GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #759: PEN NAMES

 I don't think I've ever done a thing about the various other names I've written under, so I thought perhaps I'd go down the list here. Compared to other authors I don't have all that many pen names. I probably should have written everything under a pen name, considering how my writing cost me a good job once upon a time, but what the hell. Here's the list.

In high school I tried writing stories under the pen name [redacted]. Ho-ho, why is this redacted? Because I actually use the name in my upcoming sex book. I just finished the first draft last week, and I thought it would be funny to throw it in there. I can only think of two people reading this who might recall that pen name, so I want to see if anyone else can catch it. It's kind of easy, though. Good luck finding it!

I also wrote gay porn under the pen name Anthony Haversham. It's a variation on the name of a character I used to write in high school. It's too long a story to go into here, but I used to write these horrible tales about an insipid masturbator's adventures in masturbation. He eventually morphed into another character named Richard Thruster (heh) cowritten with one of my friends who is probably reading this now and is one of the two who will remember that other pen name. I wrote "Bobby Yandell, Private Investigator" under this name, as well as its sequel, "My Dick is Quick." I also wrote "Cocksmoke," my porn parody of Gunsmoke, under this name.

I wrote another story under that name, but the editor decided to change it for publication. I'm OK with that because this one was a hetero porn story. I don't even remember the actual title because it was published as a letter to Penthouse. I was writing fiction for Penthouse, but Penthouse Variations picked it up instead, and they wanted it to be in a letter format. Haversham turned into Walter K. of Dallas, TX. Unlike many letters to Penthouse, this was actually based on a true story of what happened to me. Remember when I said I used to be a distance man? A girlfriend once made me cum in my own eye, and that's what this story was about. Imagine my disappointment when I read the published version to see they'd wrung all the humor out of it and tried to class it up. Ah well.

I wrote one story under the name Jack F. Graves. Yeah, yeah, I know. That's a stupid pen name. I'm the edgiest edgelord who ever edged. I thought it was cool and even kind of funny. I published "Pimp of the Living Dead" under that one. I'm almost certain I included it in Tales of Questionable Taste, but I'm too lazy to look it up. It was originally in the first issue of Tabard Inn, which I'd put together with the help of friends. I didn't want it to seem too much like a friends-only fiction magazine, so I made up Jack Graves on the spot.

Lastly I wrote the book [REDACTED AS A MOTHERFUCKER] under the pen name [also redacted] because if I released it under my name, I'm pretty sure someone would have killed me by now. I didn't even use Amazon for it. I had to use another company, one that doesn't strike me as all that important, because I knew I'd probably never be able to publish another book through them again. Surprisingly this book has yet to be pulled from that site, possibly because very few people know about it.

I'm fairly certain that's it, but I've been drunk for a solid decade and change, so something might have slipped through the cracks. Only a handful of people know who wrote that last book, and I'd like to keep it that way. But in all honesty, looking back on it, that book has my style stamped all over it. I'd be shocked if someone who knew me well read it and didn't think I'd written it.

Good luck getting that title out of me, by the way.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #613: POE-NAW-GRAH-FEE

That got your attention.

 

Not too long ago I saw this article about how Louisiana now requires anyone accessing porn sites to provide ID. It's worth a read.

They're doing this in the guise of protecting the children. Anytime a politician says that children need to be protected? They're full of shit. Unless they're talking about putting child rapists in prison. Then they're on point, but otherwise? Full of shit. If they did care? We wouldn't have so many school shootings. Perhaps if children could vote, politicians might change their tune. That would be kind of funny to see, actually. "I'm going after the Caillou vote." Or maybe these pricks will be on Sesame Street yukking it up with Bert and Ernie. (But not Oscar. Oscar would not stand for their shit.)

What this really sounds like to me is an attack on the sex industry. LA is requiring porn viewers to use their digital drivers licenses to access porn sites. PornHub is called out in particular. They claim that they don't keep track of data, and that's probably bullshit, but even if they did, I wouldn't care. They know that the important part of their existence is discretion, and if they didn't live up to that unspoken promise, then they wouldn't have customers. Remember, there are a lot of people who actually have PornHub accounts. Those require credit cards. There's no way they're not collecting data.

