This link will take you to an article called “What It’s Like to Watch Porn for a Living.” I clicked on it, expecting at least some sort of insight. Oddly enough, I’ve been around enough of the porn industry in LA to know that pretty much every insider has something interesting to say … except this fucking guy.
10% of this article is about his job and 90% of it is about what kind of porn this guy likes. I’m not sure how this even gets published. I guess Buzzfeed doesn’t really care about pertinent information within their articles, just titles that get clicks (an unending problem with the Internet). So, instead of writing a blog about my reaction to this article, I’m going to psycho-analyze this dude based on what he said about his personal tastes in porn (which, I repeat, is NOT supposed to be the premise of the article published).
go ahead, take a seat on the couch please.
Yes, I am a jackass. Just look at my face.
Toomuchfire did it the other day, so lets get introspective bitches.
First off, NO, I would never wish this on anyone. But how do I possibly find myself in this emotional spin after I hear another American is subject to taking insulin everyday? Maybe because of who is involved? Paula “Cook it in Fat” Deen. Maybe because shes a pretentious bitch who thinks everything is about her? Ehhh….Probably.
I have lived with Diabetes for almost ten years now. I’ve worked with hundreds of 6-12 year-old kids who have had it since they were born. Life changing experience if you ask me, watching a 7 year-old give themselves a shot of insulin to survive. It’s a struggle. But these kids do it everyday and will continue to do so for the rest of their life.
I didn’t host a show for fatties on the Food Network with the main ingredient being LARD, or giggle at deep fried butter covered in salt and make that horrific face she makes. She basically lied to her audience and fans/followers (also jack-asses) for three whole years.
48! 40! 42!
Kobe is back, scoring at will and playing with a newfound lust for the game that brought him such joy as a child, yet watching him is so damn depressing. There is something about when a person’s work becomes their only sanctuary that really bums me out. It’s just so apparent that the last thing Kobe wants to do is leave the court and get back to everything reminding him that he’s going to lose 50 percent of his net worth in his divorce. He’s like a sad clown out there.
One New Year’s Eve, Vanilla Ice played, and on midnight my friends and me all got up on stage and sang “Ice, Ice Baby” with him. He hates that song, its a well-known fact, but when he was hitting the chorus, you could see he can still conjure up a sliver of what it felt like playing sold out stadiums where everything was right with the world. Just for a moment, he felt good.
We had a blast at his lifelong expense.
The same thing is happening with Kobe, and the worst is yet to come. He will wear down, his fifty shots a game will misfire as his teammates try desperately to look the other way. The coach will make excuses, Jerry Buss will stand by his star player even though the drawn out falling action of his career will poison the Lakers for years to come. They’ll all say the same thing: “The one thing you can’t question is his love for the game.”
I disagree. What Kobe loves is the one thing in his life that doesn’t make him angry or bitter or jealous, the one thing that rewards selfishness and bravery, that thrives on anticipation of glory, that won’t talk back, that won’t ask to compromise.
Kobe loves the one thing he can be open for: