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Sex

Review: Hot Tub Whore Machine

I tried to follow plot of this movie where a busty porn star goes back in time to get gangbanged by an 80s hair-metal band, but my mind kept trying to imagine what I might do if I had a time machine of my own.

Dir: Joanna Angel
Rating: 9
BurningAngel.com

This article appears in the August Issue of VICE Magazine

Death comes to us all eventually. It's an inevitability that I never feared until having children. Since their birth, it seems like the Reaper is creeping toward me at a faster pace than usual. As I dance the last dance of my 30s, friends and family are being snatched away all around me. On Easter I had my own near-death experience when my airplane almost crashed onto the tarmac at Newark Airport, forcing the pilot to pull the plane back up into the sky at the last moment before impact. Now I find myself looking back on my life wondering how I could have done things differently. Like Willie said, "Little things I should have said and done / I just never took the time." Perhaps I could have been much less of a cocksucker to a great many women along the way or had one less drink to avoid hurting fewer friends in car wrecks…

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But what is done cannot be undone.

Or can it?

Today, as I sit on my back patio on a slow Sunday morning, half-watching my kids butt-boarding on the mini ramp, half-trying to follow the plot of this movie that sends the busty Vyxen Steel back in time to get butt-drilled in a gangbang by an 80s hair-metal band, my mind keeps trying to imagine what I might do if I had a time machine of my own. Would I do something great for humanity, like travel back to 1907 and force the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna to accept Hitler into its program? Would I go back to 1946 and throw Barbara Bush and an unborn George W. down an elevator shaft?

Sadly, I am human, and as such I am stupid and selfish by nature. Instead of saving the world, I daydream about fixing my own past bullshit. Things would have been so different if I would have just invested everything I had in Apple in the 90s or left work early in 2000 to stop my ex from committing suicide or perhaps avoided getting hit by that taxi that ultimately caused me to get addicted to painkillers for six years.

But what are the moments that define a man? His failures or his successes?

As Ms. Steel tugged away at two men's cocks as if she were pulling weeds from a garden, my son yelled to me, "Dad! You really need to get rid of all the weeds around the house."

Right then I noticed a rainbow in the sky, and it hit me by way of some bizarre, cosmic epiphany: weed, rainbows, and shelter. That's the answer! I'd travel back in time to November 10, 1995, the morning before the above mug shot was taken and explain to my 19-year-old self that smoking pot makes you an idiot and today you will get arrested because it's idiotic for a white boy with bleached hair and a skateboard to go to 125th and St. Nick's in Harlem to buy weed when in fact growing it is extremely easy and profitable. I'd explain to my younger self that in the year 2015 the most lucrative things in America will be marijuana, rainbow flags, and real estate, so instead of smoking pot and going to jail for it, let's grow pot, get rich, and invest our money in rainbows and condos. My heart sang a duet with my teenage self at the thought of how different life would be.

I sent a text to Joanna Angel asking for Ms. Steel's cell phone so I could ask her the secret to time travel, and suddenly, feeling more alive than I had in months, I grabbed my skateboard and joined my boys on the ramp. I set my board down, not noticing my wheels were behind the coping. I went to drop in, hung up, and fell right on my head. My eldest son screamed, "DAD!" But instead of asking whether I was OK, he simply joked, in a pitch-perfect, deadpan delivery, "You're getting really good." And we all laughed. Everything was fucked, but everything was going to be fine. The pot would save us all.

More stupid can be found at Chrisnieratko.com or @Nieratko on Twitter.