Johnson & Johnson....and JOHNSON

Unsent letter found in storage unit in Queens, NY.

September 3, 1953

Johnson and Johnson Corporation


To Whom It May Concern,

I hope you can help me with a problem that is admittedly delicate. I have a 4 month old baby boy. Ten fingers, ten toes, a happy, healthy baby in all respects. On the recommendation of friends, I decided to abandon cloth diapers in favor of your disposable ones, and I must say the convenience of them has been remarkable! Congratulations to your product development team.

In the last two months, however, a challenge has emerged, so to speak, that is making the disposables less and less of a fit for Ronny (I say challenge because, as my husband keeps reminding me, "a problem it most certainly isn't").

To state it bluntly, Ronny was born with a larger than average penis. This is not unusual, our pediatrician told me. But in the last two months, we've noticed that the penis has grown substantially. It's currently three inches long. This is unusual, our pediatrician told me. Not a health issue, mind you. Just, well, unusual. To the matter at hand, though, what this means is that his diapers don't fit properly. In all other respects, he needs a size 2. But when I try to put it on, he cries and covers his groin, and it's clear the diaper is uncomfortably tight. A size 3, however, while it gives him the room he needs up front, is simply too big otherwise, and the seal is not tight enough to contain his urine.

I haven't even mentioned the escalation of the difficulty that occurs when Ronny touches himself (as Dr. Spock says babies are prone to do) and grows to four inches (as they are generally not prone to do). He can remain erect for over an hour, but to put on a size 4 diaper, well, I might as well not put one on at all, for all the good it does.

For the time being I am forced to return to cloth and simply pin it tight where it needs to be tight...and loose where it needs to be loose. But that, as you can imagine, is both arduous (Ronny's an active baby) and time-consuming. Fortunately, we have a neighbor girl who watches Ronny while I'm at work, and she doesn't mind the effort (changing him more than is necessary even). But I could use some help. I realize that your success is built on the ability to mass manufacture, and yet I can't imagine there aren't other mothers out there--colored ones, for example-- in my predicament. Is there any way you could design a diaper with our needs in mind?

Sincerely,
Mrs. Arnold Hyatt
Douglaston, Queens, NY

Jeremy Land

The phone woke Ron up uncharacteristically early this morning, and the news isn’t good. They’ve scrapped plans to move forward with Jeremy Land, the proposed 600 million dollar theme park in Las Vegas, which was to be a shrine to his legend. The excuse they gave? Fucking economy! Please, I know for a fact that investors were lining up around the block to fund the park, so it’s clear to me that something else was at play. Word on the street is the NFC (Nevada Family Council) was launching a major boycott plan in response to several of the planned attractions, among which were:


Too Much Space Mountain—Thrill-seekers take a high-speed ride completely in the dark, through Nina Hartley’s vagina. Built to scale, the ride lasts 15 minutes from beginning to end, and that’s before it loops around.


Butt Pirates of the Caribbean—Pleasant family ride on water where boaters pass through different animatronic porn stars engaged in anal play. Unlike typical boat rides where patrons are splashed at the end of the ride, the dousing comes right at the beginning from loveable theme park mascot, Lubey the Lion, who grants riders access to the tunnel.


It’s A Small World—riders on this slow-speed ride are exposed to a collection of celebrity penises to demonstrate the enormous disparity between them, and the rod of Ron. Featured penis for Summer 2009—Max Von Sydow’s.


The Hedgehog 3-D Experience—An elaborate music video featuring Ron with Yo-Yo Ma and the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields.


The Tea Bag Ride—Thought at first to become an instant classic, male test-riders were disappointed to learn the ride was literally an exploration of the world’s finest teas, including Zhu Ye Qing Green Tea, Pearl Jasmine, and Premium Kuding.


Needless to say, Ronnie was pretty devastated. I could see the distraught look on his face between the fast strokes of his hand (the action Ron normally takes to get himself back to sleep.)

Mail Genitalia

Dear RJ's D,

Have you ever acted in commercials?


