"...and no porn is more “found” than on Fleshbot, which d’Addario edits
from the Faubourg Marigny home he shares with his partner, Richard
Read, the co-founder of the theater troupe Running With Scissors. In
just 20 months, d’Addario has helped turn Fleshbot — the third of
Gawker’s 13 blog sites — into the third most popular blog on the Web,
behind Free Republic and the Drudge Report and ahead of Gawker’s
According to the latest estimates by comScore,
which tracks Internet traffic, in the first quarter of 2005 Fleshbot
welcomed about 1.186 million “unique visitors” — those who have visited
the site over a 24-hour period. And that’s in the United States alone;
Denton estimates the international traffic could be twice as much."
Here's what some rather reputable magazines have said about Fleshbot...
While I was waiting for my food and brushing away the barrage of bees and bevy of bugs that were hanging out with us, I perused the back of the menu.
I'm gonna quote directly here, because a mere paraphrasing could never do it justice...
"We, at the Inn, believe in giving you the purest of Nature's foods,
energized as a gift from the sun with a dash of esoteric food knowledge
and ancient mystery school wisdom tossed in for your seasoning and
pleasure. It may just raise your body's light vibration and the extra
work may cost you a few pennies more, but we believe in the long run,
this way of living and eating may prove less expensive. Your body
elemental, that selfless, shy, invisible little fellow who works so
hard to keep the oft mistreated human machine going, will jump with joy
for your choice of this eating establishment."
That selfless, shy, invisible fellow?
I'll have you know, my elemental is a selfish and outspoken, self-depracating little shit!
And he rarely jumps for joy, unless he's napping, eating chocolate and getting blown.
Back to the Inn...
"The food is prepared with love and
is charged by our dedicated staff with the vibration of the violet flame
for your personal gain, and perhaps transportation to a higher plane"
"Dining creek side
at the Inn in old Topanga, next to the Mother flow is a unique experience.
We want you to rest unhurried and partake of the angelic vibrations of
the violet ray, to experience a timelessness of what can become the coming
culture of a new golden age."
I'm not sure about the "Angelic Vibrations of The Violet Ray", but I'm all about the "Mother Flow".
It may have been the most surreal experience of my life and for those who know my past, that's saying a lot.
My roommate Hilary, whom I blogged about in more detail here, was invited by a recruiter at UCLA to come to a "porno frat party".
she asked me the other day, "Hey Donavan, wanna come with me and my friend Adam to a porn
shoot on Saturday?", I responded with a resounding YES!!! faster than
you can say Bukkake.
So we go.
To the valley.
is a hot California day, the Santa Ana winds blowing enough soot into
the air to make the local Walgreens run out of Claritin.
We drive deeper and deeper into "Porn Valley" till we arrive in a very sketchy industrial area.
The address we have been given leads us to a very nondescript looking building with blacked out windows and barbed wire... Then we saw a truck parked in the adjacent driveway.
big old hot pink F-150 pickup with tinted windows and monster tires.
Behind it, a girl with big boobs and a see through wifebeater was
talking on her cell and smoking a cigarette... This must be the place!
As soon as she sees us, she gets off the phone and asks us our names and who invited us.
She comes back with some release forms and after signing our souls over to Satan, we go inside.
A garage door opens revealing two brand new Jags and a Porsche.
T & A+Marketing Skills+DV cameras=$$$
Once inside, a man in a cowboy hat shows me, Hilary and Adam into a room with a pool table.
With a family sized box of babywipes on it.
Toto, we're not in Kansas any more.
Cowboy hat man tells us to make ourselves at home, and we are pointed
in the direction of three large refrigerators. One is filled with
Cokes. One with filled with beer.
The other one?
You guessed it.
After downing several cups of holy water, I had to pee.
See through tee shirt girl shows me into a large bathroom. There is a
walk in shower, a copious amount of washclothes, a cookie jar full of condoms, lots of
hair products and a bevy of oral hygiene goodies.