However, I'm certain that LA actually IS collecting data, and they're not going to be so benign with it. What better way for Big Brother to keep track of his little siblings? And they'll hold that data over the viewers like the Sword of Damocles. They might not be able to legally use it, but nothing stops them from using it without your knowledge. How often do cops, without a search warrant, break into the place they want to search, search it, lock up, and then figure out a way to get that search warrant in order to return legally? It happens a lot more often than one would think.

Personally I don't care if anyone knows what my kink is. If you're interested? Library porn. Women with glasses and fishnet stockings. Maybe a little public sex. MILFs. Porn parodies. Funny porn. But then again, who am I? People expect me to like porn. Or perhaps the author of DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN is an innocent little angel?

Most people don't want their kinks known. If people have to show their ID to view porn? They're probably not going to do it. If enough people stop watching porn, what happens to those porn sites?

Sure, there will always be the loyal hardcore (so to speak) fans. Maybe they're enough to keep the industry afloat. Who knows?

Protecting children from things they shouldn't see is not the government's job. It's the parents' job. Just like it's a parent's job to raise a kid right instead of raising a psychopath who jerks off thinking about shooting up his school until he actually does it. There are parental controls. Use them.

And to be honest, that will work on most kids because most kids are stupid. There are, however, smart kids, and you'll never deter them from getting something they really want. I'm sure right now there are genius teenagers in LA who have figured out how to use an out of state IP address to look at PornHub. Remember, these are kids who grew up with the internet. When something is a part of your everyday life from birth, you tend to know how to use it to your advantage.

So if it could happen in LA, I can only assume it could happen in the other 49. If porn is really, truly at risk of sinking, then I would recommend going against what your nature is telling you.

Don't get rid of physical media. Keep those DVDs and magazines. I did. And hey, it could be an investment in the future. In a world without porn, how much would someone pay for a stroke mag?

How much, indeed.

Extra points go to whoever figures out the reference in the title of this column.

HEY FUCKERS #6: PORNOGRAPHY (REVISITED)

Remember when I wrote this piece on my discovery of online pornography? I just thought you might be interested in an update, since I've found a lot more stuff since then. In particular, I've found that I enjoy awkward porn a great deal. I'm not talking about amateur stuff. I mean porn where fucked up, funny things happen.


There was this one video I saw where a guy was having a three-way with two women. However, about halfway through it became very clear that he was only interested in one of them. He focused all of his attention on her, even though the other woman tried to get in there and have some fun. It culminated in one of the funniest things I've seen in pornography. When it came time for the money shot, he stands up, and the women kneel before him. He starts to cum, and he turns all of his orgasm onto the one woman's face while the other tries to get in on the action. He very clearly cuts her out, and finally, she gets the message. She just sort of sits back and watches, bored. I couldn't stop myself from laughing.


Then there are odd moments, like this one video I saw in which a woman was with a guy who had an uncut dick. She told him she wanted his "anti-Semitic cock" inside of her. I think that's probably the last thing I ever expected anyone in porn to say. It's possibly the least sexy thing ever said mid-coitus.


Here's something I really enjoy, though: cam girls who masturbate at the library. I find it incredibly hot. But there's one video in particular that has my full attention. You see, these women usually pick secluded spots, where they're not likely to get caught. Or they actually work there, and they're doing this after hours. There's one crazy woman, however, who picked an incredibly busy part of the library, and she didn't expect to be caught. There was a guy sitting behind her, for fuck's sake! People kept walking by her, and here she is, flashing her tits to her webcam. She even had her pants off and was trying to furtively masturbate when librarians actually came by and caught her. She bent over, trying to hide the fact that she didn't have pants on, but the librarians weren't blind. It was the most awkward ending to a library porn video I've ever seen.


