The Other Washington Monument

I'm sorry, but you're lying if you haven't wondered how big Obama's dick is. I won't even hide behind "professional curiosity" as an excuse. He's my President, which alone makes his dick a matter of interest (and it's rather amazing that in all the coverage of Clinton's dick's comings and goings, there was no mention of its size, even from people "who prefer to remain anonymous when discussing the President's cock"). And then when you consider the fact that he's half black...let's just say the odds in Vegas go up that we're not talking about talking about a Jimmy Carter peanut. Dubya had a big dick, but only on his ticket. Nixon was known as Tricky Dick, prompting theories as to what other gates he may have broken into. Before him, well, the guy's name was, after all, Johnson. It's safe to assume he had a stretch of Texas pipe. Kennedy didn't have to have a big dick; he was young, good-looking, charismatic and the most powerful man in the world. If he did have one, then perhaps his death was some kind of cosmic payback for being just too fucking cool.

I haven't given much thought to earlier Presidents. I won't infer anything about the size of their cocks from the names Filmore and Pierce, but I do suspect William Henry Harrison's nickname had less to do with the Battle of Tippecanoe than his dong.

Obama, though. Take a look at the above picture. Halway down his left thigh, there is a discernible bulge. I kinda doubt he was carrying keys or a phone. No, my friends, I think what we're seeing here from our post-racial, post-partisan President is, in fact, his post. In ice cream parlors, it would be called "Michelle's Delight." In Chicago it's known as Oak Street. In Hawaii it's called The Big Island. And in Africa, of course, it's called, simply, a penis. God bless America, yes. But God clearly blessed Barack Obama, and if in him our country's black citizens see a personal hero whose achievement represents the promise of America and the triumph of the civil rights movement, then I see in his dick the 21st century's first true executive branch.

Goin' (RR) Postal

My movie, “One-Eyed Monster” premiered on The Movie Channel last Saturday night. So today I beg your indulgence and hope you’ll allow me to blog rhapsodic. By all accounts, it was a big success—certainly if the Twitterverse has anything to say about it. The tweets were free and flowing after the movie screened, all extremely complimentary. The lovefest extended to the IMDB boards, where one viewer, screen-named LANDGABRIEL, wrote:

I am not sure where to pick up this gem, but if you can find it check it out. It has some great moments. It drags a little in some parts but the zaniness of it all more than makes up for it. Jason Graham plays a great deadpan bad-ass military type. Charles Napier of A-Team fame has an awesome grizzled vet monologue that he aces. Ron Jeremy, well it's Ron Jeremy for the first act then his one eyed monster takes over! Trust me, it is a highly entertaining film.

This was answered by a posting from a screen-name, RRPOSTAL, who wrote the following:

Ugh, I couldn't agree less. The only thing worse than pr0n (sic) stars trying to make a real movie is when they try to make a real horror/ comedy. This type of movie is pretty hard to make in the first place in my opinion. There are few that find the right balance. Honestly porn stars are really only in movies for one reason, and humor isn't it. Unless of course you think it's funny to hear Ron Jeremy say "I'm not wearing a sweater". Ha! get it?!? He's hairy! What a corker! Or how about this winner, "Everybody! there's a dick in Angel's mouth!" [no reaction] "yeah?"..."it's not attached to anyone!" What a hoot! Picture Ron Jeremy's life if he had a normal wiener. That's how sad this flick is.

You might wonder why I’m posting such a negative review. Simple. As Voltaire is thought to have said, I may not agree with what you say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it. This is America. And RRPOSTAL, an obvious premature ejaculator, has the right to criticize my movie. I whole-heartedly respect his total lack of a sense of humor. It’s extremely important not to disenfranchise the mentally challenged—they have just as much right to post to the IMDB as those whose IQ’s at least register on some sort of scale. As a patriot, I feel proud to allow this probably-46-year-old-man-who-still-lives-with-his-mother to air his grievances and perpetuate the onslaught of bitter opinions from people who are so desperate to be heard and finally have their forum through the internet which provides them with the anonymity they need lest we discover how truly lonely they are.

RRPOSTAL—I love you. You are my brother, my friend, my fellow American, and someone I hope to always, always never know personally.

Don’t let anyone ever tell you Ron Jeremy’s dick can’t take criticism!

Dear Flabby

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I Love You, Man

No doubt by now you’ve all seen the new footage of Michael Jackson that’s been hurling through web at warp speed. It was shot during rehearsals for his infamous 1984 Pepsi commercial, when his hair caught on fire.

I have to admit—watching the video today really affected me.

That’s because of a similar fate which befell me in 2002. I was filming a McDonalds commercial in New York that summer. The restaurant was introducing their new McSperm Shake and I was hired to promote it. I can’t remember the ad copy exactly, but it had something to do with me exploding with joy all over it.

Anyway, during the dance sequence, a light—and I mean a 40 pound light—fell on top of me.

At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But then I started singing the theme from “Rhoda” and asking everyone if they knew where my turtle was. I was rushed to the hospital and Ron was flown in to New York (we were separate that weekend.)

When the chief resident first took a look at me, he was convinced I had two massive hematomas and wouldn’t make it through the night. Of course, those turned out to be my balls. But for a mild concussion, I was going to be okay.

Ron, though--he was scared. He sat up with me that whole first night, talking to me so I wouldn’t fall asleep and bleed internally. This is going to sound weird, but it was one of the best nights of my life. For the first time in a very long time, Ron and I talked. I mean really talked. He told me all about his fears (dying, Hostess going out of business) and I told him mine (reenacting that scene in the car from “Garp”).

Then Ron said four words that I’d never heard him utter besides “I think I’m full.”

