NOT ALL!!!

He whips out the fake, floppy Werewolf wang, and we discover why this is named Driller.

That’s right. It spins. Aaaand it sounds like a power drill.

This movie was, for real, factually, banned in Massachusetts for “bestiality.”

These poor people. The longer I stare at this, the worse the giggles get.

Added detail?

That ain’t right.

Then he kidnaps her and whisks her away to his terrible, very expensive castle!

Yup. This is a screenshot.

At Castle Driller, all sorts of nefarious sexual shenanigans transpire!

Quasimodo spanks a fake French chick.

Two guys in gimp masks have sex with a gauze covered woman.

Two golden ladies pretend to make it with a double-sided Gloworm.

Our nerdy kidnapping victim is shocked!

Dammit, Janet.

Seriously, get a good look at the glo-dildo.

These would be a huge hit at Burning Man, I bet.

She’s chased into a graveyard by undead lesbians, and runs into these weirdos:

Never underestimate the power of surprise.

Then there’s another dance scene with Driller.

The zombie dance is your chance to to the Zomp.

THEN!

There’s a really long Richard Nixon centered undead orgy.

Yes, fucking really.

If I bothered to snark, I’d be gilding the lily.

Then moooooore dancing.

Underneath all those masks is the cast of Flashdance.

Then, finally, Nerdy Girl succumbs to the madness:

He looks really into it, right?

Then… of course… MOAR DANCIN.

What do you suppose the budge for dry ice was?

Then, at last, she wakes up from her dream.

GLO-DONGS! I REMEMBER GLO-DONGS!

And, who should knock at the door?

MUAH HA HA HA HA!

If you are interested in seeing more of this in action, MrParka has a youtube review.

So.

Riding high on the sexually free 70′s, Christopher Hamilton has, I suppose, used up all his seratonin.  He’s lost his passion for boning, and therefore, he’s lost his passion for life. He is empty.

He’s seeking “fulfillment.”

But first, he’s seeking a blowjob while flying a plane, while his wife frowns and cries in the backseat.

She’s going down!

They disembark, and a mysterious driver greets them.

“Do you like my beret?” “Do you like my amazing boobs?” “Not so much, but your husband’s dick is okay, I guess.” *sad trombone*

Driver Dude insists they wear blindfolds.  For surely, they shall never guess their new location.

It’s a total mystery, right?

And, he meets Madame Lau.  She’s a White Chick pretending to be an Asian Chick.

The Fake Chinese were 7th Level Masters of Western Occult Bullshit.

She reads his cards:

BUUUUURN!

AND THUS BEGINS THE SEVEN SEDUCTIONS.

Seduction #1: Creepy tantric sex with Madam Lau.

I swear, he just sat there groaning forEVER.  Then he’d stop, and wait a few moments, and then just start GROANING some more.

Christopher refuses to find enlightenment in the trantric depths of Madame Lau’s Mystical Muff.

She’s very disappointed in him, and she tells him he’s super shallow.

He’s all, YES, I AM!

Seduction #2: Creepy silent sex with his favorite smiling “film star.”

ULTRA-BRITE AND BASALM WOOD SHAMPOO DOES A CREEPY LADY GOOD.

He asks if she’s real.

STILL SMILING. STILL NOT SPEAKING.

His co-pilots from earlier are stuck out in the waiting room.

“What do we do, now?” “I don’t know, but I think one side of my bra is collapsing.”

The silent celebrity doesn’t work.

Madame Lau is becoming impatient with Christopher.

What’s a Madame gotta do to teach this guy The Mysterious Secrets of the Happiest Penis?

She brings out the big guns.

Seduction #3: Creepy group sex with a creepy coach in creepy Blackface.

This was 1981, for the record. Not 1932.

It’s so much worse in the full get-up.

SHE’S WEARING A TOOTH NECKLACE. A FUCKING TOOTH NECKLACE. OMFG.

I have no idea what, exactly, was supposed to imply a direct path from “blackface jungle-reference offensiveness” to “enlightenment,” but this is the choice someone made.

Mrs. Hamilton, the rejected blonde wife from earlier, is drinking wine and crying into spaghetti.  Driver Dude offers solace.