So yeah. Anyone else checking out odd, humorous porn?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #116: I AM FUCKING LIVID

I had to recently replace my printer. I don't use it often, since most publications accept manuscripts via email, but I still do use it for those rare few that don't, and for personal correspondence when someone doesn't have email. I found myself in the latter position tonight, and despite the fact that I just installed a new black ink cartridge, it wouldn't fucking print. Why? Because this printer, the Officejet 6600 by HP, won't print in black and white if the color cartridges aren't reasonably full.


I don't print in color. I never print in color. I have no reason to print in color. But apparently, I can't print in BLACK AND FUCKING WHITE if I don't have full COLOR INK CARTRIDGES. This makes ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING COCKSUCKING MOTHERFONDLING SENSE.


If I had known about this stupid fucking thing, I would have never bought the HP Officejet 6600. But never mind that. I want you to get your mind around the fact that I WANT TO PRINT IN BLACK AND WHITE. I HAVE A FULL BLACK INK CARTRIDGE. I CAN'T PRINT IN BLACK AND WHITE BECAUSE THE MOTHRASUCKING COLOR CARTRIDGES AREN'T FULL ENOUGH. I can understand if I was trying to print my letter in blue. Or green. Or red. Or any combination of the primary colors. BUT I ONLY WANT TO PRINT IN BLACK AND WHITE, WHICH I HAVE A FULL ROCKFUCKING CARTRIDGE FOR.


My old printer never had color ink in it. Because I didn't fucking need it. Instead, I always had a full black ink cartridge. And it never failed me if I didn't have color ink in my printer. (My old printer was an HP printer, so apparently, HP decided to deliberately fuck up their own services.)


I called HP and tried to find out why this baffling fucking thing can possibly be true. I don't want to burn the guy I talked to. I know that he's just a representative of something that doesn't work like it should. I get enough of that at work, myself. He was cool. But HP? Because they made something completely nonsensical a reality, I have nothing but bile for them. This guy had no explanation for me. Just like I have no explanation for the customers at my job who ask me why something doesn't fucking work.


Is it too much trouble to ask our corporations to get things to work like they should?


Sorry, I'm stupid for asking that. I forgot that corporations don't serve us. They serve their own bottom line, and that has nothing to do with me. Or us. Or anything, really. It's days like this that I want to retreat into the wilderness and wait for the rest of this planet to burn to the ground.


I really can't go to bed like this. I have painkillers from my oral surgery yesterday, but they won't help. I have alcohol, but it will only amplify my mood and make matters worse. I need something to soothe the hatred I feel right now.


Porn is the only answer. Maybe it's not time for sleep, after all. OK, I'll watch some porn. And then I'll go to sleep. Just pretend that I'm telling you goodnight, fuckers. Until next time . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #66: MY LIFE AS A PORNOGRAPHER

Longtime readers will remember my brief career as a pornographer. Even newcomers might know about this; if you're viewers of Strange the World (especially this episode, which is NSFW-ish, since my dick is seen on Kevin Strange's phone in one scene), you'll know certain elements of my past.


When I was younger, I thought I'd sell my talents as a writer cheaply in the name of porn. As it turned out, porn was waaaaaaay more lucrative than regular writing, especially since I was willing to write gay porn.


But never mind that. It's all documented, and you know about it. Here's something you might not know: writers today don't have to deal with tear sheets. Some of you older writers might recognize the term. Back in the old days, if you wanted a regular writing position with a publication, you had to send them tear sheets. In other words, you had to take your contributors copies and rip out the pages your work is on. Then, you send them to the prospective publisher with a query. If you're lucky, you get hired. If you're sorta' lucky, you get a reject letter with your tear sheets back. If your luck completely sucks, then you get no response, and you have to find new copies of your shit so you can get fresh tear sheets again.


Luckily, I came in near the end of the tear sheets age. I didn't have to do this very often. Even so, I didn't feel comfortable with destroying the only copy I had of my shit. What did I do instead? I made photocopies. Keep in mind, this is in an age when your basic home printer did NOT have a scanner or photocopy capabilities. So, what did I have to do?