Thanks for your question. Back in the 80's, a woman named Clara Peller became a celebrity for the catchphrase she uttered in several Wendys commercials. "Where's the beef?" I wasn't in that commercial. But it catapulted Clara to the national stage when Walter Mondale employed her catchphrase to denigrate Gary Hart in the 1984 Democratic debate. Long story short, when Clara's star had faded, she was too identified with the catchphrase to land other roles. Struggling financially, she found herself reduced to doing the catchphrase in a commercial for KY Jelly. She sits on a series of dildos, angrily exclaiming "Where's the beef?" Then she takes me in and screams, prompting the announcer to say "When you finally find the beef, make sure you have some KY in your buns, too." Sadly, Clara died of a ruptured rectum shortly thereafter.


Hi RJ's D,

Do you write poetry?

When Ron was in college, he started fucking a lot of women for the first time, and, feeling the rush of empowerment, I began scribbling verse inside his various scores. I like to think that on some level of consciousness, they read it. Here's one....

Cock!
The long arm of the law
Patrolling in your jaw
Cock!
A preacher in your pulpit
Teste-fy and gulp it
Cock!
A pipeline through your country
A sappy, happy fun tree

Sit on My Facebook

I am done with Facebook.

To be honest, I don’t even know why I signed up in the first place. I mean, RON isn’t even on the site. I guess I’m just afraid being left out of the cultural zeitgeist, and so I have to at least try everything.

So I signed up.

Next thing I know, I’m getting friend requests from old high school classmates that I was never friends with! Wait—you’re confused, I can tell. Yes, I went to school separate from Ron. I realized very early on that Ron was doing most of his thinking through me, so I did everything I could to be educated scholastically, and street-smart—all so Ronnie wouldn’t do anything too stupid.

Back to Facebook. There’s a reason I wasn’t friends with you in high school. You’re boring as shit! 20 or 30 years hasn’t changed that. And don’t get me started on the applications. I don’t give a flying fuck how you scored on the WHICH CHARACTER ARE YOU IN “SCHINDLER’S LIST?” quiz.

Mostly, people just want to see my pics and what became of me. In high school, I was voted “Most Likely To Spreadceed.”

But the worst—I mean the WORST thing about it is the status report feature.

“Cindy Fein is watching 30 Rock”—Don’t care.

“Marla Cotner is stuffed after a delicious meal at Applebys”—Please die.

“Frank Simmons is raping a cat.”—Boring!

So I’m done. But my movie is not, and at the risk of obvious bias—the “One-Eyed Monster” fan page is cool, and frequently updated. Hell, my tweets end up there.

I know what your thinking. “Why Ron Jeremy’s Dick—you opportunistic fuck!” Yeah, well screw you! There isn’t anything I won’t do to promote this film. To wit, I took the WHICH CHARACTER ARE YOU IN “ONE-EYED MONSTER?” quiz.

I was The Dick.

Because It's There

I suppose it could just be coincidence, or it could be a meaningful coincidence--a synchronicity--but within two days of each other, I watched the documentary "Man on Wire" and began reading the book "Into Thin Air." (Yes, I read--so does Sandy Duncan, so did Sammy Davis, Jr.--so let's get on with it.) Both stories revolve around a man who is utterly driven to achieve a longtime dream. Both dreams entail almost superhuman physical challenge. And as both challenges force them to take on colossal structures--The World Trade Center and Mt. Everest, respectively--both carry with them the risk of certain death. And yet, both men ignore the risk, at least enough to persevere and achieve their dreams. Truly inspiring, both of them.

Yes, of course, I have met extraordinary physical challenges. You try to put out a pint of cum in three hours, it ain't easy.

Still, that's what I was made to do. These men weren't built to scale mountains or walk between them. But they had to. So I started wondering: what is my mountain? And on a certain level, if you have to ask, you don't have one. Which is normal; most creatures don't. But I'm not just any creature. I was sure that somewhere inside my head there lay, dormant these many years, a passion, a goal, a mission that required enormous strength. Yesterday, in therapy and under hypnosis, I remembered it.