He said, “I love you, man.” And I said it right back.

Beautiful, huh? Unfortunately, Ron wasn't content to leave with that kind of vulnerability in the ethos. The next words out of his mouth were: “Now hurry up and get better. I ran into Portia De Rossi in the elevator and I’m pretty sure I can fuck the dyke right out of her.”

Suck My Junket

Last Friday Paris Hilton appeared in a Miami federal court as the defendant in an $8.3M lawsuit brought by the producers of her movie "Pledge This!" She's charged with violating her contract by refusing to help promote the 2006 film, which is about a bunch of sorority girls who fuck cans of Lemon Pledge. If you ask me, I think this whole lawsuit is a last-ditch effort to get publicity for the movie, now on DVD. I haven't seen the film, but I'd bet three of my own inches it's a piece of shit. Not that the quality of the movie affects her contractual obligations. She defended herself on the stand and said, ""If I have my name attached to something, I want it to be as big as it can be." I believe her, and I have a picture of her signing my shaft to prove it.

No such suit will ever be brought against me for "One-Eyed Monster." I have worked my balls off promoting that movie. I did over 300 drive-time "phoners" via a Clear Channel satellite junket, 80 online magazine interviews and presented an award for biggest cock-tease at the Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards (it went to the Jonas Brothers, for whom I provided my own personal slime). I did Regis and Kelly (well, I talked to Regis, but I did Kelly), and I went on The View (boy, that was a disaster--they wanted to see me fully extended, but sitting next to Joy Behar I could not get a boner to save my life). Promoting a movie is simply part of a star's job, and I met my obligations with enthusiasm and professionalism. Paris lives for publicity, so the fact that she didn't help promote "Pledge This!" is all the more ridiculous. What a nice reflection on her.

PUPIK

I get a lot of email asking if I own a copy of Ron’s film, “Pupik”, the controversial 1989 porno based (loosely) on the tragic events of the 1972 Olympic Games in Munich.

Why controversial? Where do I begin? Putting aside the racist undertones (the terrorist group in the film is called “Black Vagina”) and the crude references to a serious event, audiences were outraged by the film’s opening scene in which Prime Minister Golda Meir (played by Ginger Lynn) meets the new Mossad recruit (Jeremy).

Well, the answer is no: I don’t own a copy, and neither does Ron. As far as I know, there are only two in existence, and one of them is owned by Francis Ford Coppola, who acquired the film under the terms of a settlement after suing “Pupik”’s director for his previous effort, “Fucker: The Man and His Cream.”

Six years ago, however, I found a rare copy of the shooting script on Ebay. I can at least, then, reprint the opening scene of the film. Enjoy!


RON JEREMY is brought by members of the Israeli army into a small living room of a house. Everyone appears restless as they wait, until GOLDA MEIR enters the room. They all stand up in deference.


GOLDA MEIR: I knew your father, Mr. Jeremy. He was a good man. A brave man.

RON: Thank you, Prime Minster.

GOLDA MEIR: We have a situation.

RON: Yes, Prime Minister

GOLDA MEIR: A group calling themselves “Black Vagina” have given a scorching case of herpes to the entire Israel Olympic delegation. They will be unable to compete now.

RON: What is it you seek from me?

GOLDA MEIR: I want you to fuck the people who fucked us. Every civilization finds it necessary to negotiate compromises with its own values. I have made a decision. The responsibility is entirely mine.

RON: With all due respect, Prime Minister, I don’t have herpes.

GOLDA MEIR: But I’m told you have a killer cock, is that right young man?

RON: Yes, that is right.

GOLDA MEIR: Show it to me.


RON takes out his cock and even the Israeli army members, who’ve seen just about everything, are shocked with awe.


GOLDA MEIR: I may be too old to run this country much longer, but not too old to suck that beautiful Kosher footlong.


GOLDA gets on her knees, takes out her tits, and engulfs Ron’s cock in her mouth.


RON: Hatikva-va voom!!!!

Insatiable

Much has been made of late about the sudden resignation of Sarah Palin from her office as governor of Alaska. Honestly, I don't see what all the fuss is about. She was just following the instincts of a porn star. I've been hanging from the most famous one in the world my whole life, and I know a porn star when I see one.

For one thing, she's got some big balls on her. I don't know what Todd's got between his legs, but they couldn't possibly compare to the stones that made this broad think she could win over feminist voters on the sheer coincidence of her vagina.

Her talent in the blowjob department must be Alaskan legend, because how else can you explain getting plucked from obscurity to join the McCain ticket? Then again have you seen Cindy McCain? She looks only slightly less interested in sucking off a dead monkey than John McCain.

Palin's porn character is pretty much stock--she's been playing the dumb gardener/pizza delivery/pool guy. The one who's acting the part of the regular guy--who's just like us, except schooled in the history of head, advanced penetration and cum 101. Only in hardcore movies and Republican fantasies do working people get to transcend their class, fucking the horny, rich women who own the pools and gardens. Palin was effective at creating this illusion with her folksy phrases and hockey mom persona, the wilderness girl off to restore moral authority to the White House if not the nation.

But what truly distinguishes Palin as a singular student of adult film--and the inspiration for today's blog-- is her undeniable ability to pull out at the right time. Sorry if I'm stating the obvious, but guys pull out just before they blow their load because it's important to see the ejaculation, preferably all over someone's face. And that's what's happening now. Sarah Palin pulled out and has unloaded on our national face a Yukon River of spooge. She's been fucking us for almost a year now, and her control has been nothing short of miraculous. But now it's over.

Or is it? We've sucked her and been fucked by her. Pornos are nothing if not predictable, so if my calculations are correct, she's due to give it to us in the ass. 2012 isn't that far away.