I had to find a photocopier for public use. I could go to the library, but they charged 10-cents a copy. However, the drug store charged 5-cents. I had to go with them, because I could barely afford to copy my own tear sheets.


As you can imagine, back then I wanted work as a pornographer because at the time, it was the only genre I had success in. Of course I'm going to look for more work in that area. So I had to send in tear sheets. So . . . guess who had to make photocopies of his tear sheets? IN PUBLIC?! That's right.


Picture this: I'm standing in line at the pharmacy photocopier. The little old lady in front of me is having problems because she doesn't understand the technology. I have to give her words of advice to fix it. As soon as she's gone, I have to make my own copies. One of which involves a guy sucking his own dick. (OK, that wasn't on a tear sheet, but I wanted to have something I could slip into friends' belongings, just to fuck with them when they least expected it. Many of them were alpha males deathly afraid that someone might find evidence that they were gay. So yeah. Fuck 'em. But there is plenty of smut on the pages I'm copying. So yeah.) I'm copying all sorts of horrid shit, Meanwhile, the young woman behind me is waiting for me to be done so she can copy her son's medication instructions. How awful a person must I be?


Could you imagine what would have happened if the copier had jammed? Or if something else had gone wrong? What if I'd walked away to get help just as my copy came out, and the single mom behind me tried to sneak a few copies in? What would she say upon seeing the horrible acts of full-penetration porn she'd find on the tray?


It was honestly nerve-wracking, because for as much shit as I talk, I would be very embarrassed if someone discovered I was copying porn at a pharmacy copier. That's creepy might-fuck-your-child-if-you-turn-your-back shit.


Luckily, that never became an issue. No one ever caught me copying pictures of dudes getting their dicks sucked, either by dudes with impressive cocks or by chicks with great tits. But I'm sure I would have been in the police reports if I had been. Yikes.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #45: USED PORN

Is it weird that I bought someone's used porn off of them? Hear me out. Back when I was a parts driver for the City of Elmhurst, my boss said he had a friend who was either getting married or having a kid, I don't remember which. Either way, the dude was looking to get rid of his porn collection, and since I'm a huge fan of porn, I volunteered myself to buy said used porn. I got a Wal-mart bag full of it for $30.


OK, it's kind of odd to see what other people are into, but I just can't let porn go to waste. He had some good titles in there. There were some shitty ones, too, but the good ones were worth it. Is it weird that I jerked off to someone else's porn?


Unfortunately, a lot of these DVD's were scratched deeply. So I missed out on a lot of what they had to offer. Some of the good ones lasted a while before they stopped working. But . . . I recently got a disc repair machine. I ran these used porn DVD's through the wringer, and sadly, it didn't work out. They were too far gone. I guess I'll never make my way through ASS CLEAVAGE #4 and MILF LESSONS #12. Or NASTY NYMPHOS #whatever.


I guess I'll just have to settle for internet porn . . .

EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #26: THE LEGACY OF TABARD INN

Most of you who know me know that I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming into the 21^st Century. It’s not that I hate tech, it’s fine for other people. Me? I’m usually satisfied with what I have. The computer I write this on is about twelve years old. I just recently got internet in my home a couple of years ago. I first got a cell phone maybe five years ago.

My internet presence started because of my late magazine, TABARD INN: TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE. Getting the name out there was just too expensive without the aid of social media. I couldn’t get anyone to pay attention to me except writers who wanted me to publish them. A bunch of friends harassed me, trying to get me to join MySpace. I relented, but only because I wanted to use it as a tool for marketing TABARD INN. I got on board just in time for MySpace to become irrelevant. I joined Facebook for much the same reason. I joined Twitter after the death of TI, mostly to keep my own name out there. My blog and website are all testament to TI’s past.

Of course, social media is fun as all fuck. That helps.