“Why! Why oriental fetishism and blackface! Why spaghetti in Chinatown? Why, damn it!? Why!?”

Madame Lau continues to berate her customer:

“You didn’t find nirvana in my creepy, racist trope? Wtf, man? Where do I go from there?”

Seduction #4: Watching a really boring orgy.

I have no idea why he’s acquired leather body armor, but he should upgrade immediately because it’s only a +2 defensive bonus.

Even she looks like she’s ready for this bullshit to be over.

Madame Lau has had enough of this for the night.

All her fucks are gone.

Meanwhile, poor Mrs. Hamilton seeks solace in the arms of the Driver Dude:

Oh, Mister Driver Dude, you’ve noticed I’m alive and I have fantastic knockers!

*sighs*

Seriously, this is pretty much just a parade of all the things that were wrong about the Key Party era, right? (BTW, I mention key parties in my NEW BOOK, hint, hint!)

So.

It’s a new day.

Here we go:

Madame Lau and Christopher start fresh in the morning, taking a Freudian approach over brunch.

Tell me about your Mother.

Seduction #5: Re-living your first time.

Apparently, his first time was date raping a piano student.

You want to know what’s weird? They made his accent from the distant past thicker. As if he’d lost some of his British sound over time. For some reason, that level of attention to detail seemed appropriate, but no one thought to wonder if Fake Black Chicks on the Darkest Continent actually wear hot pink lipstick.

So, he finally makes it with a girl:

YOUNG LOVE.

And we get a lesson in old-timey condoms:

“Dahling, it catches all the spermatozoa! Honest!”

That doesn’t work, because holy shit, why would it?

He goes on to whine about his first wife.

Apparently, Mr. Sad Boner has a Twue Love. He’s got a first wife, Veronica, who was too vivacious, too amazing, too beautiful and full of life for his tiny ego to live with. He abandoned her (too,) because he just KNEW his boner of sadness couldn’t live up to her verve and substance.

Madam Lau gives him the look.

Seriously? You are SUCH a douchebag.

She then changes the subject and asks about his sex life’s “teacher.”

Seduction #6: Georgina Spelvin for no particular reason. AWESOME.

For the record?  I adore Georgina Spelvin.

Madam Lau completes her transformation:

PORNFORMERS, MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE.

He relives his experience with the MILF of his past:

MOMMY! “You have lovely bosoms Mrs. Barrington.”

Just the re-lived memory of sex with Spelvin knocks him right out.

Maybe his problem is less self-actualization than unmedicated narcolepsy, which is particularly desirable in a pilot, right?

Madame Lau has a plan, now.

She asks about Veronica.

He gets all confessional. Ew.

Seduction #7: SWAMP SEX with your shapeshifting ex-wife.

They spent most of the budget on plane fuel and latex.

NEVER MIND THE MOSQUITOES!

Lake Berryessa, maybe?

And, they make sweet, sweet, heteronomative, missionary-style, monogamous love.

Mawwaige.

And he realizes that he loved her all along.

I’VE LEARNED SO MUCH ON MY JOURNEY OF BONING, MY LOVE. SO VERY MUCH.

But we know that isn’t really Veronica, right?

Break that fourth wall, yo.

Christopher and his Truest Love walk off, finally at peace.

Something still isn’t right…

Then the camera pans:

I SEE DEAD PEOPLE! Or crash test dummies.

It turns out that he got the Blowjob of Death all along.

FIN.

Presumably, he’s put this one out of his mind.

I call it Weird Porn Wednesday for a reason.

Don’t ask how these things come into my possession.

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.

So sad.

He’s disgusting, and his girlfriend has dumped him.

How disgusting?

Sad disgusting.

“Old pizza on a mattress in the floor” disgusting.

“Taking sponge baths, because real showers are too much work” disgusting.

Can you blame her?

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.

Sweatpants in the Friend Zone.

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.

I wouldn’t touch those sheets, lady.

 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.

Insert any given Charlie Sheen quote here.

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:

That’s “the average date” times 1500.

Mister Tiger Blood sends Ron off to re-education camp.

Yup.

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.”

“Marriage is like having a noose placed around your neck.”

 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.

