Thursday, April 30, 2009

Big, Hard and Single


Given the reality of who I am and the life I’ve lead so far, it’ll probably come as no surprise that it’s been a little difficult for me to date. In practical terms, my busy life as an actor has made it all but impossible. And now with what is certain to be a rise in the level of my fame--due to the release of my star turn in “One-Eyed Monster”--it may be difficult to date out of the public eye.

For a while I was dating people in the business. My relationship with Tina Yothers’ vagina lasted five years, but my growing fame eventually became an issue for her. We’re still friends, and I’m actually close with her new beau, Corey Haim’s cock, but lately I’ve been feeling pretty lonely and in need of genuine affection.

Hungry for some semblance of normalcy, I turned to the world of online dating, becoming a member of Snatch.com. It seemed to have the biggest variety of pussy, and was less excluding than BJ-Date.

The problem for me, though, was the utter lack of originality in the profiles. Vagina after vagina would have the phrase “I love to laugh” in their profile. They’d often lie about how much hair they had, and I just generally couldn’t reconcile the disparity between what they wrote online and how they really were in person.

Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve had an amazing life so far, and I think things are about to get even better. But listen—if you know someone, I’m open to the fix-up. What’s my type? I’m not really sure. I guess I’m just looking for someone sweet, open, and deep.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The Miracle Jerker


For the life of me, I can't understand how a dead Finnish composer is going to handle the swine flu problem in this country. I heard Ron practicing that line before doing his act in Wichita the other day. At least I think that's what he said--it's difficult to tell from within the confines of his pants.

That became a major problem when I went into acting because, thanks to learning English through jeans, with everything sounding muffled, I had a terrible speech impediment. Casting agents thought I was deaf. I suppose it could have been worse; most people's dicks spend the day inside pants and underpants. Because of Ron's career, I was often free of the shackles of clothes. But because of Ron's career, I had scant time to take in the air, as I was usually in a dark wet hole. And except for one of those holes, you can't hear shit in there! I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but I like to think of myself as the Helen Keller of giant cocks. My world was often quiet and dark. In Ron's youth I was a wild thing, almost feral. Working in hardcore gave me discipline, but it didn't give me anything in the way of communication skills or mastery over my instrument, to use an acting class expression. And unlike Helen, I didn't have Annie Sullivan guiding me out of the darkness. Best I had was Penny Sullivan, who guided me into her darkness, but who reached me with her kegels (this whole "One-Eyed Monster" experience has given me renewed appreciation for kegels, which you'll understand when you see the movie). She taught me something akin to Morse code while I was in her--a series of patterned contractions that I came to decipher during Ron's thrusting. Achieve that, Keller! Where's MY stamp?? Anyway, when women say that Ron's dick speaks to them, that's my coded throbs they're talking about. How I learned to type is another story.

Ron then said something to the effect of "There's no evidence to suggest your governor can manage a flu epidemic, since she clearly hasn't been able to do that for the epidemic of reactionary Red State bullshit thinking in this state." No mistaking what I heard then: crickets. Stick to fuck films, Ronny!

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Beyond Therapy


Recorded another therapy session. I realize this stuff is personal, but there’s something cathartic about posting it here for you to read. Again, a partial transcript:

DR. STEIN: You look sad.

ME: Really? I feel pretty good.

DR. STEIN: Tell me what’s going on.

ME: My movie is released today.

DR. STEIN: That’s wonderful.

ME: Yeah.

DR: STEIN: You don’t seem too convinced.

ME: No, really. I’m feeling good. Last night was a big night for me. The premiere. The people. The lights. For the first time, it was ME. ME, alone on the red carpet, being photographed. Not because Ron decided to spontaneously show me to the press as he sometimes does. Not because a paparazzi caught a glimpse of me in an alley when Ronnie was peeing against a wall. Me. Just me.

DR. STEIN: And what makes you sad about that?

ME: I just said I feel good.

DR. STEIN: I understand, but I’m asking you what makes you sad.

ME: I don’t follow.

DR. STEIN: Well I’m wondering if maybe you’re having trouble with the idea of a life and fame separate from Ron. You’re usually very attached to him.

ME: No. I’m telling you, I’m excited. I’m…very excited. I’m really, truly excited.