But my internet presence isn’t the only thing that survives my ill-fated publication. Back in the day, TI’s biggest audience was composed of prisoners and mental patients. That sounds like a joke, but it isn’t. I received more correspondence from these groups than from anyone else. It was enough so that I started getting nervous about having TI’s address be my actual house. There was one guy who decided that I was his agent, and he wanted me to pay Google on his behalf so that every time someone searched for “science fiction,” his name would come up.

The rest of the world has gotten the message: TI has closed its doors to submissions, for now and ever. However, since the prisoners and mental patients are locked away, word has yet to reach them. They continue to send me submissions, or they ask for my guidelines. Every time I get a letter from the department of corrections from anywhere in America, I know that TI has received yet another submission.

But all of that changed when I received a letter from the Arizona Department of Corrections. I’m not going to name this guy because I’m afraid someone out there might read this and take him up on his offer. I doubt I could get sued over this, since his crimes are a matter of public record, and I have the letter he wrote and signed to me, but I just don’t want to take the chance that someone might mistake my purpose in writing this.

This guy, shockingly enough, did NOT want to submit a story to my defunct magazine. No, he wanted stories FROM me, in addition to any TI writer who wanted to take him up. It would seem that he’s got a ton of money. He wants people to send him stories, and in return, he’ll select three he likes best and pay the writers for them. First and second place gets a thousand, and third place gets $500. He promises that these stories will never be used for publication, that they’re only for his “own personal reading pleasure.”

They can’t be any ol’ stories, though. Oh no. He has themes he wants writers to follow, and anything not fitting either theme “won’t be considered in any way shape or form.” What are these two themes, you might ask?

“The next two months are to be strickly erotic mind controled stories with Mother or Wife is Submissive and Son, husband, stranger male is dom or white couples where husband has a Black boss who Blackmails white wife into submissive sex. [Too many “sic’s” to note here.]”

That’s, uh, pretty creepy. In fact, that might be the creepiest thing anyone has ever sent to me. It’s harmless on the surface, but when one considers the prisoner’s motives, things get a bit more intense. I have no doubt whatsoever that this dude intends to jerk off while reading these stories, since he starts out his letter by telling me he can’t get nudie pictures behind bars.

Every time I get a letter from a prisoner, I research them. They’ve all turned out to be murderers. Not serial killers, but one-and-done killers.

This time, I jumped the gun and told fellow Napalm Assaulter Cliff Breaux about this crazy letter I’d received before looking up my letter writer. He immediately researched this guy and found a lot of disturbing things about him. He was charged with nine counts of sexual assault, two counts of sexual abuse (I’m not sure how that differs from assault, though), one count of burglary in the 2^nd degree, one count of armed robbery and, last but not least, one count of kidnapping. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Apparently, all of this took place over the course of two years. He was once released, and within five days, he’d been arrested again for raping someone. Guilty of everything. 100 years from today’s date, if he lives long enough, he’ll still be in prison, and he’ll still be looking at 11 more years behind bars.

Cliff asked me if I would write those stories for that kind of money. No, I wouldn’t. Those stories don’t appeal to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been paid for writing porn, but I can’t let someone else dictate what I want to write. But say we take away the specific subject matter and just say porn. Say we take away the rap sheet. Would I write for someone in prison for pretty fucking good money for a story? Because let’s face it, writers get paid shit. A thousand bucks for a story? That’s mighty enticing for a guy who usually gets paid between $25-50 for a short story.

That question’s a bit harder. Ultimately, I don’t think I would. My conscience would trouble me too much. Sure, I’d be the one financially benefiting from such an arrangement, but I don’t think I could bring myself to bring such sexual satisfaction to a guy in prison. I’ve done a lot of awful things for money, but I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for being such a whore. Besides, who knows what kind of fantasies I’d be fueling?

Well, in this guy’s case, I know. He says he’s got a bunch of friends already writing stories for him, and it disgusts me to think about the kind of person who would do this. But he’s aware of how fucked he is, since he ends his missive in this self-righteous way: “If your not interested thats fine to, theres lots of places like yours who will understand my money is as green as the next persons. [Again, too many “sic’s” to mention.]