BITCHES (TM) WILL STEAL YOUR PRECIOUS BODILY FLUIDS.

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.

The things I endure for you people.

This includes!!!

Doll fellatio!

Doll groping!

Doggy-style doll action!

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:

Reflects on the path that led him to this moment.

Ron’s like, WHY NOT!?

This right here? Still not the low point.

Trucker Travis can’t take it anymore.

“This is disgusting. I’m out of here.”

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:

The bartender and me? We understand each other.

So, bartender shakes his head in disgust, and Ron runs off to the sex shop.

Ron needs more convincing.

Then there is the obligatory hard sell.

Ron handles the goods:

It feels so real! Especially if you’ve never, ever felt a real human before!

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.)

She *kind of* looks like the doll. Sort of. If you squint. And do LSD. And hate women.

He’s so overcome with lust for the Real Blonde:

This man has sailed the Pussy Sea. And, this is his Mariana Trench.

That he buys it from the EXTRA CREEPY Brother-in-arms of Sadness.

This guy probably has NOT sailed the Pussy Sea.

Ron Jeremy is unimpressed with Shopkeep.

He takes Blondie home and changes her clothes.

I know you’re super surprised.

HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK, THIS IS NOT OKAY.

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.

Ron: “I paid good money for you.” Joan: “I am never leaving my house again. This has ended my career as a person in the public sphere. I know the Rons are out there, and I cannot bear it.”

OH, MY GOD.

Sidenote: This thing is old enough that the doll comes with pubes.

Yes, really.

And, this thing alternates between creepy doll and real-life lady acting like a doll.

Joan sez: NOOOOOOOOOOOO.

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.

YOU ARE NEVER LEAVING ME, DOLLY. NEVER, NEVER.

WE HAVE STILL NOT HIT BOTTOM.

So he punishes the doll.

And he wakes up to this:

The tables have turned!

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.

A fucking rolling pin. Yes. Really. He is being threatened by his own imagination with the tools of the Loving Mother as imagined by the Corporate America of his childhood. Let no one tell you that porn doesn’t have depth, nuance, symbolism, or narrative.

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.

Is it plugged in?

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.”

You owe her an apology.

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.

He has the clapper.

You’re welcome, Internet.

I just watched another David Stanley movie – “Before I Wake”. It was so good. Such a great story concept. And the ending made me cry. I could feel myself melting. My chest got tight and my nose tingled and the fat hot tears fell. Why doesn’t this guy make mainstream features? Damn it! His movies are clever and observant and funny and layered and – shit – I think David Stanley is my new crush!

Indeed. Why? Why has this genius been limited to the adult film ghetto? Allow me to present:

A David Stanley Film. (For Vivid, 2004.)

Let’s set the scene.

Somewhere in Los Angeles…

Your local friendly diner.

Henry, our lead, with his only true friend and beloved roomate, Nurse Savanna, sit and wait for service.

Who do you have to blow to get a burger in this joint?

Because their chef is Evan Stone, and he’s sort of busy in the kitchen.

This is pre-Pirates Evan Stone, back when he still had hair.

Our hero gets VERY ANGRY, and he throws a salt shaker.

FEEL THE PATHOS.

Nurse Savanna calms him down, and they go home.

Then he checks his messages:

No, really. FEEL IT.

We discover that, indeed, a man who throws a salt shaker, is a man on the edge of sanity. His ex-girlfriend, Olivia, pleads with Henry to get therapy and stop leaving her 26 messages a day.

He immediately calls her back.

Then he calls again.

And again.

Then he passes out.

He wakes up disoriented.

His things are strewn about.  His room is covered in beer bottles.  Someone has thrown a party while he slept.

He’s now on high alert!

Ninja time!

Then…

His pants start talking to him.

Yes. Fucking, for real, this is a porno about TALKING PANTS.  Talking. Pants.

Henry, clearly, is living in an isolated, Kafka-esque, pants-haunted nightmare of his own creation.

I am dead serious.

Talking. Fucking. Pants.

Now, I suppose it’s possible that David Stanley is some sort of round-about genius, because you do serious reflection upon realizing that you’ve somehow found yourself watching a damned porn movie about a salt-tossing stalker with talking pants.

