All hornt up and no place to go (part I)

Folks, we are at a strange impasse in human affairs. All of us are in a state-of-emergency level of horniness and no one wants to fuck (except me, of course. I’ve never been horny in my life). This is not the future that any of us had envisioned. If Gene Roddenberry knew what was going on, he’d be rolling over in his grave. Personally, I find sex disgusting. Moreover, I think you should feel deep shame for desiring it. But this isn’t my problem to fix. That’s a burden that falls squarely on your shoulders, bucko. There are, of course, many reasons behind this phenomenon. Internet pornography, sedentary lifestyles, poor diets, being overworked, over stressed, etc etc which has led to a breakdown in social relationships between men and women. Which is why my solution is to shut down everything, fire everyone, and put the gays in charge because as of right now, only they have any sense of moral clarity. But naturally this breakdown has had its political repercussions. Of course, I’m talking about incels here, but I’m also speaking about young men being pushed into right wing spaces more broadly.

I’m not gonna rehash that bullshit here. Plenty of digital ink has been spilled on the subject. Instead, I wish to draw attention to an overlooked microcosm of this breakdown, and perhaps an unexpected one. I’m speaking, of course, of the YouTube ASMR community. For those who don’t know, well —one, listen up grandpa—but two, ASMR is those soft, gentle noises that helps one relax and often provides those inexplicable tingles that go up your back. People who provide these sounds, more often than not via YouTube, call themselves “ASMRtists”. Is it weird? On its surface, yes. And both ASMRtists and consumers are aware of that. To some degree or another, that’s part of its charm. HOWEVER, from my perspective, it’s mostly an innocent community DESPITE being just a hair away from being overtly sexual. It’s like an auditory massage where the masseuse can demonstrate their personality more freely. Can it be sexual? If you want it to be. But if you achieve an erection while listening, much like with getting a massage, than more than likely it’s due to a natural response rather than being totally aroused.

NOW, because this is an internet phenomenon, it was only a matter of time before this community became “pornified”, for lack of a better description. Did all the innocent material vanish from the interwebs? No. In fact ASMR, at least on YouTube, is still overwhelmingly innocent things like tapping, hair brushing, gum chewing, rambling, etc. But there are a number of creators, some popular, who tend to “push the boundaries”, so to speak. Personally, I don’t give a shit. But others believe this to be an abomination. Here’s one such fella:

https://youtu.be/NSncdClbX34?si=vvDfyoRh1fDFlzRN

If you can’t see the video, that’s a you problem. Just click the link.

First off, I respect this gentleman’s reverence for the ASMR community. Additionally, he has at least one good point. ASMR creators who break YouTube guidelines often end up harming other rule-abiding creators in the process. This was a huge problem at least a year ago. And he raises concerns about age and parental involvement. All valid points. Yet in my view, those aren’t his main concerns. His main concern is maintaining the purity of ASMR and the sanctity of YouTube as a platform.

He states that YouTubers who have sexualized ASMR have distorted the original purpose of ASMR. This is a common logical pitfall that falls apart immediately upon inspection. First off, who wrote the rules? Secondly, if parameters were ever established for ASMR, what’s the governing authority that decides the guidelines? Do ASMRtists have to be licensed? And thirdly, most importantly, what the fuck is ASMR? I know it’s an acronym that means something. But really, what is it? Is it a form of therapy? Is it performance art of some sort? We can’t even categorically define what ASMR is, let alone ascertain any sort of purpose. In short, there is no right or wrong way to do ASMR, other than provide some vague notion of relaxation, however defined by the individual consuming it.

Now onto YouTube itself. I get it. Some people spoil all the fun for others. As for protecting minors, it’s the same story. Parents should closely monitor what their kids view and share on the internet. I’m not fully up to date on YouTube guidelines, but perhaps there needs to be more stringent age verification measures. I dunno. Regardless, I fail to see any criminal intent on behalf of YouTubers putting heavy hints of sex in their videos. It’s funny how we get up in arms over the possibility of nudity and depictions of sex but hardly bat an eye when violent images come across our screen. But this fella goes on to state that if you’re looking to goon, you should go to a porn site. Fair enough but it honestly makes little difference. YouTube may be a “public space” on the internet, but it is not a public space in the real world. It’s not a bar. YouTube streams onto our devices, wherever we may be. We don’t stream onto it (unless you’re a creator). If me and another guy on the other side of the world are watching a video simultaneously—me with my pants on, and he with his pants off and dick out—him stroking his cock to the same thing I’m watching doesn’t affect me one iota. But if we were in a movie theater, it would be a way different story. And that’s a big difference. Masturbating in public is crime and it makes people uncomfortable, as where masturbating in the privacy of your own home to legal material is not. It only becomes weird if you start telling people what you’re jerking it to, either in person or on the internet, without being solicited.

