Lube & Culture

Nick, Treasure Island Media’s resident casting director, walks out of the audition room and up to my desk holding out a camera and some batteries: “Can you do this? The positive and negative aren’t marked.”

As I take it from him, I nearly drop it. It’s slipping around and almost impossible to hold. It’s like putting batteries in a live fish. My brain slowly makes the connection between where he came from, what he was doing, and why a camera might be all lubed up.

“Wait a minute- where were you trying to put this camera?”

He swears that he wasn’t doing internal photography. Considering the day-to-day of Nick’s life, he could very well be a proctologist. He has looked at the winking assholes of an intimidating percentage of the men in San Francisco.

Paul bought the office the Rolls Royce of espresso makers, a hulking beast that grinds beans, cleans itself, compliments your outfit, and brews your drink- leaving you responsible for nothing other than actually drinking it. And we now have two ginormous cabana-style umbrellas in the middle of our dot-com loft-office, meaning that we’re a foozball table, a couple of couches, and an office dog away from being an actual pre-crash dot-com company. Some people (Randy) think that air-hockey is superior to foozball, but I’m pretty sure that’s simply his own personal dementia.

Paul sometimes takes me aside and immerses me in culture. Recently he marinated me with Prokofiev, a Russian composer from the early 1900’s. Paul’s loaning me "Piano Concierto No. 2 in Gminor, Op. 16," so I’ll fill you in about it after I’ve given it a few listens. He also loaned me George Romero’s Land of the Dead, a really fun gore-fest with the occasional ham-fisted metaphor thrown in, proving that just because you’re a zombie movie doesn’t mean that you can’t have an opinion on the war.

Slurpin’ Jizz 2, as was predicted, is flying out the door- right now we’re on the front page of Vidioview, and the review copies are currently being very carefully studied by our cadre of reviewers. Life is good.

xox

Slurpin' Jizz 2

If the Lord in all His infinite wisdom shines down upon us, then nothing will get in the way of Slurpin Jizz 2 from being available to you, our beloved fans, on Monday. It will be the same set up as usual- for a few weeks, you, The Men in the Know, will get a super-discounted, introductory, we-love-you-this-much price.

I always love it when we release an oral flick. Most of our films are bareback, a word that makes a lot of people react like vampires to a cross. Frankly, those people don’t matter so much to me, except-

-part of my job here (my official title is Metatron), is to disseminate our films to our reviewers who then, in turn, write reviews and print them or post them to their websites. However, the gay vampires who populate the world of adult media (and the gay vampires who are completely outside the world of adult media, yet continue to try and tell us what we should and should not do), scare the doo-doo out of more people than makes any sense. This means that the reviewers will get the film, put it in their DVD player, beat their cock like they’re putting out a fire, and then act as though they never received the film. “Thanks, Saul,” their emails don’t say. “I’ll be sure to post this amazing fucking review that I, with my sticky fingers, just wrote,” they neglect to add.

However- the vampires can’t touch a good swallow flick. Hell, that’s all they do, no? ingest our vital essence? So the reviewers can now feel safe to say something simlar to this review which was posted for Slurpin’ Jizz 1 (notice the snide aside by the always opinioned Mark Adams, whom we adore).

These are the moments that make me, as a publicist, happy as a postcoital clam (how do clams fuck? First correct answer gets a free copy of Slurpin’ Jizz 2)- when everyone reads my press releases, when everyone reviews the films I send them, and when the studio that I call home gets its name all over the fucking place.

On an unrelated note: yesterday these two hot, muscly men were getting off in our little honeymoon suite (I don’t get to see the actual action as it goes on- I have to wait for the boys in editing to start working with the footage to get a glimpse), when the door opened up, and a very naked slab of very tattooed muscle pops out and says, casually, “Where’s the bathroom? I really need to wash my hands- I went kind of crazy with the lube.” Normal office activity more or less stopped as we gathered ourselves, shut our mouths, and pointed toward our bathroom. Without any sense of awkwardness, he strode, barefoot, to the bathroom.