(I explode with tears. Tape stops here for Dr. Stein to clean up the tears because they're not tears.)

Monday, April 27, 2009

Raging Hard-On


Just before the premiere of his film “One-Eyed Monster,” Ron Jeremy’s dick is sitting in its dressing room staring at the mirror. It’s smoking a cigar and moves into a monologue:

Ron’s Dick: Some people aren’t that lucky… like the one I played in “Ronny Bought Her Cunt,” a down-and-outer. Remember the scene in the car with my balls? It went like this:

It wasn’t him, balls. It was you. Remember that night you said, “Kid, this ain’t your night. “Holmes, Gillis, Leslie and Pacheco are going for a double vaginal, double anal on Hartley”. “This ain’t your night.” My night. I could’ve taken Hartley apart. So what happens? They get to blow their load on her back. I get a one-way ticket to Palookaville. I was no good after that, balls. You reach a peak, then it’s all reality shows. It was you, balls. You was my balls. You should’ve looked out for me just a little bit. You should’ve taken care of me… instead of making Ron suck his own dick for short-end money. You don’t understand. I could’ve had class. I could’ve been a contender. I could’ve been somebody instead of a bum. Let’s face it. It was you, balls. It was you.


(Enter the box office manager)


Manager: How you doin’, champ? Everything OK?


Ron’s Dick: Yeah.


Manager: Wood?


Ron’s Dick: Five minutes.


Manager: OK. Need anything?


Ron’s Dick: No.


Manager: You sure?


Ron’s Dick: I’m sure. Lot of people out there?


Manager: It’s crowded.
(Exit manager)


Ron’s Dick: Go get ‘em, champ. I’m the boss. I’m the boss. I’m the boss. I’m the boss.

Ron’s dick gets bigger as he leaves for the red carpet. The screen fades to black. The following text appears before the credits roll:

So, for the second time, the Pharisees
summoned the woman who had been blind and said:
“Speak the truth before God.
We know Ron Jeremy’s dick is a monster.”
“Whether or not it’s a monster, I do not know,”
The woman replied.
“All I know is this:
Once I was blind and now I can see.”
- John (Holmes) IX, 24-26
the New English Bible

Friday, April 24, 2009

Cinema Jeremé


When all is said and done, Ron’s a pretty modest guy—he doesn’t like to brag. So let me do that for him: the guy’s a legend, and he’s been in over 2000 films. The following is small list of what I consider to be his best acting work:


Susie Chang’s Crab Roll (1983)

Ron’s one and only contribution to Asian cinema, in which he plays a Sushi Chef in search of the perfect raw fish.


Nun-Fuckin' 17--Get In The Habit (1987)

Famously boycotted film, not by religious leaders, but by fans of "Nun-Fuckin'" 1-16, who felt 17 did a disservice to the series.


Fuck Me Or Die Hard (1991)

In the early 90’s, Ron’s agent convinced him to try the action genre. The film tanked stateside but did killer box office overseas, and it launched the ubiquitous catchphrase: “I wanna fuck you like it’s Hanukkah!”


A Streetcar Named Cunnilingus (1993)

Ron tried to one-up his former Stella Adler classmate, Marlon Brando, in this classic film shot in sumptuous black and white. Ron played “Manly Kowolski” opposite Ginger Lynn’s “Snatch DuBois.”


Blowlita (2000)

In an effort to shake things up, producers decided to remake Kubrick's classic by going the opposite way, having Ron be fixated on a 96-year old woman. Critics applauded the brave conceit, but audiences could not stop throwing up.


Napoleon’s Boner Part (2005)

Ron’s only historical drama, famously known for its tagline: “He saw. He Conquered. He came.”


No Cunt For Old Men (2008)

Audiences were sharply divided over the controversial ending, in which Ron sits at a table and describes a dream to co-star Sasha Grey, instead of fucking her brains out.


As far as I know, Ron’s the only person who was eligible for a Lifetime Achievement award at the age of 26. So long.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Hi-Yo Silver!