Listerine, it kills germs on contact!
While relieving my bladder, a knock at the door stops me in mid-stream.
"Just a minute"
A girls voice from the other side of the door...
After washing my hands with enough anti-bacterial soap to kill Ebola, I open the door.
A girl who looks like she just graduated high school stands before me.
There really is a God.
I guess my jaw was on the floor, because she asks me if I am OK.
"Oh, yeah! Super!"
My voice cracks like I've barely made it out of puberty.
Which is true.
"Are you talent?"
"Me!?!?, Ummm...(cracking) uhhh...jeeze...I mean, no. NO! Just an observer. An extra. I mean..."
"Well, welcome baby!"
She knows my name!
After several more Cokes, my entourage and I get into a Van with some of the other lucky fools. I am definitely the oldest one there, save for the Producer who looks like a sleightly more Harley Davidson version of Rob Reiner.
The van whisks us away to an undisclosed location in a less ghetto/more posh area of the valley. The driver is going at least ninety miles per hour. He is talking on a cell phone and smoking a joint.
I fear that we will never make it, my porn dreams up in 420 smoke.
The angels (or is that anal gels?) are on my side, because we roll up in one piece.
We arrive at a large home right smack dab in the middle of San Fernando suburbia.
Children are playing in the street. An ice cream truck is serving bomb pops to kids on bikes. The setting sun casts an orange glow on the elm trees. I feel like I've stepped into an early eighties Spielberg film.
We go into the house.
An older Jewish couple comes out. They look like the parents of many of my good friends.
I am comforted.
A girl is sitting on the couch with the shortest skirt that I have ever seen. No underwear.
I am delighted.
Soccer trophies adorn the mantle, interspersed between pictures of kids and uncles and grandpas and various other normal looking people. Childrens toys are on the floor and a golden retriever comes out wagging its tail.
Ozziet & Harriet Silverstein lay down the rules.
"No smoking in the house" "No parking in the driveway" "No cumming on the furniture"
Good to know.
The director arrives with the crew in tow.
Gaffers and lighting guys and sound men come in.
They look like the cast of a PT Anderson film. Or perhaps a Wes Anderson film.
Overweight, sleightly ackward, geeks.
The kinda people who played a lot of Dungeons & Dragons in the eighties, the kinda people who never got the girl in high school, the kinda people who've read all the Harry Potter books. Twice. The kinda people who say "Jedi" when asked what religion they follow. The kinda people who solved Rubicks cube on the second try.
I'm right at home.
More of the "talent" arrives.
They look nothing like the crew.
Think, "Abercrombie & Fitch" meets MTV meets Lolita.
We are told to go in the backyard.
A giant keg is set up by the swimming pool.
Another one by the Jacuzzi.
Yet another by the back door.
Two unbelievably cute nubile young girls are bouncing like ping pong balls on a trampoline.
A couple of guys are talking about how they have pre-ordered an X-Box 360.
A platter of cookies is sitting next to three open pints of ice cream.
A girl is sitting in a lawn chair.
It is at exactly this point that I realize what has happened to me.
His blog, like him, is, as they say in Scotland, pure dead brilliant.
You won't find any porn there, but you will find a delightfully hip deconstructed discourse on post-modernism, spirituality, art, design, music, marketing, film, fashion, books, technology, punk and pop. You will also find a bevy of links to a smorgasboard of smart sites.
Baby Freberg is a place where all of my childhood stories are easily accessible in one convenient place. No weird links, no demented tidbits, no porn, nuttin' but Baby. Safe for work, safe for literary agents, fun for the whole family. I've even added a brand new story to christen it. More will follow soon!
Creamsicle is a place where I can offload the virtual megaton of porn that is spilling out of my hard drive. It will be updated daily. It is not a place for the weak hearted or the right wing. It is NOT safe for work. Unless you work at the Hustler store.
Please feel free to visit one or both and leave a comment or two...
Demented Tidbits will remain right here, with sporadic updates as usual.