Does that make sense?

(Continues in part II)

Jack Hardcock: The Legend Continues (Part VII)

“I’m Dillon J Dudenburg. I’ve directed hardcore porn, I’ve directed softcore porn. I’ve studied under Stephen Sayadian AND Nick Millard. And I’ve also directed episodes of Grace Under Fire,” the famed filmmaker, recently fired from a major motion picture, informed us. He was puffing on his Black & Milds while we interviewed him in a U-Haul storage unit in El Segundo. We were using it as a “casting couch”. The three of us…Peter, Donovan McNabb,and myself…were all donning our fake mustaches while undercover as porn producers.

“That’s very interesting, Dillon,” Peter said. “Jack, do you have anything you’d like to ask?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “what does the ‘J’ stand for?”

Dillon took a drag off his cheap cigar. “Just ‘J’,” he said.

“Did you read the script?”

“Uhh, yeah,” Dillon said as he dabbed his cigar in the ashtray, “and I have a few ideas. First, I’d like to cast as our leading lady an actress I worked with on Pee On Me Vol. 9….Bella Bixby. I think she’s perfect for the role.”

“But part of the agreement was to cast a different actress that you worked with on Info Whores: Layla Huffington,” Donovan interrupted.

“Layla Huffington?! No way man!“

“May I ask why?” Donovan said. He was getting irate.

“She gave the entire cast and crew crabs man! We had to shut down production for a whole month!”

That was enough. Donovan McNabb leapt out of his seat and began to strangle Dillon. “I GAVE HER THOSE CRABS!” he kept shouting.

Peter and I wrangled Donovan while Dillon laid out on the floor trying to catch his breath. “Donovan, chill out,” I said, “that’s my responsibility!” I then kicked Dillon in the side and grabbed him by the lapels. “Where’s Layla?!” I kept asking.

“Last place I saw her was at a strip club in Riverside,” Dillon replied as he coughed up blood.

I stood up straight and ripped off my mustache. “Let’s get going,” I ordered.

“Wait a minute,” Peter said, “we have this place rented out until the 24th. So how are we gonna….”

While we were talking amongst ourselves, Dillon, still on the ground, pulled out a switch blade from his sock. As he charged towards Donovan, I drew the .38 and blasted a hole in the filmmaker’s face. His body fell to the ground as blood gushed out of every orifice.

“My god, Jack, what have you done?” Peter asked as he knelt beside the body. Then he began to weep.

“Peter, you’ve seen me kill hundreds of people,” I said, “why are you crying?”

“Don’t you get it?!” he yelled, “Dillon was the greatest artist of our time!”

“The Bible specifically prohibits the production and viewing of internet pornography,” I replied as I put my gun back in the holster. “I did the world a favor.”

Peter stood up and got in my face. “When you find Layla Huffington,” he said calmly, “you take her and get OUT of the state of California. Or else I will kill you myself.”

I lit up a cigarette and gave him a smirk. “Gladly,” I said.

Then we were off to Riverside.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Jack Hardcock: The Legend Continues (Part IV)

“Please take the barrel of your .38 out of my nose!” the manager of the porn theater cried. “I don’t recognize the girl!”

“I know you know something!” I replied. “If you like having a nose, you better spit it out!”

“I know nothing! I swear!”

“You’re a liar. And you know what the Lord does to liars and pornographers? There’s no forgiveness! The Book of Isaiah says so,” I said. “But you will live to die another day. So get right with the Lord, for hell is in your not too distant future!”

I pulled the trigger and his nose splattered against the wall. The manager screamed on the floor while blood streamed through his fingers as he held his hands over his face.

Meanwhile, Peter Tucker was waiting outside of the manager’s office. “I’m proud of you, Jack,” he said. “You didn’t put a bullet in the suspect’s brain this time. You’re really maturing as a person.”

“Thanks Peter,” I replied as I put the .38 back in its holster. “Gosh though, this Layla Huffington girl is really hard to find. I mean, millions of men beat off to her picture everyday! You’d think SOMEONE would recognize her.”

“People go missing all of the time. I think you’ve done enough work for the day. C’mon, let’s get drunk and forget about it.”

I nodded then Peter and me left the theater and began walking past skid row. I couldn’t shake the image of Layla from my mind. There was something about her face that was haunting me.

As we were about to enter the bar, a street performer was playing a familiar tune on his guitar. “Do you hear that song?” I asked Peter.