I’ve worked with every dick, cunt, big mouth and asshole in the business. Well, not quite. There was one penis I never got to see in person, and I sure wish I had, because humility is never a bad thing. It belonged to an adult film star named Long Dong Silver. Accounts of its size vary depending on who you ask. I’ve heard it was 18 inches. I say “was” because I think LD is dead. In this age of Google, you’d think it would be a simple matter to find out if someone was alive or dead. But I can’t find any information about him. Of course, that just adds to the myth. No less a public figure than Justice Clarence Thomas has spoken of Long Dong Silver’s cock with reverence (the revelation of which was an historic moment for big dicks). Some say it wasn’t completely real—that it was part prosthetic. I don’t know. Truth is, I really don’t want to know. I like the idea that somewhere out there lives (or lived) a pole that dwarfs even me. On some level, just knowing it may be out there relieves me of some kind of responsibility. I like to think that maybe it’s watching over me. Yeah, I grew up big and strong; I’ve made my name. But deep down, don’t we all want to feel like we’re in the presence of something greater, something truly awesome? If you’re out there, you magnificent stretch of pipe, thank you for keeping me grounded; thank you for teaching me that we live a fleeting existence where glory like yours can come and go, never to be witnessed again. So long, Dong. So very long.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Woody Ailin'


Empires rise and fall. I rise and fall. There's almost nothing more natural than growth and decline. So why am I so bothered that it happened to Woody? That's not my nickname--I'm talking about Woody Allen, my onetime hero. Ron still admires him--we've argued about this for several years now--but I'm giving up. It's time to find a new hero, because watching every new movie--a tradition as regular and disappointing as New Year's Eve--has become too crushing.

I used to worship the guy. I loved his stand-up, his books and, most of all, his movies. From one to the next, he kept upping the ante, the blissfully silly and nerdy jokes making me feel proud for laughing. And I'm not one of those cocks who needed him to be funny all the time. I loved his more mature comedies, too. "Hannah and Her Sisters" and "Crimes and Misdemeanors" are two particular favorites. But then, with the exception of "Sweet and Lowdown," he started shooting out more unfulfilled potential than I do in a day's work. When I was about four or five inches, I remember watching those apes at the zoo throwing up and then eating their vomit, then throwing up again. I could only bear to watch that a few times before realizing two things: it was not going to stop and the apes didn't realize (or care) that it was hard to watch. "Match Point" was nothing more than "Crimes and Misdemeanors" vomit; "Scoop" was "Shadows and Fog" vomit; and "Vicky Christina Barcelona" is a vomit soup of just about everything he's ever done since "Hannah and Her Sisters." Maybe I'm having a hard time because I keep expecting Woody to rise again like I do. To make people laugh and think and feel good again--like I do. Jeez, maybe it IS his name after all; maybe I feel an unhealthy identification with a short, nebbishy, entertaining guy who's had a lot of women, made a lot of movies and is still out there doing what he does. Ron's left nut thinks Woody's comedy is continually evolving. His right nut sees in Woody's movies a coherent and mature thematic unity. But they're nuts!

Okay, I'm not as funny. But at least I didn't make "September."

Monday, April 20, 2009

My Brush With Greatness


Not many people know that I used to be very close with acclaimed director Akira Kurosawa. It started out as the kind of unique collaboration between director and actor that you don’t see anymore (Scorsese and DeNiro being the exception).

And in 1985, he and I began what I hoped was going to be the first of many projects together: a film starring, and about me, with the simple title, “Ron.”

I dug up an old photo showing the two of us on the set (you have to look closely to see me).

Things didn’t work out.

During the first week of shooting, we were on a break and lunching in our trailer, and we started to talk about future projects. I suggested that he remake “The Seven Samurai”, but starring me, and re-title it: “The 9 ¾ Samurai.”

In my life I’ve never seen anyone become as angry as he did. Within minutes, Security was throwing me off the set, and Akira and I never spoke again.

The bastard recast the movie with Tasuya Kakadai in the lead, and had the nerve to keep the title (changing the middle letter so he wouldn’t get sued.)

There is a happy ending, though. That movie starring me, about me? It’s called "One-Eyed Monster", and it's coming out at the end of the month. And the icing on the cake? Akira is dead.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Take Off With Us


On a flight back east yesterday, after browsing the Sky Mall catalog, I made an admittedly not very novel connection between us--that is, me and the airplane.