He does battle with the pants. Alas, the pants taunt him a second time.

They demand money and mustard. They appear to be habitual marijuana smokers.

They love French chicks.

He immediately calls his ex-girlfriend to tell her, so that the pants might talk to her.

“There’s not a party in my pants. My pants threw a party!”

Eventually he seeks solace from Nurse Savanna.

The best help is always located in the boobs.

At this point, I’m wondering how they’re going to manage to bring in the sex scenes.  Because this is some boner-wilting shit, right?

Nurse Sexy goes to work, and gets advice from a fake-accented German/Frenchman, Nurse Nicole.  Nicole tells her to fuck the sanity back into her poor roomie.

Olivia protests!

Nicole reminds her of the time she had sex with a Latin Pop star, in order to sooth his aching smack overdose:

HE CANNOT BEAR TO MISS ANOTHER CONCERT, DUE TO HIS OWN HEROIN ADDICTION.

Once again… the healing power of boobs.

Nurse Breasticles tells her friend that the Latin Pop Sensation wasn’t her roommate, therefore she will not be delivering sexual healing to Henry out of any sense of Nursely Obligation.  But… she’s okay with Nicole, the worst Fake German/Frenchman ever, making an attempt.

Meanwhile, Henry continues to descend…

Yes, he’s wearing camo and threatening the pants with a bat.

She suggests a non-pants party:

TA DA!

And she attempts some immersion therapy:

TAKE THE PANTS! TAKE THEM! CONFRONT YOUR PATHOS!

Eventually, he just lays there with the pants and cries while she growls and shouts things at him in a variety of pseudo-European accents.

Yeah. Henry is weeping. HAWT.

But, it doesn’t work!

CRAZY EYES!

He kicks Nicole out and cries into his pants some more!

I swear, solemnly, that he actually calls them “Pantsy” at this point.

Then he lays down the law:

No more parties for you, Mister Pants!

Nurse Savanna seeks a Doctor’s opinion.

I’ll let you guess how that works out.

It’s time for boob-medicine!

Eventually, somewhere around the painting-himself-with-woad phase, Nurse Busty takes pity on him.

What is love, but a prelude to sorrow? (Yes, that’s a tenuous Nina Simone reference. I do have some culture, dammit.)

Alas.

There’s still 15 minutes left.

Nurse Sexy informs Henry that her miracle cure was a One Time Only deal.

She’s still coated in blue paint. These are the details you find in movies made by a true craftsman.

He runs off to the other room to wail and gnash.

She rolls her eyes and goes to work, where she runs into the ex-girlfriend, Olivia.

This girl delivered the most wooden lines in the whole movie. It’s so bad it ripped space and time apart, and three Golden Era porn stars dropped dead just while she was rehearsing.

Olivia and Nurse Sexy are so overcome by the overwhelming power of sharing a room with their own mammary glands that they instantly go at it.

We weren’t going to get out of a movie this breast-focused without a lesbian scene. There’s protocol to maintain here, y’all. Guido enforcers from deep in the heart of the San Bernadino Valley seek you out and break your kneecaps if you fail to include a girl-on-girl scene in your 119 minute feature length film.

Henry roams the halls with flowers, searching for Nurse Savanna. He runs into the German/Frenchman who’s grandmother has died.

She confirms she’s supposed to be German. Grandma refused to pass on her strudel recipe.

While there he runs into post-sexytimes Olivia and Savanna and throws a finger-pointing hissyfit.

ALL THE VAGINA BETWAYS HIM!

He runs off crying, again.

So, Nurse Savanna finally goes home to discover that the pants have achieved sentience.

Yup.

I have no idea.

She faints dead away.

And, thus, Henry is vindicated.

Sort of.

He’s still a giant creepy manbaby.

Keep dancing, buddy.

So… yeah.

If anyone really wants to know why this guy never made mainstream movies?

Mystery solved.

This one is directed by an Italian, Luca Damiano, who also did something called Hamlet: For the Love of Ophelia which I’m now dying to see, because who doesn’t want suicidal teenagers and Oedipal complexes in their mid-90′s porn?