That, Gentlemen and Gentlemen, is the reason to work in the industry named adult.

Everyone spent the rest of the day wearing a smug smile- we all had something special to brag about to our non-porn friends during happy hour.

Enhanced Podcast

Reuben asked me to put this podcast on the blog.

It's not going on the www.PaulMorrisPodcast site, because of its enhanced nature. I'm not the most tech-saavy of kids on the block (however, Reuben is- I've seen him reading computer manuals for fun. The man knows more about computers than whole wings of employees at Google), but here is what was explained to me:

Reuben's been making "enhanced" podcasts, i.e. podcasts that have a slideshow of prurient content coded into them like the cinnamon swirls in raisin bread. Unfortunately, the only places you can watch the enhanced podacast is on either iTunes or on your iPod, so if you try to listen to an enhanced podcast on a media player that doesn't start with a lower-case "i", your head explodes. I can't express to you how much Treasure Island Media would hate to be responsible for a nationwide outbreak of head-explody. I would break our hearts.

But.

For those of you who use iTunes or iPods, or have no fear of the explody, here is an enhanced podcast for your headphone-slideshow-jackin'-off pleasure.

Folsom Weekend Podcast for iTunes

A Musical Interlude

Yesterday the office broke into a musical sequence. Frank burst in and sang, "Slurpin' Jizz 2 comes in tomorrow!” In response, everyone in the office simultaneously rolled their chairs away from their desks, and did a quick softshoe before leaping up on top of our desks so we could really hoof it up. This went on as Frank sang the praises of jizz and the many ways it can be slurped, all of which had a basis in what he saw on the master copies of SJ2.

We’re pretty excited.

In other news, we’re going to start shooting in high definition. We’re thinking about making the new Damon Blows America such a high definition film that you will be able to see the most miniscule beads of sweat on the foreheads of people half a block away and not even in the frame.

We’re deciding which city will be the next city to be blown by Damon- Atlanta and Miami are currently at the top of the list of potentials. “But Paul- why would I need to go away when I have Saul, who has an awkwardly large penis that tastes vaguely of butterscotch, here?” Damon did not say. We’ll see. We’re balancing the pros & cons of each city. I mean, ultimately he’s going to end up blowing the both of them, but it will take a while. Fortunately, he’s young, and we have a limitless amount of digital film.

Brand-new Masturbation Material

The new space has a muffled quality. At the old place, Frank was across the office, and we could simply talk across the room to each other. Here, Frank is about 6 feet away and I can’t hear a word he’s saying. This is a good thing. It means that I can play music by one artist over and over and no one will ever know. I was recently prohibited from playing Tom Waits after listening to The Black Rider all day every day for a few weeks.

Our space is incredible. So much natural light that we’re giving it away, and our new sales guy, Pete, has been rollerblading around (apparently he used to be pro, but he refuses to desk-grind the workstations). There’s that much room. And the neighbors have been more or less keeping to themselves, keeping the warfare down to a sullen hum. Paul fired the first shot by slipping a porn magazine in the stack of architectural journals they keep in the bathroom. We’re all waiting for a counterstrike.

The Blue Angels have been flying over The City, sounding like a cross between a thunderstorm and a Pterodactyl, which reminds me- it’s Fleet Week. If that wasn’t reminder enough, Paul keeps mentioning how much he loves Fleet Week as he smiles and rubs his hands together. In fact, he loves Fleet Week so much that he wrote an essay about it.

Reuben, when he’s not busy making porn for your ears, has been throwing together trailers for all of our films, a project that fills me with joy. Soon you will be able to masturbate at 10 times your normal rate to a 30-second clip of Treasure Island Media teasers. Don’t hurt yourself- lube up first.

Furthermore, Slurpin’ Jizz 2 is finished and at the printers- once they come in I’ll have a street date for you. Meantime, here’re some stills to tide you over: