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Body Slam Vol. 1
AFW: Body Slam Vol. 1
Dir: Kent Star
"Hey, baby. You want to wrestle?" That’s been my pick-up line for years, and it totally works. That line is actually what seduced my current girlfriend. I remember seeing her across the room looking bored as her friends acted like they knew how to play pool. She had mismatched colored eyes like Bowie and a fit body from years of working out. I knew I could pin her. So I walked over and sat beside her and—why am I telling you this? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that The World Wildlife Foundation made the World Wrestling Federation change its name to World Wresting Entertainment, which is such an unbelievably gay name change, and the WWE are out there with street teams and spotlights trying to prove that they are still cool, even with a different name. News flash Vince McMahon: I don’t care how hot your daughter is, you haven’t been cool since ’86 and even if the ’80s are back, it doesn’t matter. You are still lame. Your world is trite and uninspired and I know that you know it. When I close my eyes I see you in your big bathtub, overflowing with your tears as you try and think up a more simplistic name and identity for your next big wrestling star. "I’ve got it," you say to yourself with forced excitement, "I’ll get a guy with a shaved head, no, make that long hair, oil him up and give him some leather pants and call him Mike the Brick. No, not Mike the Brick. Mike the Brick Layer. Where’s my pen, I’ve got to write this down." As you reach over you get a stiff hard on and it only makes you cry harder. You know in your heart that the comic- book writers of the ’40s and ’50s were cleverer than the man you’ve become. You wonder how they ever thought of names like Bugman, the Stick, or Man-guy. Tell me how you lost your way, Vinny. Have you forgotten how you entertained us with such colorful characters as The Junkyard Dog, George "The Animal" Steel, the Iron Sheik and Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat? With all we’ve been through together, how could you try and substitute real wrestlers with goons in Speedos that couldn’t make the cut for arena football? It hurts. I thought we had something special. I thought of my life as a tag-team steel cage match with you as my partner. When I needed you most you found the only way to make wrestling cool—but now, you’ve taken it all back. So when I close my eyes and see your makeup running down your reconstructed face, I smile. You should cry. You fucked up and it’s all your fault. I’m glad that the Wildlife Foundation finally made you change your name. Pandas are way cooler then you anyhow. You wish you could come up with something as cool as a panda. Or a llama. Or an aardvark. Aardvarks are badass, Vinny. They are first in the dictionary. You could only dream of being an aardvark. But even if you were an aardvark, you’d find a way to fuck it up. You’d be all corny about it and shit and ruin it for all the other aardvarks. You’d single-handedly bring down the sales numbers of aardvark costumes. Second-graders everywhere would stop writing essays about wanting to be aardvarks when they grow up and be forced to change professions. Fuck. Next thing you know kids everywhere will want to be cops. Like we don’t have enough cops. Suddenly September 11 made cops cool? No, cops suck (not all of them, just the ones that suck). See what you’re doing, Vince? You’re making cops cooler than aardvarks. I hope you drown in those tears.
Real Female Masturbation 15
Dir: Randy West
Randy West Productions
I don’t bring porno mags with me anymore when I travel. I bring digi tapes. As of recently I’ve been filming my girlfriend playing with herself and her girlfriends quite a bit, so instead of wasting my time trying to get it up to still imagery, I just take out my handheld digi-cam and sort it out like that. My girlfriend is much hotter than any of the girls in this video and much dirtier. These girls barely slip one finger in their ass, and if they do, it’s like for two seconds. What am I supposed to do with that? Pause it? Maybe play it on super-slow-mo? Am I twelve again? Am I supposed to be able to nut in eight seconds? Grow up. What’s great is my girlfriend is really into being filmed. Some nights, I’ll be dead asleep, and she’ll wake me up, "Hey, I was going to play with my pussy for a bit, do you want to record it?" She’s considerate like that. So I’ve got like fifteen tapes that I cart around with me wherever I go. I just flew to Tokyo last week and that shit is like thirteen hours from LAX and despite snorting two bars of Xanax, popping two reds, and three blues, there was still a good hour where I didn’t know what to do with myself and I sure as fuck wasn’t about to watch Minority Report. Does Tom Cruise even read the scripts he takes anymore? Redo Cocktail, already. That shit ripped. Yeah, so this fat-faced two-year-old Jap bitch wouldn’t stop crying and its parents were looking at it like, "What the fuck? Is it broken?" So I reached into the overhead and grabbed my video camera and my electric shaver and headed to the bathroom. People were probably bugging, wondering what the fuck I was doing. Good thing I didn’t grab my ninja mask, they would have thought I was hijacking that bitch. I bet they thought I was a film student. Filming oneself shaving in an airplane shitter seems like an artsy film-school kind of thing to do. I hate film-school kids. They think they’re so smart, all "I’m the big cock in town, love me." Next thing they’re working as a grip on The Bernie Mac Show. I’m really into having a clean-shaven ball sack when I toss off; I’m on some porn shit. So I prop my camera on the sink and open the LCD screen to watch my girl slide the purple dildo inside her, she really likes the purple one, and I plug in my razor and start cutting. My razor is kind of shitty. It’s more of a beard trimmer but I can’t grow a beard, so it’s strictly for my nuts, but it’s dangerous. If I don’t take my time, sometimes it catches skin and slices me open, which doesn’t hurt as much as it looks unsettling. As I’m thinking, "I hope I don’t cut myself again, I hope I don’t cut myself," we hit a patch of turbulence and my cock-skin gets snagged and torn. Blood everywhere. I wanted to scream but it was the part of the tape where she makes her asshole wink at me and the pills took most of the bite off the wound, so I was like, "Fuck it. Let it bleed." I start kneading my shaft, using the blood as a kind of lube, and then I caught myself in the mirror. Hand and dick covered in blood, home-made porn playing with a big booger that someone wiped in the middle of the mirror, with a toilet paper-clogged toilet in the background, and I thought, "I wish I had another video camera, this would make a great short." Does that make me lame?
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