1. We look alike (I was on a 747). True, I don't have wings, and I only have two engines, but the general shape is there.
2. We both spend our days going up and then coming down.
3. We both carry a lot of people inside, unload them at a gate, and every once in a while one of them arrives at his destination to start a new life.
4. Sometimes people go down on us.
5. As we get older, we need more inspection.
6. We both heed safety regulations when we're working.
7. We occasionally get 'jacked (okay, that one's a stretch).
8. We've both starred in movies (me: "One-Eyed Monster", them: " "Airport 77" for examples)
9. Celebrities ride us.
10. "We take you everywhere and get you nowhere" --All That Jizz (apologies to Mr. Fosse).

Hey, I never said I was a great thinker. And I deserve some credit for not mentioning where the pilot sits.

So long.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

American One-Eyedol

I often get asked what I think about during my down time. Well, I’ve got hopes and dreams like any of you. But I’m also a realist. To wit, despite the fact that I’m a pretty good singer, I know that I’ll never be on American Idol. Obama’s our President, yes, but this is still a very conservative country and I’m fairly certain it’s not ready for the singing schmeckle.

But that hasn’t stopped me from dreaming. I often play out what it might be like to appear on the show. While Ron is busy doing phone interviews or lunching at some café, I’m mulling over my song choices and wondering how big of a part I’d have in the Ford music video.

And then, there’s the judging of my song, which I imagine might go like this:

RANDY: Yo yo yo…check it out. Check it out. You know something, dick dog? You worked it out, man. You worked it out. Yeah!

KARA: You are a true artist. You have really come into your own. The runs were perfect, I felt a connection between you and the lyrics, and you stayed hard the entire time. I think it was your best performance so far.


PAULA: First of all, you look very handsome tonight. I noticed you trimmed your ball hair, and I think the ladies probably noticed that as well. (Wooo’s from the audience). You are an absolute delight to watch. You fill my heart with such joy and your passion is infectious. Keep reaching higher and higher, and there’s no telling where you can go. Bravo.


SIMON: If I’m being completely honest, I thought it was completely forgettable. (Audience starts booing.) And I’m gonna say something tonight because I think it’s appropriate—if you weren’t a giant phallus, I honestly think you’d be going home tomorrow.


RYAN: I’m having trouble right now telling who’s the prick here tonight.

(AUDIENCE CHEERS)

So long.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Fame, lets me loose, hard to swallow

I'm not like any other movie star, and I don't say that because I'm a giant juice rod. I've always liked to do my work and leave the publicity to RJ. But things have changed. I recently went on Twitter and the story broke yesterday. I'm only part of a human, so yeah, I waited by the phone. Never rang. You know, I've been in the movie business over 30 years. I think my time has...arrived. My new movie isn't getting the black plastic bag treatment this time. It'll be on store shelves next to Henry Winkler's "The One and Only." So where is the Variety head shot ("Ron Jeremy Goes Mainstream with His Biggest Part")? This is my moment, so this time I want to be in People, Newsweek and EW--not PeePole, Oozeweek and EWWW.

Now I wasn't circumcised yesterday, I know cocks don't usually make the cover of mainstream magazines. But paper rags are fast disappearing, and this would certainly be the kind of naughty cover that makes news. Yeah, I've learned a few things from RJ over the years. He's smarter than most of you think. Can you name any other actor whose penis is the subject of a press release (besides John Bobbitt and Wink Martindale)? I'm obviously very attached to Ron, but this movie is named after my character, not his. So if any paparazzi feel like waiting for me outside a restaurant, I won't be offended.

How about those Cavs? I think it's their year, and not just because I identify (I depend on Ron, they depend on Leb-ron; we both score by putting it through a hoop; and whenever I had trouble achieving wood, my mantra was always "Gotta make it happen!"). No, it's simply their time. And mine.

So long.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Searching For Skin

Against the advice of my therapist, I attended a rebirthing workshop over the weekend. She’s not a fan of these things, but something was really bothering me, and I didn’t think straight therapy was going to uncover it.

I won’t get into the mechanics of how it works, but it involves holotropic breathwork, and all I can tell you is that the experience was extremely powerful.

It worked. I re-experienced the most painful day of my life.

I’m not talking about emotional pain (though that has followed me ever since.) I’m talking about searing, excruciating, pray-to-god, toe-curling, mind-numbing, Mel Gibson-hating pain.

