Thing things you aren’t suppose to say at a porno shoot:
#1: I’m bored
#2: Does his dick get bigger?
#3: Am I getting paid?
What is politeness. It’s just an illusion. It’s the white lie. Some days I think I am free, but I’m just a runway slave looking for Harriet Tubman at a strip club. But as Chris Rock would say, “there aint no sex in the champagne room.” In other words, prostitutes are never in college. Currently, I’m in love with how Martha Stewart has made going to jail “a good thing.” Like it was an exotic resort. In her very rehearsed for hours in the mirror demeanor, she tries to slip us a date rape drug with how you can make your prison bitch your friend by making her a Mexican poncho or a nice desert which just an apple, butter, cinnamon and a light bulb. But it’s the politeness. She so understands the bullshit. She so understands the white lie. She just didn’t go to jail, but “she learned something.” And if the bored housewives in the "Bible Belt" believe her, she can sell more 500 threaded sheets at K-mart. We quickly forget that she was greedy and got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She never had to hide her bad decisions, she just needed to dress it up in a cute outfit like people do their ugly pets. It’s the best white lie, almost Clorox. It’s like, let’s not worry about the stain, just bleach it and they would be transfixed by shine. Martha Stewart cleverly convinces us redemption with a chocolate cake, but for those of us who have been to jail, we know it’s not about rehabilitation, you just learn how not to get caught next time. You learn how to be polite.
I’ve come to the conclusion that people don’t appreciate my insults. So, it’s no surprise that I’m unemployed. I need a job. But honestly, I hate the grind, alarm clocks, the fake smiles and ties and button up shirts and hiding my flat stomach. I hate wearing underwear or deodorant. I’m not interested in trying to fix myself for society. I got lucky. Somebody was interested in interviewing me. Somebody was interested in possibly giving me a steady paycheck. But I should’ve known I couldn’t act right. I should’ve known I wasn’t going to get the job when my roommate said “Good luck” and I gave him the finger. So, the clocks in my house are all off by at least ten minutes. I think the power went off like months ago, but I never reset the clocks. I’m always late. I thought I was early to the interview. I knew it was a bad sign when I didn’t like the security guy who sat at the desk thinking he probably shouldn’t had dropped out of high school. Of course, he had attitude but I tried to be polite. But it was obvious from his eyes and breathing that he was hung-over-- so I had to ask him if he had hepatitis. I mean someone with eyes that yellow has to have Hep C. I mean Pamela Anderson made it cool. I was thinking I was just trying to save his health. I mean if he was hung-over, that means he was still abusing his liver and we all know how black people don’t like to go to the doctor. He sneered, called me a black ass nigga, which I was sure, was a triple negative. But I didn’t feel like correcting him. I’m either black, an ass or niggardly. Pick one.
When I got up stairs to the interview, the first thing the guy said to me, you’re late. And then he stuck the knife further in my back with the comment, “some people get to interviews 15 minutes early.” I immediately knew that he was a bastard and I wasn’t going to get my steady paycheck. But we live in polite society, and we have to go through the formalities. I mean, I couldn’t just left. I could’ve told him to suck my dick. But, I thought I could save myself. I thought that if I was just a little perkier, and a little more intelligent, I could fool him into thinking that I was a responsible and a sane person. It’s like the joke, “you know when you’re crazy,” it’s when you’re in a mirror covered in some fat woman’s skin trying to convince yourself you’re not crazy. I had to make a decision and for a second I decided to be polite. But I couldn’t understand why. It began with the question, “what did you do before you got here.” Of course he was just asking about my last job, but I thought he was asking that I had a cocktail before the interview. I thought he smelled the scent of rum and coke and somebody’s sweaty dick on my breath.