Once upon a time…

So, you know, it starts out the way the fairy tale usually does. You’ve got your evil queen, magic mirror, and badly translated subtitles:

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the loveliest cunt of all?

The mirror gives Evil Queen the rundown.

Snow White:

I JUST FIGURED OUT I HAVE A VAGINA! WOW! THIS IS TOTALLY CONVENIENT!

Is the fairest in all the land.

No one gives bitchface like an evil queen.

Mirror, please.

So, the Queen decides that she needs an orgy to clear her head.

The Stallions. Seriously. It’s crappy capture, but for real, “Bring the stallions in!” That’s how evil this Queen is.

Eventually, they all come on her face. That’s how she maintains her beauty.

Yup. It’s gonna be like that. 

She comes up with the plan to cut out Snow White’s heart, yadda yadda.

And, while that is all going on, we are introduced to Prince Bones-a-lot, who needs to find his Vulva Fair, so as to inherit the kingdom. His father forces the issue:

Honestly, the cousin-fucking scene goes on forEVER.

The wimpy hunstman can’t kill Snow White, so he leaves her in the forest.

Then, well… you can guess how this goes, right?

Because, I promise, it’s so much worse than your guess.

Breaking and entering: you do the crime, you pay the time.

Snow White, having recently discovered her ladycave, asks if she can stay:

She spends most of the movie alternating between this expression and smiling like a moron.

The dwarves, who all comment on their raging hard-ons, tell her she can stay.

Oh, they’ll think of something, right?

Meanwhile,the huntsman lies to the Queen with the fake heart, and she grants him access to her lesbians-in-waiting:

Guess what his reward is! If you guessed *stallions!* you’re almost correct.

The dwarves, um… undertake the education of Snow White, in what really is one of the most odd porn sequences ever. Like, imagine all this happening to the tune of a jaunty piccolo and accordion piece.

Where in Italy did they find seven little people willing to do this shit?

APPLAUSE!

GUESS WHERE THAT ENDS UP!

APPLAUSE!

He’s a Gentlman Dwarf.

Clarinet. Piccolo. Whatever.  After seven full dwarf lessons, your general will to pay close attention starts to wane.

APPLAUSE!

In the big middle of the huntsman’s “reward,” the Queen finds out he’s a lying liar who lies:

DO NOT FUCK WITH THE QUEEN.

It has an actual intermission.

For real.

This is cousin-fucker dwarf porn that takes itself quite seriously.

So.

The Queen poisons the apple:

And Prince Bones-a-lot ditches his cousin:

And the dwarf cottage has descended into full-bore cocaine-fueled Jackie Treehorn madness:

“…what the whole hep world would be doing on Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war…”

Prince Bones-a-lot finds another Vulva Fair:

He’s easily confused, poor dear.

The Dwarvian Bacchanalia continues:

And, continues:

And, continues…

Until eventually they have to go to work, and the Queen feeds Snow White the apple:

CHARMING, RIGHT?

So, the dwarves are sad:

Yes.

Indeed.

May it.

But!

Prince Bones-a-lot arrives to save the day:

And, being Prince Bones-a-lot, he immediately commences to boning.

For an audience of dwarves. Encouraging dwarves.

This is the stuff of nightmares. Really.

And, of course… they live happily ever after.

They never really deal with the Queen.

I can only assume she went back to her castle for more bukkake beauty regimens.

There’s still Cousin Bones-a-lot back at the castle.

There are a lot of loose ends, here.

Which is probably why there’s a sequel made in 1999 called Snow White… Ten Years later.

I’m so not kidding.

APPLAUSE!

The Blonde Next Door, 1982.

Now, I’m willing to admit: this is awful, awful porn, with an awful, awful premise, and I don’t care.  I LOVE this one. I do. It’s the perfect bad 80′s porno, and I share this with love.  Embrace the cheese, people.

So.

We begin with Cindy and John.  John is the world’s lousiest lover, so he listens to these instruction records that tell him, step-by-step, how to please the ladies.

As you can see, John is no George Clooney.  Alas, so few of us are.

This, predictably, does not work. I do desperately hope that some hipster has that record on vinyl though, and that he’s sampling it for dubstep right this very moment.