I returned from the weekend a complete wreck, and needing more answers. So I combed through a box of RJ’s old keepsakes, and lo-and-behold, there it was. An invitation that read: “Please join us as we celebrate the Bris Milah of Ron Jeremy Hyatt”.

A party! They had a fucking party! I’m in exquisite agony and they’re eating lox and herring.

And you wonder where I got the method chops to portray a monster in my new movie.

Monday, April 13, 2009

What's in a name?

A friend of mine asked me if I had a problem with the title of my new movie, "One-Eyed Monster."

"Bit demeaning, don't you think?"

"How so?" I asked.

"Well, for one thing, you're a cock, not a monster."

"But I play a monster."

"Yeah, the title's a play on that, but it refers to a common slang for penis."

"Ok, I see that. But I guess I just figured that I am, you know, sort of a monster. Being my size and all."

"That's a pretty shallow definition of monster. Lots of things are big and they're not called monsters. I see it as more of a reference to your nature (not your "character," we've already established that)." Look, I'm an anus. Someone casts me in movie called "The Asshole," I'm gonna have a problem with that.

"So you wouldn't take the role."

"Depends on what it pays."

Then I remembered--my friend's an asshole.

Friday, April 10, 2009

In Treatment

My therapist recently suggested that I start recording my sessions so I could listen to them later. I’m normally pretty private, but I thought I’d share a snippet of yesterday’s, which I’ve transcribed. Dr. Stein has promised me she’s getting a lock on the door after what happened today.


ME: I’ve been thinking about quitting.

DR. STEIN: Acting?

ME: What? No, therapy.

DR. STEIN: I’m sorry, okay, let’s talk about it.

ME: Wait—why did you say “acting?” Do you think I should quit acting?

DR. STEIN: I didn’t say that. I simply asked—

Me: Jesus what else would I do? It’s all I know. And it’s not just me, I’m responsible for Ron. Without me, there is no him. I can’t—

DR. STEIN: Let’s talk about Ron some more. You said he slapped you last night?

ME: He slaps me constantly, so what? I wanna go back—

(THE DOOR FLIES OPEN AT THIS POINT)

DR. STEIN: I’m sorry may I help you?

WOMAN: I have an appoint…..an appoin….what the fuck is that?

DR. STEIN: Ma’am, please have a sit in the waiting room, and I will come get you when I’m ready.

SHE CLOSES THE DOOR.

DR. STEIN: I sincerely apologize. It’s her first time here.

ME: She’s definitely gonna need therapy now.

(WE BOTH CHUCKLE)

Thursday, April 9, 2009

The Truth about Charlie

I've worked with some talented people over the years, but what cock has had the chance to work with a veritable Hollywood institution (not counting Nina Hartley's pussy)? I'm talking about Charlie Napier. That guy has been in a shitload of movies, and his commitment to his roles is absolute. Still, it wasn't until our scene together in "One-Eyed Monster" that I realized just how committed he was. He was really generous on the set, offering acting advise (but only when solicited; he understands that actors need to do their own work finding their characters) and generally showing the rest of us what professionalism means.

We practiced the strangling shot a dozen times before rolling the camera, and he never took it easy just because it was a rehearsal. To find the truth of that moment, he told me to really squeeze his windpipe; he wanted to sense imminent death so that he could use it in his acting. What you can't tell is that I hurt him. It wasn't intentional, obviously. I just got excited by his intensity, so I squeezed too hard. The scene where he first comes through the cabin door, apparently frozen stiff? That was shot right after, and you can see that he's still reeling from the loss of oxygen. I apologized profusely--and felt horrible--but when he was able to, he waved me off and said "Any actor worth his salt--man, woman or dick--is grateful for a new sense memory to stock in his arsenal of tools. I've never been strangled by a dick before. At least not like that. Thanks, pal."

Charlie Napier. I'd work with him again in a second.

So long.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Reality Check

Okay, so it’s probably time to share a little bit of my TV tastes. It’s a subject I’m only too happy to talk about because Ron does NOT watch TV and I love it. I really love it. Don’t get me wrong—I always work when I’m asked to do so, but I’m a multi-tasker. So while RJ was banging Ginger Lynn in front of the tube circa 1985, I was gleefully listening to Dr. Auchlander talk about his liver cancer on “St. Elswhere.” And even when fully enveloped by Christy Canyon’s mouth in 1993, I remember chuckling to myself over “The Contest” episode of “Seinfeld.”