“Yeah, it’s a shitty acoustic version to that Eric Clapton song. What of it?”

“Layla,” I said.

I walked up to the street performer and handed him a $20 bill. “You better take the money,” I told him, “cuz if you don’t give the answers I want, you’ll get a bullet instead.”

“Fuck off copper!”

I slapped him across the face with the butt of my .38. As he laid on the ground, I pointed the gun at his skull. “I ain’t no cop,” I said. “I’m Jack Hardcock and I don’t play by the rules. So tell me about Layla or else you’ll be my next victim of the day.”

“It’s just a song, man!”

I cocked the .38.

“Alright alright!” the performer cried. “She’s my ex-girlfriend! She dumped my ass and fucked off to Los Angeles!”

“Layla WHO?!!”

“Layla HUFFINGTON!”

TO BE CONTINUED….

Jack Hardcock: The Legend Continues (Part II)

“My daughter ran off to California to porn and I’m absolutely devastated!” cried Ariana Huffington after I invited her into the home. I handed her a towel to dry herself from the pouring rain. “I don’t know what could have led her to such a decision! She was raised in a good Christian home!”

Ariana and myself, along with Pete’s family, sat around the fire place as she explained her story. “The Devil got to your daughter,” I said, “he’s my longtime nemesis. I’m quite familiar with his tactics. So You came to the right place.”

“Can you bring her home, Jack Hardcock?” Ariana asked.

I lit up another cigarette and took out a notepad. “I can,” I replied, “but it’s not going to be easy. I’m gonna need her name, age, and her last known whereabouts. I’m also gonna need a $78,000 advancement, in cash preferably, plus a $2500 per diem.”

“Also, where we could find these pornographic videos on the internet would be helpful. You know, for research purposes and such,” interjected Pete.

“Good thinking,” I replied. “Knowing what kind of porn she does…anal, BDSM, etc…would be quite helpful in this case.”

Ariana bawled her eyes out as she provided all the requested information. Pete immediately pulled out his phone to do research. “This videos are too upsetting,” he said. “Excuse me. I’ll be in the bathroom for awhile. No one knock on the door.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Huffington,” I said, “I’ll bring your daughter home.”

***

I laid in bed twisting and turning all night. To comfort myself, I started cleaning my .38. But the green bean casserole that Jesseka made was running the through me.

As I was walking to the bathroom, I found Klyde…my nephew…watching pornographic videos on his computer. I lifted the .38 and fired a round into the monitor.

“Jesus Christ, Uncle Jack! I was just trying to help you with your investigation!” Klyde screamed.

“You’ve defiled yourself AND that computer,” I said. “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up just like that poor girl. Do you wanna be shoving metal rods into other men’s pee holes for a living?”

“I don’t know, Uncle Jack,” Klyde replied. “It seems like pornography is everywhere these days. I just can’t avoid it.”

“I understand,” I said as I put my arm around him. “But just remember: Jesus will be returning very soon to vanquish our enemies. All hell will be unleashed on Earth and every man, woman, and child forsaken by God will know His wrath.”

“So true Uncle Jack,” Klyde nodded.

“Now you run off to bed.”

I went to the bathroom to take a shit. While on the toilet, I began looking through my notes. They read, “Subject’s age: 20 yo. Last known location: Oakland, CA.”

Then I paused to ponder the name: Layla Huffington.

TO BE CONTINUED…

“untitled” (part iii: another disgusting sex scene 😔)

“I’ve seen a million penises,” Patricia informed Eric. “I’m a trained doctor, remember? I just need to examine your pelvis to see if it’s fully healed for fuck’s sake!”

“But I’ve always had male doctors,” Eric replied. “If a female doctor looks at my junk, I might, uhh..”

“Get a boner?” Patricia asked. “Who gives a fuck? I’m just gonna lower your underwear and feel around a little.”

Eric laid in bed quietly as Patricia lowered his piss-stained tighty-whities. Despite flooding his mind with unpleasant thoughts, blood raged through his veins on down to his nether regions. Patricia focused diligently on her duties while her wrist and elbows occasionally brushed up against his pathetic, throbbing erection.

The two didn’t say a word for the duration of the examination. Patricia came to the conclusion that Eric did indeed make a full recovery and then looked back at his helplessly average wang. “Do you ever wash this thing?” she asked, “Jesus Christ.”

“Uhhh….,” Eric was at a loss for words while Patricia studied his appendage. Already four sheets to the wind, Patricia removed her rubber gloves and gripped Eric’s schlong. “Sometimes after pelvic and spinal injuries,” Patricia explained, “male patients can experience ejaculatory problems.”