I want to hit a major league fastball over the fence. Ron was nine years old when Roger Maris hit 61* home runs to beat Babe Ruth's single-season record. It was the most exciting thing we'd ever witnessed. I guess I couldn't help but identify with his bat, even then, and I resolved that one day I'd know what it felt like to hit the long ball. Now I've been batting balls around my entire career, but it's not the same. And all my home runs have been, you know, inside the park. To smash a four-bagger, I'd need to be harder than I've ever been. And my rejection of steroids is a matter of record, so it would require intense focus and physical training.

I realize that taking on a fastball could mean certain death, but like Petite and Krakauer, the dangers are secondary. I must do this. The training begins. Stay tuned...

October 15, 1979

Excerpted from my personal journal.


October 15, 1979

Something happened.

Well, actually, it happened a couple of nights ago. It’s taken me some time to recover and be able to write about it. God, where do I begin? I guess, the party.

It was the usual crowd of producers, porn stars, hangers-on. And Ronnie was in rare form. His jokes were the usual stale oldies, but somehow he’d always get the crowd to laugh when he made that popping sound with his hand and mouth.

And of course, everyone wanted to see me, and Ron wasn’t shy about showing them.

One woman was particularly bent on seeing me. Her name is Veronica Hart. Ron says she’s a real up and coming talent and he’s seen a lot of talent coming.

So around midnight, the two of them snuck off to the bathroom. Ron, in his usual soft-spoken romantic way, asked Veronica to blow him.

“Of course I will. If you blow yourself first!”

That made Ron laugh and I have to admit, it made me smile, too. I’m big, but c’mon, was this gorgeous starlet really showing that much disregard for the laws of physics?

But then the laughing stopped, and Ron removed me from his pants. Oh my god no! No, I thought, this cannot be happening. But I was frozen stiff, and unable to move. I’ve certainly penetrated orifices covered in hair before, but Christ that mustache! A giant follicle-covered boomerang descending toward me. And then Ronnie’s mouth opening—I can still see the bits of Cheetos lodged between his teeth.

He’s going to suck me! He’s going to suck me! And then…

MMMPHHHGHGH!

He…he sucked me.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I love my man, Ron. I’d be nowhere without him. But this is one place I never should have been.

It was only a few sucks, and afterwards, Veronica asked if she could cut in. But I think this has changed me, and I don’t know what I’m going to say to Ronnie tomorrow. And I’m done with Cheetos.

My Hard-On Will Go On

Millvina Dean died yesterday. At 97, she was the last survivor of the Titanic. She was only two months old when she, her mother and brother made it to safety aboard a lifeboat. Her father, however, went down with the ship. It's hard not to think about all the women I've worked with. In their own way, they too went down on something referred to as titanic. I can't honestly say what it feels like to suck me; while my co-stars have moaned and whimpered, I've always assumed they were just doing their 'job and, you know, acting. It must be more fun to suck something that isn't quite so unwieldy. I'm sure it feels good in their pussies, but even chicks with an oral fixation can't possibly be satisfied by me because they can't take me fully in to suck. Not that I haven't been deep-throated. But that's less sucking than, I don't know, safe passage. Back to the Titanic, though. I wouldn't mind getting head from Celine Dion. I'd like to touch that famous larynx of hers while she hums the love theme from that movie. Am I being too crude today? You forget--I'm a cock. If YOU think about sex a lot during the day, consider how much I do.

--RJ'sD

P.S.

I find "getting head" so much more appealing a phrase than "getting a blowjob." Blowjob? First of all, there's no actual blowing. It ain't a birthday candle. And my line of work notwithstanding, I don't like to think that fellatio is a job. Getting head, on the other hand. The idea that a woman is putting me inside her head. Now that's a turn on. No, I'm not touching her brain, but in that I am occupying the majority of cavity above her shoulders, how can she not be at least thinking of me? That's pretty close to touching her brain. Have a nice day, y'all.