So yeah, I think my tastes are pretty high-brow, and reality shows give me the creeps—except for my one weakness.

“American Idol.”

So given that just about every other goddamn celebrity gets asked their take on the current season, I’m gonna use my blog to shed light on my own opinion.

Adam Lambert has renewed my faith in the show—he’s just interesting as hell to watch, and I look forward to whatever the guy’s gonna do next. That’s about it. It’s more than obvious that L’il Rounds and Anoop are looking at their final weeks in the very near future.

And as for tonight’s verdict of Scott? Well, I may have only one eye, but I ain’t blind: the guy just wasn’t that talented. Good riddance. And for now…

So long.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Random Thoughts on my Oscar chances

While I wouldn't totally rule it out, I doubt I'll get an Oscar nomination for my performance in "One-Eyed Monster." It's not because I didn't nail it. I nailed it. No, the truth is, dicks are kinda the last minority to achieve Oscar glory. Hell, it's tough enough just to get cast in a movie. Can you name any movies featuring dicks (and you can't say "Philip Marlowe" or "anything with David Spade")? Roles for dicks are rare, which is why I think the Fields Bros. should win a Humanitas Award or something. Granted, they didn't exactly give me a role that wins Oscars. Put me in a scene where my puppy gets run over, I swear I will have you weeping for three days. Let me kill myself to save a friend and thereby find redemption for my brutal past, I promise you will have such a deep conversation with your date after the movie that the night will end up with YOUR dick in a starring role.

Until then, I'm grateful just to be working. "One-Eyed Monster" is a fun ride, and I enjoyed the experience. But someday...I keep a thank-you speech buried in my nut hair, just in case.

Awake

Just woke up. Unlike the arthritic, when I wake up the stiffness is a good thing (RJ must be dreaming about fucking that hottie from "Bones" again). Anyway, I just realized that this is a blog in every sense. Blog, after all, is a contraction of weblog. I'm on the web. I'm a log. Hang on, I'm getting a head rush--he must be dreaming about making lunch now. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

My First (Blog) Entry!

Hey, this is my first blog! It's a little intimidating, but there's a lot of this stuff out there so why shouldn't I contribute too? Yeah, it might be vanity, especially if no one's reading this (if a penis the size of a tree falls in the forest...rimshot please! (and I've done my share of those) ANOTHER RIMSHOT! Okay, well, as Jermaine Jackson once sang, let's get serious.

So, I'm in therapy (yeah, it's cliche, but cocks are sensitive; if we weren't, there'd be no human race and here endeth the lecture). Anyway, in therapy yesterday the doctor (for obvious reasons I don't like to use the word shrink) said something that really opened up my eye. I've been unusually preoccupied with the state of our economy, and naturally she was looking for the symbolism, and naturally she found it. So much of the talk about the economy, be it on tv or among friends, has included terminology that's close to my art, if you know what I mean. What was once strong and robust is now shriveled, weak, deflated. The TARP is basically an artificial infusion to help pump it up--you see where I'm going with this. If it can happen to the most powerful economy in history.... But the real breakthrough came when we discussed deregulation, corporate malfeasance and companies like AIG. Yeah, bonus sounds like boners, but my realization was a little more sophisticated. Basically, I'm one of those companies--I'm simply too big to fail. It's not a totally clean metaphor because, among other things, my size is God-given, and not the result of greed or deregulation. But if you've seen my movies, then you know my practices have been occasionally predatory (just ask Ginger Lynn's ass), and there've been pussies over the years--I'm not naming names--from whom I've picked up some toxic assets. I could probably play with this all day, but in the end, it's about my value to the economy (and let's face it, right now porn is probably the only healthy part of that) and about the dependence on me for jobs, albeit of the blow and hand variety. If I'm not AIG, I'm definitely BIG. And like that other company, my size is the object of a lot of resentment.

Like I said, it was a heavy session and more than a few tissues were called for, which reminds me of this line from a song, I forget the name:

...and I will always cry white tears.

I guess that's enough for now. Stay tuned, though. I've got a lot of my mind, and I've never been shy about sharing myself with others. Now don't roll your eyes too much, I realize it's a bit obvious, but I came up with a signature sign-off:

So long.