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Archival Abby
Abby's Bio
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I Review Porn
Abby OD's on Porn
I just watched the worst
porn movie I've ever seen. Oh, yeah, you may say. You're a chick; how
the hell many porn videos has a chick seen? Well, this particular
video, an appalling Kid Vegas offering, was my two-hundreth, give or
take a come shot.
A few years ago, the only pornos I'd seen were the requisite Deep
Throat and the slightly less so Debbie Does Dallas. Oh, and Edward
Penis Hands, a video my mom and I picked out in The Tunnel Of Love at
my local video rental joint to spice up a bachelorette party. But that
was then and this is now. Now I'm a professional pornographer and I
review adult videos for extra cash. Or, to be more accurate, to pay my
mortgage.
What started out as a career at the genteel Penthouse Forum has
metamorphosed into my being a down-and-dirty smutmeister, scribing
knicker-centric editorial for Panty Play, a panty fetish mag, and
reviewing porn "films" for Fox. In between I've contributed to Hustler,
Screw, Variations, Dirty and Big Butt, among others, and started my own
fetish publication, Extreme Fetish. But of all my assorted and sundry
adult entertainment endeavors, reviewing these porn videos is what I
can honestly call work.
Each month I choose a six-pack of screeners from titles like Dirty
Debutantes 12, White Trash Whore 13 and Black Knockers 7 from a
seemingly neverending stream of celluloid spewing forth from the San
Fernando Valley. You see, the way the adult industry sees it, if it
works once--or ten times--keep plugging away. If you'll pardon my pun.
Almost any successful schtick--and, unfortunately, an alarming number
that are somewhat less than successful--becomes a series. Which doesn't
exactly make for a well-rounded viewing experience. After watching
American Bukkake 2, I just don't feel the urgency to see #3 or #4. Each
installment is the same: three scenes of a porno chick preening before
a roomful of average Joes, their beer guts and bad socks all too
visible, and then each of the aformentioned Joes jerking off onto her
face till she's covered in the stuff. No plot, no dialogue and, unless
that and only that is what actually gets you off, not a whole helluva
lot of excitement.
It's a shame just how little excitement the standard product elicits.
So I sit on my couch in a come-weary coma, attempting to fast forward
the fast forward button, hoping against hope that
something--anything--different will flash by so I can scribble down
more than the same no plot, no dialogue lick, suck, screw.
Of course, there are some directors out there trying to create art. At
times they err on the side of too much plot. And yes, it can be a bad
thing. It isn't easy to balance a believable scenario with hot sex.
Some even manage to make too much art. Michael Ninn's movies are so
stunning they'd make perfect MTV videos or fashion promos if they
didn't prominently feature the old in-out. And Candida Royalle has
become a legend producing plausible porn, with footage that won't
offend your lady friends--or frighten the horses.
But more often than not, when you plunk down your hard-earned dollars,
you'll get the industry average of 90 minutes with five sex scenes,
including at least one Sapphic entanglement and, if you're lucky, a
gaping anus or two. If I were doing the spending, I'd pick up anything
by Shane. Her real-life romps and raucous road trips are always a
refreshing blend of amateur fan boys, half-drunk porn broads without
their usual house paint makeup and enough raw, unbridled boffing to
make even a seasoned veteran such as myself hit the rewind button.
Yeah, I'm still capable of becoming occasionally turned on. I'm only
human!
[Written in the late '90s sometime...]
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