Friday, August 7, 2009

Military Hardware



ISLAMABAD, Pakistan — Baitullah Mehsud, the main leader of Pakistan’s fearsome Taliban militia, was killed Wednesday in a C.I.A.missile strike, two Taliban fighters said Friday, but a spokesman for Pakistan’s military, Maj. Gen. Athar Abbas, said he could not confirm reports of Mr. Mehsud’s death.

I think it's clear by now that I'm a cock-of-all-trades. And having been deep throated thousands of times, I've got a Spidey sense about the likelihood that certain conservative agents will "out" me like they did Valerie Plame. So I will do it myself.

For years I've been working with the CIA and the Pentagon in the global fight against terrorism. It's not exactly "by day it's the dick of a porn star, by night it's a weapon" (especially since many in the porn biz have described me as a weapon). It's not that regular a gig. Ron gets a call from an anonymous government liason with a time and a place. He jerks me off so that I'm temporarily disoriented when he detaches me and hands me over to two pretty operatives, who suck me back to life when we arrive at our destination.

I suppose there's a bit of "Emission Impossible" to it, as I'm given photos of target(s) and placed on a drone. Next thing I know I'm launched into the hot desert night. As a dick that's had to find targets in the dark for 40 years, I've got an internal guidance system to rival anything at Norad. Let's face it, I'm a heat seeker; I know where the bullseye is. So what you probably won't read in the stories about this or that eliminated Al Quaeda leader is that he was entered through one of his orifices.

How do I survive the impact and resulting spray of blood and viscera? Well, anyone's who's gotten head from Kathy Griffin can answer that. I'm not looking for any medals; it's enough to know I'm supporting the effort to take out some bad actors, as they say. I like to apply that term more loosely, so you better watch your step, Keanu. You terrorize us enough to be in play.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Spurning Japanese


I’m only an actor in “One-Eyed Monster”, but occasionally I overhear news from my director about how the movie is selling. And today, he got some particularly odd feedback from his foreign sales agent.

While the movie was initially considered to be a perfect fit for Japan, it seems they have a serious problem with penises on screen, so the Asian market in general has been tough to crack.

Now, I’m an educated cock, and I like to think I’ve got a good head on my shaft. So before I stoop to a more incendiary reaction, I’m really trying to understand: why does Japan have a problem with penises on screen? A country that adores films about a 50-foot lizard has difficulty with a 10-inch snake? The nation that gave us Geisha girls and Ben-Wah Balls is suddenly Puritanical? (Okay, I confess, I don’t know for sure that they invented Ben-Wah Balls, but it sounds very close to something on the menu at Nobu, so who knows.)

And then like Ike to Tina, it hit me: Japan likes small things! But for Godzilla, this is the country that compacts everything into the tiniest form and shape they’re able to. Watches, phones, computer parts, cars---it’s all about economy of size.

I’ll even go so far as to say that it’s not penises on screen they have a problem with—it’s MY penis on screen. It’s just too friggin’ big. The last thing they want is their hard-working Japanese male work force attending this movie, then going home to commit hari-kari because they realize they will never measure up. All the technological know-how in the world won’t give them the size and power of me.

I guess I can accept this, and I will. But I’m angry. And the only reason I’m not officially boycotting everything Japanese is because I love sushi too much.

I love “One-Eyed Monster”, but not enough to sacrifice the crab roll at Nozawa.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Profile This


It should come as no surprise that Obama's candidacy and subsequent election have forced this nation to reflect on its history of racism. And when I say history, that includes events from as recent as two weeks ago, when Henry Louis Gates, the Harvard professor and one of the most distinguished intellectuals in the country, was profiled and arrested in his own home by a white Cambridge police officer. Whether the cop is a racist or not, the national story has poured gasoline on a fire that's been burning since the first slave ship arrived on these shores.

What is never, ever considered in all these reflections and discussions is that there is one industry that can truly claim to be "post-racial," and that's porn. It's not the color of your dick that matters, it's the size and the stamina. Now that said, let me concede that the CHARACTERS and SCENARIOS in pornos have at times been, and to a lesser extent still are, racially stereotypical. When I first started out in the business, I met an old white cock who used to play in those racist one-reelers in the 20's. In his most notorious one ("Well Hung--From A Tree") he had to wear black shoe polish. Regrettably, black characters may always carry with them an element of sexual threat. Granted, that can make for some hot bad-girl cocksucking. But the actresses whose mouths entertain us, they only see one color, and that's the color of cum. In any other industry, it's commonly believed that black guys have the biggest dicks. And maybe that's true. But in my world, we're all equal. I've been in some dynamite chocolate pussy in my time, because Ron simply loves to fuck hot women. It's only because America still has on the shit-stained Puritan underwear it came in that pornography is feared, judged and derided (until, that is, those people find themselves alone in a hotel room with a half hour to kill). But in its embrace of evolving technology and, yes, a color blind world of fucking and sucking, the porn business is a model of enlightened civilization. You can have your beer at the White House. I'll take a cold drink of quim any day of the week.

Friday, July 31, 2009

Ron in Real Life


It's Friday advice day, so let's get started!

Dear RJ’S D—

My buddy Phil thinks all orgasms are the same, but I keep telling him there are different kinds. So I thought I’d turn to the master.

C. Feldman, Winnetka, IL



Hello, C!