Apply gentle pressure to her clitoris. Apply gentle pressure to her clitoris. Apply gentle pressure to her clitoris. Apply gentle pressure to her clitoris.

Awesome.

So poor Cindy decides that this state of affairs will not stand, and she strikes out, leaving… a Dear John letter.

Embrace that cheese. No, wait. Apply gentle pressure to the cheese.

She immediately runs into Real Estate Agent / Swindler / Mustachioed Lothario, Barry Horne.

Yup. You read that. Barry Fucking Horne. Hell yeah.

Why hello there, Mr. Horne….

She immediately submits to mad, misty, gas-guzzling boat-mobile sex with him in exchange for a ride.

You might think this is the worst thing that could happen to a lone girl, in 1982, who’s had gentle pressure applied to her lady parts.

But, this is just the beginning.

So, old Barry Horne goes back to his office where he deals with a weird farmer guy:

I HAVE NO IDEA. IT WAS THE 80′S, MAN. THE 80′S.

And his super hot, super awesome secretary, with the best porn wardrobe ever, decides that there’s just something new about Barry.  She’s dealt with his Mad Men-style sexual harassment before, but now he’s just… irresistible.

For some reason, Barry just smells good.

Hark! A fragrant!

Barry and Charlene realize that he has amazing woman-attracting pheromones  stuck in his epic 80′s mustache. Barry thinks real hard (see photo above) and realizes that it must be the lady juices produced by the blonde hitchhiker.

He and Charlene then decide that this is an obvious capitalist opportunity.  They hunt Cindy down and employ a vague veneer of medicine to convince her to start, er, production.

It’s alright. He’s a doctor.

The first batch is such a hit that there’s a weird incest threesome interlude at what I can only assume is Mork and Mindy’s neighbor’s apartment.

Presumably, that’s where Mork scored all his blow.

Nanu, nanu. YES. MORK AND MINDY JOKES. I never claimed to be modern or relevant.

This, of course, means that Cindy is going to be having a lot of sex, which is fortunate, because this is a porn, after all.

Alas, poor Cindy. She hits her limit, eventually.

To my immense disappointment, this is not the beginning of a modern jazz number.

Really, I just want to gaze upon Charlene the Secretary, with her wonderful blue eye shadow. Seriously. That’s monumental blue eye shadow. Also? 80′s perm. Somewhere in my deep childhood-based subconscious  blue eye shadow + perm + gaudy jewelry = BEAUTIFUL LADY.  Fuck you, Disney Princesses. DOLLY PARTON FOREVER.

Eventually, poor Cindy is all tapped out. Even the World’s Greatest Lover cannot wrest even a single drop from her font of wonders.

Yup. That guy. World’s Greatest Lover. You know because he doesn’t wear a shirt.

So, in desperation, Barry and Charlene, and the Music Video Reject Squad cook up a scheme.  They’ll indulge what they imagine will be Cindy’s greatest fantasy…

…being abducted and ravished by homeless extras from the Hawaiian Vacation episodes of The Brady Bunch.

They ALSO get their blow from Mork’s neighbors, okay?

Thankfully, this portion of the movie is short and confusing.

Meanwhile, poor Jilted John and his equally nerdy BFF decide to blow off some steam…

HEEEEEY, LAAAAAAYDEEEEZ.

Out of the pure goodness of their hearts, “blowing off steam” means they watch two women get it on.

I mean, really?  Do you want screen shots of those two dudes going at it?

Yeah.

Didn’t really think so.

So, they watch the two girls go at it, and I guess John picks up some important pointers.

Alas, Barry Horne, professional sleaze artist, ends up in debt to The Villain:

DUN DUN DUN. You can tell he’s the bad guy, because he has fedora and smirk.

Barry explains that the poor girl, she just canna take much more, Cap’n.

But the bad guy isn’t having it.  He swears he can and will get some of the golden juice.  Barry can only watch as the Villain coaxes one final splash.

Creeper Jeremy. The stuff of nightmares.  The scariest story at your campfire. The next time you’re a little spooked in the dark, laying there in your bed, while lightning crashes?  Just picture Creeper Jeremy at the end of your bed.   You’re welcome.

Afterwards, Cindy has just had enough.  She wants her money, dammit.  She is a tiny little blonde stereotype, and they will respect her authoritah!

As you can see, they keep their mad cash safely stowed in clearly labeled burlap sacks.

Charlene and Barry, however, are not having it. They use their expert skills to secure the victim.

Look, I have no idea why this wasn’t a sex scene, but the Curse of the fucking Tiki Doll Gang Bang somehow made the cut. I don’t make these sort of executive decision.

Eventually, by amazing contrivance, Cindy is saved by Dear John, who had heard there was amazing Lady Attraction Juice to be had, and stopped by to see if he could get any.

HER HERO!

And, in the end, we’ve completed Campbell’s Monomyth, and Cindy, much like Luke Skywalker or Jesus, returns home with the prize and a new sense of self.  She and Dear John bottle her Amazing Va Jay Jay Juice on their own and live happily ever after.

The End.

“Until we meet again. Muah ha ha ha ha!”

This thing is actually called “Teens Goin’ Wild 17.” It’s Brazilian, no one ever speaks, and it’s really freaking weird.

And the world needs to know about it, so that I won’t be alone in my confusion.

Honestly, this doesn’t look weird, right? This looks totally boring. IT’S A TRAP.

The film is a three part, two hour long extravaganza from 2006, but I’ll just stick to the Aspiring to Bergman portion.

Bang for buck and all.

So, we begin with… witches.  Lesbian witches.  They dance around a fire.  They bring in the new girl and strip her naked and do lesbian witch things with her.

Witches always bring beach mats to their Sabbats. Duh.

Then, for reasons that aren’t really clear, a hot Lady Vampire shows up!

Bergman would have included more leather jackets, if he’d been a pornographer.

She accepts the witch’s offering with much sneering and eye-squinting.  The camera moves around a lot.  There are filters.  There’s lots of gratuitous shots of the fire.

The vampire does her neck biting thing, and the witches appear to be cowed and terrified.

Nothing says “get your masturbatory fantasies on” like hot chick theater blood.

Now, just a reminder:  This is called Teens Goin Wild 17.

It should, by all rights, involve a lot of clearance furniture from Ikea, pigtails, and neon panties. That’s the Teens + Wild + Random Integer formula.

This is already way out of the ordinary.

And then…

The corpse arrives.

*Sad Trombone Noise*

We endure vaguely necrophilic “lingering over the dead girl” shots.

And, then!

Knights!

I don’t know why!

But… Knights!

Note the Vampire and her evil smile.

The knights fight for a while next to a lake, while distortions and extreme close-ups occur for no particular reason, until one of them is defeated.

He has no idea what’s going on.

Then we cut to The Lake of Mysteries and JC Penney bedroom sets from 1987.

I don’t even know.

The Victim and the Vampire alternate between a daylit lesbian fun time session and grooming at a vanity.

In a bed in a lake.

Dada in a swamp.

While Death and a Mime play chess.

While Death… and a Mime… play chess.

A Mime.

No, really. A Mime.

And, I think maybe I need another shot of whiskey, because holy shit.

NO, I AM NOT KIDDING.

You would need booze, too.

And, then, in the first move that actually doesn’t surprise me, the knight shows up for a little three way action.

Due to budget cuts, Death now has to wear a polyester cloak.

Eventually, Death and the Mime decide to hang out at the head of the bed, alternately watching and staring sullenly into the distance.

Because that’s not at all creepy and weird.

There’s not enough whiskey on Earth to make this okay.

Then the Vampire is bamphed a sword, which she then gets busy with.

NOT ENOUGH WHISKEY.

Even she looks a little confused.

BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL!

This goes on for ages.

Then, POOF!

The blue filter has returned! The victim is left without even a beach mat, covered in ketchup!

BONER WILT ALERT!

We then, for some god-forsaken reason, have to go through flashbacks of the entire thing not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES IN A ROW.

Face-palm is the appropriate response, my friend.

Then, DUN DUN DUN.

The victim wakes up!

She’s confused!

As is everyone else.

Fin.

So. Yeah.

That’s just the first part. There’s also segways with apples and snakes.  Cyberpunk video hells. Lizard stroking. Not that kind. The actual reptile version.

Dude.

Not enough whiskey.