Funny, a true story, the night before I was at a porno shoot. It wasn’t intentional. I met the guy online and he said he just wanted to see me naked and take some pictures. I like attention. When he picked me up outside my apartment, he was in the car with a couple of other guys. I knew he said something about bringing his “boy,” but he said nothing about a posse. So on the ride to his house, we had to pick up a few more people. I was beginning to feel as if I was on a school bus. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but I thought I be polite and just go with the flow. Finally we got to his house and he started to explain his hustle. He said that he was entrepreneur which is French for “pimp.” He said he was into exotic choreography which is Spanish for “pornography.” I felt bamboozled, hoodwinked, and tricked. But then again, the only reason I agreed to the naked pics was because he promised me some good drugs. And then I realized how innocents end up in porn-- it’s only because they are bored with their lives and looking for the good drugs. Honestly, I just thought he was kinky but I do have my dumb blonde moments. It’s like when I let the crack head used my cell phone. I should’ve known he was going to run off with it.
So, unintentionally, I was at a porno shoot and immediately disappointed. At first, all the boys were so shy. They look even younger and confused in person. I immediately loathed that I was ruining my jack off sessions. So the two boys started to kiss each other. And it was the part in the porn that most men fast forward. It’s that part where the acting is not only bad, the masturbation material is flaccid. It wasn’t like they weren’t attractive kids, they were just boring. I mean really boring. It was like trying to get off to paint trying on a very boring wall. I mean I watch a lot of porn. I watched enough porn to get me into hell no matter how hard I pray to Jesus. And I just thought as an expert of porn I knew I could direct the video better. And then I was high from the good drugs and liquor so I got belligerent. It wasn’t me being a control freak. It was me thinking to myself that in a couple of months, I was going to see that porn at somebody’s store, and of course, they were going to have some hot boy on the cover, and of course, I was going to be a sucker and buy it. With every porn, it’s like an album, there really is only one really great song on it. I wanted the boring boys to be great! I mean, if you are going to ruin your life by appearing in a porn, why not go down in glory. The two boys were very cute but they had no passion. It was as if somebody drugged them. Well he did promise good drugs. I just thought I could help out. I got over politeness. I took the camera from the camera guy and started instructing. I told one of the guys that nobody likes a queen. I hate queens in gay porn. He kept flipping his dreadlocks like he was a blonde German prostitute. I just wanted him to know with all that bitchy moaning and screaming, most men just mute the sound. IT was necessary for me to insult him. It was necessary for me to tell him he was a bad actress. But do you think he appreciated it? I mean, why the hell would he think anyone would like such annoyance. I told the other guy who was obviously the “bttm” he needed to convince me he liked it more. As far as porn, the person getting penetrated either really needs to look like he’s enjoying it or in pain. Either one gets me off. I don’t like a “bttm” just laying there and making me think that I need to iron clothes. When I watch porn, it’s for one purpose only--it’s too get me off. So of course, I suddenly became the “bad” guy. I couldn’t be polite. I couldn’t bullshit. I didn’t give my pimp his money. So of course, they called me a cab. So of course, another boring black gay porn is now out there somewhere in the universe.
Which brings me back to the interview. When I sat down, I knew I was supposed to just answer the asinine questions. I was supposed to give my scripted responses. It didn’t have to sound convincing just familiar. But I couldn’t. I already knew I wasn’t going to get the job. So I decided for once in my life, I was going to be honest. It was like at the porno shoot, I could’ve just sit there and act like I wasn’t bored. I needed to get off and I knew they weren’t doing it for me. So I decided to not be polite. I wasn’t going to be Martha Stewart and fake my politeness with an apple pie. I wasn’t going to be afraid to offend white people. Fuck being nice. So, I sat down and immediately became an asshole. Of course they asked the standard questions like “why did you leave your last job..” Normally I would’ve lied. But I said, because the bitches didn’t appreciate me. And I meant it. I quit because I felt my boss was a retarded chicken with her head cut off. And when they asked me “where did I see myself five years from now,” normally I would’ve lied. But I said. probably hung-over or high for the “new drug” and calling into work sick. And then I laughed like an evil villain. But what amazed me was no matter how unscripted I became, they still stayed to the script. I think it’s called professionalism. It further pissed me off. And when they asked me “did I want to know anything about the company,” I had to explain that it was a deflective and stupid question because it was like asking a maid did she care anything about the history of the toilets she cleaned. SHE was the fucking “help” and she only cared if her check cashed. I just wanted a steady paycheck. I didn’t get the job. I got kicked out of the porno shoot. The truth, most people just want to be bullshitted, that’s why Martha Stewart is still alive.