I always prided myself on the fact that TABARD INN was an oasis for extreme writers, unafraid of tackling any subject, no matter how gruesome or questionable, but I found my limit when this guy wrote to me.

HOW TO FUCK UP A PORNO

Stymied by a long list of cinematic failures, many of which, like PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE, GLEN OR GLENDA?, and NIGHT OF THE GHOULS, are today considered cult classics, auteur Ed Wood finally decided to stop trying. His standards fell with THE SINISTER URGE, a sexploitation classic, until finally he hit rock bottom with the hard-to-find NECROMANIA (1971). As he grew older, he realized that the cheapest kind of movie to make was porn, which was perfect for him. Until recently, one could only find the softcore (or HOT) version of this movie. Now, Fleshbot Films has released the uncut (or HOT HOT HOT) version of this “tale of weird love.”

Here’s the premise: Danny and Shirley are a young couple who are having intimacy issues. They have gone to Madame Heles, who is supposedly a sex therapist (as far as the ‘Seventies had sex therapists), to help them recharge their life between the sheets. When it’s put like this, it’s almost classy, like those Nina Hartley how-to DVD’s. Ah, but this is Ed Wood, remember. If anyone can fuck up a porno, it’s him.

First of all, it should be mentioned that the cast and crew wished to remain nameless, for the very obvious reason that shooting porn was illegal back then. Not even Wood himself (and he does have kind of a porno name, anyway) wanted his name on it, choosing to use his pseudonym, Don Miller. Also, this film had to be shot with two cameramen because one of them was disgusted with the prospect of recording penetration and cum shots. And Wood wanted longtime collaborator, Vampira, to play Madame Heles. Vampira turned him down as soon as she read the script, claiming that she’d be committing career suicide. She would have been right, considering how the movie ends with Heles giving Danny a blowjob. More on that later.

Only Criswell was willing to help out by loaning Wood his famed coffin. More on that later, too.

So, how does one ruin a porno? For starters, one can film an insanely long establishing shot showing the couple driving on their way to Madame Heles’ place. Then, one can throw a ton of mystic bullshit on the screen like a monkey hurling its own feces. As it turns out (and this is a spoiler alert, if you care), Madame Heles uses the sex therapist thing as a cover. She is really a sexual vampire who needs to be powered by people all around her fucking at all times. Those who don’t have any dysfunctions at all are thrown into a room where they do nothing but fuck each other . . . forever. This room, by the way, is portrayed twice, and both times it is through a weird, foggy filter so you can only vaguely tell that they are fucking. The number one cardinal rule of porn IS TO SHOW THE FUCKING. Thank you, Mr. Wood.

If you’re still having problems, then Madame Heles’ solution is to drag you into her coffin (YES, COFFIN; remember Criswell’s contribution?) to have sex with her until you’re fixed. This is where Danny winds up, getting his dick sucked, so he can be repaired before he’s thrown into the Perpetual Fucking Room.

Let’s see . . . how else can you destroy a porno? Perhaps by having most of the action be lame? For example, the actors (if they can be called such; porn isn’t known for winning Academy Awards, but still . . .) are expert leg and belly lickers. When someone’s about to go down on a girl, they waste untold minutes lapping away at their partners’ bellies or perhaps the insides of their thighs.

Maybe this is a godsend, though, considering that when they actually get down to their hirsute destinations, the hardcore action is kind of . . . embarrassing. Their faces are almost bored, and their movements awkward. Sometimes, things come off as silly, like when Madame Heles’ assistant masturbates with a skull. It’s so bad that when the words THE END appear on the forehead of a skull at the end, it’s actually a relief.

NECROMANIA is undeniably one of the worst movies ever made, but because of Ed Wood’s sensibilities, it’s also the weirdest porno ever made. How many other skin flicks have you seen that make a Bela Lugosi reference right off the bat?

NECROMANIA
Fleshbot Films
1971
55 minutes