Like every other heterosexual male walking the face of the earth, I enjoy pornography immensely. And also like every other living, breathing man with a working VCR and/or computer, I have an encyclopedic knowledge of the actors and actresses who peform in said pornography: names, ages, ethnicities, facial features, measurments, tattoos, filmographies, aliases, hair colors/styles, partner preferences (ex: no midgets, paraplegics, Asians, etc.), acceptable money shot targets, orgasm dialogue, penetrable orifices, and fan club addresses. It seems you can't walk down the street without that information nowadays. In fact, someone just asked me about orgasm dialogue today. But enough about Freefall Jones. Everyone has a favorite adult star name, that name that makes you giggle like a toddler every time you see it on the screen of your television or company computer. And I'm not referring to female pornstar names. They're too often boring, derivative, or artifically sexual. For decades male adult actors have been underrated in their creative aptitude, contriving pseudonyms that had men laughing hysterically while wishing they'd thought of the monikers for themselves. I could go into a laundry list of male pornstar names, but I refuse to exploit such a compelling discussion simply to garner cheap laughs. Okay, maybe just one: Dale Dabone. Hee hee. As I was saying, we all have our favorite, and the one that tickles me the most is Bob Terminator.
You probably recognize Bob Terminator from such erotic standards as
The Ass Collector,
Anal Lolitas, and
The Brazillian Snake, parts One AND Two. Classics all. But why Bob Terminator, you ask? Because-- well--his name's
Bob. It's as if he set out on his adult career to be menacing, intimidating--thus the "Terminator" surname--but feared he would alienate his friends and family, the people that were there for him from the beginning, BEFORE he was the big movie star that masturbated between takes. So he retained the "Bob," newly powerful but respectful of his roots. To the women whose vaginas he's crushing he is Mr. Terminator; to his chums he's still Bob. Bob From The Block.
Or maybe he just couldn't think of anything better. I can just see him the set of his first movie, discussing the issue with the director:
"Look Bob, you can't call yourself 'The Terminator.' It's already taken."
"But sir, it's PERFECT. 'Terminator' suits my smashmouth style to a T!"
"No Bob. I could get sued. You understand that Bob? Do you Bob?"
"Yeah, I guess....
wait a cotton pickin' minute....I've GOT IT!"
And Bob Terminator was born. Okay, he probably didn't say "cotton pickin," but it adds so much
pizazz to a sentence. Anyway, the story reminds me of when I was a child, drawing comic books in my house. An idea sprouted from the fertile confines of my vast imagination: a young boy, bitten by a radioactive spider, becomes infused with the proportionate abilites of the supercharged arachnid, and devotes his life to fighting crime. Now his name couldn't be Spider-MAN, because I was a boy and men weren't nearly as cool as boys. But "Spider-Boy" just sounded wimpy. And in a flash of light it came to me. My amazing new hero would be known to the world as SPIDER-JIM. Watch out, evildoers!
It was PERFECT. Even though Spider-Jim's real identity was, well, a kid named Jim, no one would suspect a thing because what hero in his right mind would use his real name as his crimefighting name? And since Jim is such a common, everyday name, his identity would be impossible to pinpoint. "Sure, Spider-Jim's about four feet tall and 58lbs, just like Jim the half-Chinese kid across the street. And Jim always seems to disappear right before Spider-Jim shows up. And Jim never goes to school. But they couldn't POSSIBLY be the same person! I mean, there are SO many Jims in this country!"
I created Spider-Jim with nothing but my trusty No. 2 pencil. I didn't want to taint his awesome costume with that convoluted (and hard to draw)
spider web pattern. And since I thought then, as I do now, that coloring was utterly beneith me, his spider-suit was a nifty shade of light gray, with white eyeholes, white gloves, white boots, and a white belt. And there was no spider on his chest. Now that I think about it, you couldn't really tell why he called himself
Spider-Jim until he showed up and started shooting web out of his hands. But of course, with my aforementioned aversion to the traditional spider web pattern, I simply rendered his webbing as a bunch of criss-crossed lines, making it appear that Spider-Jim was ensnaring his deadly foes in
fishnet stockings from Frederick's of Hollywood.
But I digress. Or am I regressing? I was talking about porn, right? Oh yeah, the whole porn name thing. And before anyone starts condescending, I'm fully aware of the fact that a man has to watch a LOT of porn to know who Bob Terminator is, but that's a different story, for a different post. For now, let us all stand up and raise our hooks to a true visionary, a trailblazer. For fusing the fierce and the mundane, an amalgam of intimidating and banal, I salute you, Bob Terminator. May your pelvis remain strong and your man-gravy remain salty, until the day you die of some unidentified South American VD.
I'll never understand how people can complain about being stuck in a crappy situation, whether it's a job/ relationship/@ home/ etc. & do nathing to change it. If they muster up the sense to put it behind them, they often end up going back, repeating the cycle & crying on the phone. To top it off, I'm the prick for telling them that they can't complain about putting themselves through the same bs that they should've walked away from the last time it happened.
