[Note: this is an EVERGREEN SUBJECT, and I may have ranted about this before]
If I became a porn star?
My name would be Rick Bigington …
I would have the main hustle in the valley, not far from In-n-Out, where my moobie-girls hang and sell strong-juice-donuts to the local cops …
I’d harvest the jelly and oil up, and when the camera turned on? – I’d turn you on … if I were a porn star.
They’d say .. “hey BIG RICK”, as I slung my dick for a stack of lettuce … and my girl Histy would do meth with me, in the park, after dark, we’d both have a NARCAN injector ready.
The honey-butter oil they’d rub on my man boobs would be filled with histamine minty freshness – as vapo-rub spore-gasm leads to nitrous type butt magic. And her tummy-gasp would sell DVD’s in CHINA – and most of the galley tribe would be stuck on “Who’s Miss Charlie” … our number debut HIT.
As a porn star, I’d develop a new MULTI-STAGE guru-type butt-muscle program with progressively re-shapening tube sock wrenching.
People would CUM to my seminars, and even TED would invite me to give a talk about “power drilling” and “West Kentucky Goat Stroking” … and other dignified subjects of totalistic love power.
As a PORN KING?
I’d buy a vineyard in some burnt out N. California crispy town, where the mungit-slaves feed on scale-flesh and the old dabblers shamble towards Grinken Town.
I’d call the vineyard “COCK CHUDSON”, in honor of a great actor who made a movie once called SECONDS, and how that story is like this story …
I’d shift PORN style, and reinvent myself after spending 8 weeks at a THAI monk guru spa …
I’d do a new series called: The English Dock Worker
I’d show up at her door, asking for money for the old dock workers, and she’d be in a t-shirt and underwear and ask me if I knew how to get on Instagram … it develops from there …
My girl and I would switch from meth/coke to cougar-snake venom, and my girl would have to inject this shit directly into my testicles … after my 3rd heart attack and 2nd zipper surgery.
But it would be my vineyard, and we’d do another “English” series called the: British Investigator
All filmed AT the vineyard – smart.
I’d be in tweed and all Scottish-Welsh bullshit … and she would be dressed like a nun … and my job would be to find the truth … this script writes itself.
As a porn star, one day I will die.
And it will probably be from pigeon-monkey herpes cancer, cuz, let’s be straight, that’s the end game for old burnt out porn stars … sleazy as F … dirty bird cave dance.
And on my death bench, as the seagulls poop on me, some old busty female hobo will say:
“Sir … how are you?”
And my last words will be:
“How’s your cable, Mabel?”