After two, no more than three strokes, Eric busted all over Patricia’s hand and guest bed. “Hmm,” Patricia wondered aloud as she gazed upon her jizz stained hand, “based on the lack of stimulus applied to the glans, you may experience involuntary ejaculation from here on out.”

Patricia stood up to wash her hands while Eric remained laid out in a state of post-orgasmic euphoria. After drying her hands, she wrote out a seven figure check. “I hope this covers everything,” she said as she laid the check down on Eric’s bare chest while his arms were sprawled out, “I’m sorry for hitting you with my car. But you are fully healed. You’re free to leave whenever you wish.”

Eric came to his senses, pulled up his nasty ass underwear, and proceeded to dress. Patricia went back downstairs to pour herself a stiff drink. Eric joined her minutes later.

“These last few days,” he explained, “have been some of the best days of my life.”

“The hell are you talking about?” Patricia asked. “You’ve been bed-ridden for two weeks!”

“I know, I know,” Eric replied. He then lifted up the seven figure check, ripped it up, and let the shreds fall to the floor. “But damn it, Patricia,” he continued, “I think I’m falling for you.”

“Uhhh….”

TO BE CONTINUED…

guys..I’m tellin ya

This is an untapped market…

If Christian erotica can be a thing, so can Christian pornography.

And why limit it to Christians? The MAGA market are also a bunch of dupes…er, uhhhh…I mean EXCELLENT customers, why not branch into the right-wing crowd? Think about it…anti-woke pornography where we “own the libs” (I.e. by fucking the shit out of them)

We’re sitting on a lot of money here folks.

on being a lazy sack o’ shit

If any “alcoholic” tells you that it is easier to quit alcohol than to quit nicotine then you know that they aren’t a real alcoholic.

Quitting nicotine has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Sure, I got pissed off a lot. I cried a few times. Hell, some days I’d even stare into the void and ponder ways to kill myself. But I overcame it.

And through these trials and tribulations, I’ve come to realize something: this blog is a pain in my ass.

As usual, I keep coming across the same old solution: I need to stop doing so much.

Is life a race?

You’re damn right it is. I want to get all this living over with. But why make life more painful than it needs to be?

That’s another thing that pisses me off…why does it take so much for people to be happy? You’re breathing right? You can pay the bills, correct? You have access to internet pornography? What fucking more do you need?

“But I gotta feed my kids 😭,” you say

Or

“I gotta have insulin for my Type II diabetes 😭.”

Don’t worry about it. You know why? Cuz God provides.

“God will provide for my crippling gambling debts 😀?”

He sure will.

Of course I don’t need God. I’m much too powerful for that bullshit. But you do.

It takes real strength to admit weakness. At least keep telling yourself that. As for me, I have no weaknesses.

But the point is you gotta recognize your own weaknesses before you can start making improvements. And I’ve realized that my so called “weakness” is trying to take on too much responsibility.

So actually, I don’t have a problem at all. I’m just a too damn good of a person.

So say ‘no’ to paying your bills and staying healthy, and ‘yes’ to more drugs and internet pornography.

I’m just doing what my therapist told me to do 🤷‍♂️

the long, hot summer

Where were my parents growing up?

What was I doing watching such classics as The Deer Hunter, Taxi Driver, Paris Texas, and Caligula before the age 13?

In fact, I was right about to turn 13 when I watched Caligula for the first time. It was a long, boring summer. I was dragging ass on mowing the yard. My dog puked on the tile floor. And instead of taking care of both of those problems, for whatever reasons we had a rented copy of Caligula so I popped it in the DVD player.

I remember the moment better than I remember 9/11.

Next thing I know, Malcolm McDowell was fucking his sister, penises were everywhere, and there was blood. So, so much blood (with a few blowjobs to boot).

I just didn’t see it coming.

Hardcore porn and bloody movies weren’t anything new to me. But when they got mixed together, you go from being aroused to utterly horrified in one frame. It’s too much for a young mind to take in.

I was so traumatized by the experience, I couldn’t watch it again until I was 20.

But now I’m happy that it’s being recognized as a truly awful classic, and a marquee role for Malcolm McDowell and a disgustingly hott Helen Mirren. It’s been therapeutic for me to say the least.

sex sucks too

I’ve never had an erection in my life.

I take viagra just for the hell of it.

When I masturbate, I look at clinical drawings of nude women. I get no pleasure out of it.

“Ever seen a naked woman?”

Nope.

“A naked man?”

Of course. All the fellas enjoy each other’s bodies from time to time. Nothin gay about that.