You can tell your buddy Phil he couldn’t be more misinformed. Ron, through me, has experienced about 700 different types of orgasms, including one that’s illegal in Brazil, and one that can only be measured by a Geiger counter. But in the interest of saving blog space, I’ll mention three specific kinds. (1) The Pressure Cooker. Most of you guys have probably experienced this one. Through sheer will power, you delay the orgasm as long as you can, so by the time it’s ready to shoot, the force is extremely powerful. If you’re masturbating, you can hit the ceiling. If you’re being blown, you can make a tiny dent in the back of her throat, and if you’re fucking, your sperm can blow past the eggs and stick to her ribs. (2) The Broken Sprinkler. This is a disappointing one: before you even start to feel those fantastic contractions, a shower of semen with a very thin consistency just starts pouring out. All of the fluid with none of the fun. (3) The Bloop Gasm. Possbily the worst kind of orgasm a man can experience. It typically only occurs during masturbation. You’re working on yourself for a long time; the payoff is ZERO contractions, and a tiny mushroom cloud of semen that bubbles up to the surface as though the other sperm decided not to come and elected a few guys to come out.



Dear RJ’s D,

I’m about to break up with my girlfriend because she’s a die-hard vegetarian and it really limits our dining experiences and ability to share food. Any advice on how to do this without hurting her feelings?

J. Fedorko, Boston MA



Dear J,

Just tell her, “It’s not you, it’s meat.”


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Have a great weekend everyone! And check out my movie "One-Eyed Monster" tonight on TMC!

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Hard Questions


My mind wanders like anyone else's during uninspired sex, so today I begin a series wherein I pose questions that have occurred to me while fully engorged, but disengaged.

#1 Why Does Obama Smoke Cigarettes?

Rather, why does he still smoke? If there is literally anyone in the world who has the responsibility--the moral obligation, even--to quit smoking, it's that guy. Yeah, yeah, he's trying to quit. So are millions of people. But Obama's not one of millions; he's one in millions. He's the fucking President! And if that's not reason enough, these days he's trying to convince America that a substantial part of health care reform is prevention and wellness, which will save us a shitload of money down the road. I couldn't agree more, and so I do 100 dick-ups every day before RJ even wakes up (which I accomplish by thinking alternately about Jaclyn Smith and Tyne Daly).

As a role model to disenfranchised black kids, he is phenomenal, having taught them--and us all--by example that with hard work and commitment, any American can become President. From that statement, we infer that to become President means to reach the absolute height of achievement--although I can make the case that the height of achievement is getting blown by the cast of Saved By the Bell (and I mean all of them). But as they say, with power comes responsibility, and if the man with the most stressful job in the world can quit smoking, then anyone can. So, Mr. President, show us your balls. You can orate better than anyone. You have vision, intelligence and conscience. A little will-power would do more for health care than all the concessions you've been offering those Blue Bitch Democrats and the Republican Potty. Don't be a jive turkey--quit cold turkey. Today.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Bloggus Interruptus


I beg your pardon for the interruption in my normal blog-havior, but in either a moment of extreme paranoia, self-doubt, or simple curiosity, I find myself driven to ask this question:

IS ANYBODY READING THIS?

I know for a fact that at least three people read my blog regularly. One, of course, is Ron who says he frequently learns new things about me. That makes sense, since when we spend time together, I’m usually in a pussy, a mouth, an ass, or his hand. And in those cases, respectively, he knows that I’m thinking: “more lube please”, “please god no teeth”, “thank god she wipes”, and “just like the old days!”

There’s a sweet woman named Penney—a diehard Taylor Hicks fan--who often posts comments to my blogs, so I know she’s reading.

And then there’s my agent, Sid who—despite being 97 and in a coma—gets the blog read to him every morning by his nurse, Frieda, who tells me that Sid never responds to my words, but that she frequently masturbates to them.

And that’s it!

Or at least—that’s all that I know about. And so dear readers (if there are, in fact, any), I am putting out a simple request. Let me know that you’re there. That you read me. That you care. You can do this in three ways. You can reply to this posting. You can write me directly at: rjspenis@gmail.com, or you can send me a tweet if you’re on Twitter (@ronsmonster).

For decades, I’ve had thousands of women show me love. And it’s not like I have any plans to quit my day job. But after years of sharing my seed, I must say I’ve come to love sharing my thoughts.

So in the immortal words of Pink Floyd:

Hello, hello, hello…is there anybody out there?

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

COCKMAN


Sorry about missing the last few days. I'm still recovering from the San Diego Comic-Con. I went down there to promote a new comic book that's being published by Dark Hung-Like-A-Horse Comics--COCKMAN! It's about a famously endowed porn star who battles sexual dysfunctions, hang-ups and bad technique in Valleyopolis. A host of arch criminals--Viagron, Dry Pussy, Early Worm and Harry Ass--force the reluctant COCKMAN into service, his only weapon 9 and 3/4" of fighting magic!

Anyway, Ron and I did a Q&A panel to a room packed with over 2000 people. It was really fun, and the best news is that Sony later approached the publisher (and us) about a movie adaptation! Apparently Stacey Snider, who runs the studio, loves giant cocks and will personally shepherd this project through development. Stacey threw out some casting ideas--Jackie Earle Haley as Early Worm, Richard Moll as Viagron and possibly Sally Field as Dry Pussy.

I know I've got a lot on my plate, folks--training to hit a major league fastball, running for Congress and now this, but I think I can stay hard for all these adventures. For I....am....COCKMAN!*



*COCKMAN and all COCKMAN-related properties ® Sony Pictures Entertainment. All rights reserved.