The Reborn Vegan Cheetah

I used to go out with a standup comic.  Let's call her Pelair… because that was her name.  She had fiery red hair, big boobs, a big ass, and her own hair salon, called Pelair Hair.  She asked me over to her house for dinner one night after she saw me on stage. I needed a free dinner more than Jamie Lynn needed a diaphragm, so I agreed.

Most of the dinner was uneventful, the usual chit chat and get to know you stuff.  I'll rephrase that:  she blabbered on and on about her hopes and ambitions and Hollywood and hair and famous people she coiffed and I nodded and wolfed down the food like a Zombie at a Mensa convention.  Truth be told, 'food' is a very loose interpretation of what she served me.  It looked like she scooped up a bunch of weeds and threw them on a plate.  I spent most of dinner ignoring her dreams and looking for anything to give my meal some flavor – dressing, oil, Hershey's syrup.  Finally, near the end, I got sick of feeling like a rabbit so I asked her if she had some hot sauce or something.

Suddenly she got distraught and said, "Nothing but goodness and wholeness enters my body."  She smiled broadly and shoved a forkful of alfalfa sprout into her face. 

"Really?  Because the other day, I had a piece of a hot dog."  I said. 

"I consider anyone who eats meat, evil," she said.  "Jamie, do me a favor… don't be evil." 

"…..Okay." 

After I helped her clear the table (hey, I'm a gentleman), I walked around her apartment and snooped through her stuff while she washed the dishes (hey, I'm a Man!). There were angels everywhere.  I mean everywhere.  If there was a flat surface in the apartment, an angel knick-knack was chillin on it.  Bobble headed cherubs shook their heads "no" vehemently whenever I walked by.

A normal  person doesn't do this, I was thinking.  As I continued looking around, I came across a huge headshot of her in the living room, and then more pictures of her all over the place   I went into the bathroom, took a seat on the toilet, looked up, and fucking freaked out again – there was literally a life-sized poster of her directly across from the toilet, I guess as a focal point for anyone having a fecal matter. 

A well-adjusted human being doesn't have pictures of themselves everywhere.  I mean how do you wake up every day and say, "Hi me.  Me.  Me.  I love me."  And then to break up the monotony of YOU, you place angels everywhere?!?  Plus who wants their body associated with taking a shit?

I spent a couple minutes sitting on the toilet composing myself before I came back out into the living room.

"Why do you have pictures of yourself?" I asked.

"Because I wake up every morning and give myself a big hug," she said.  "Then I sing."

"Why?" I said. 

"Because I'm a good fuckin person," she said.  A lil pissed off.

Later on she told me how she used to be a biker chick and a huge slut.  She blew all the members of Black Sabbath like ten times each when she was their groupie.  I realized immediately that she couldn't have evil enter her body, because she'd had so much of it enter her in her youth.  She probably hosted the entire Knievel family at one point.  She went on to detail even more prodigious tales of youthful sex and sluttery.  She was graphic, she was hardcore, she was filthy.  I had a boner.

But NOOOOOOOWWWWWWW ?  Now she was a born-again Christian and a vegan.  I was oh so fortunate enough to catch her in her re-born and blossoming phase.  PRAISE THE LORD!  Lucky me, a re-born vegan!  Why do I always find girls immediately after their slutty phase?  I have yet to find a girl who said, "It's cool you met me now!  I'm really at the zenith of my deep throating ability.  Buckle up!"

On the couch after dessert, I nodded and listened empathetically as she beamed about her new found sense of hope and pride, all the while thinking how best to shimmy off her organic cotton underpants.  There was a lot of sexual energy in the air and we started making out like two animals, totally grinding.  I started biting her neck and pulling her hair.  Going crazy.  It was ON like Donkey Kong.

Suddenly, she stops me and says,  "I haven't had sex in six year.  I'm a born-again virgin." 

"Oh come on, you're not RRRREALLY a virgin," I said. 

"I am in Jesus' eyes," she said. 

"…..Okay."

I grabbed her tit, took it out of her bra and started nibbling on it because I didn't want to argue with her.   She went, "Uh…Yess..No..No…Yes..Yess…No…No…"  She would smash my head into her tit until I started to suffocate and then suddenly pull it away.  She'd push it and pull it.  Push, pull. Smash, slap.  I felt like I was either gonna get a black eye or Cauliflower ear.

Finally I said, "COME ON?!?!?" 

"Oh my God, my body says yes," she said. "But my head says, No. No. No." 

Oh shit, this was crucial, I thought.  I have to say just the right thing to tilt the momentum in my penis's favor.

 I said, "Um…Why?" 

She said, "We're not married and you don't love me!" 

"What are you talking about?" I said. 

"It's bad to have sex before you're married, my sponsor told me that!"." she said.  "I know it wasn't YOU that put your mouth on my breast, it was the devil.  I know the devil made you do it." 

"No, it was me." 

"No it was the devil that made you do that," she said. 

"No… it was God," I pleaded "God did!" 

"No, God would never make you do that, but the devil would," she said. 

Then she abruptly left the couch and ran into her room.  I was about to leave when she returned wearing an animal print robe.

For the rest of the night she crawled around her apartment on her hands and knees acting like a cheetah.  I would be lying down and she would be crawling over me, going "Rrrrrrrr!" with her robe on.  And then when I would try to grab her, she would pull away.  "You can't capture this pussy," she would say and then slink away and purr and lick her hand.  To this day, if I see a cheetah on Animal Planet, I get wood.

I left, arguably, with the biggest case of blue balls in the history of man.  She wouldn't  even  erk it because "of the evil sperm that would be released in her spiritual sanctuary." 

 Pelair and I never really went out again. 

That night, when she dropped me off at my apartment she said she would give me a free haircut sometime.  A few weeks later I followed up on her offer and called her. "Hey Pelair, I wouldn't mind that free haircut now."  

"Okay, come to my place tomorrow at 5 p.m.," she said.

At 3 p.m. that day she called and said, "Jamie, I just wanted to let you know that I consider you evil and I don't cut the hair of evil demons." 

Then she hung up.

As proof of this story about my financial situation at time, if you see any pictures of me from 1994, you'll notice how skinny and emaciated I looked. 

Not coincidentally, you'll also notice how fucking long my hair was.

1:30 AM - 23 Comments - 33 Kudos - Add Comment

Dick and Ron

I am doing a film right now called "Finding Bliss," a comedy about porn. In it, I play a guy named, what else, Dick. Ostensibly, the movie is about porn actors trying to cross over into the mainstream as dramatic actors. It stars Denise Richards (and yes, I get a sex scene with her so suck it, haters!) and LeeLee Sobesoda or however you spell her name (google it bitches.)

Anyway, in one of my scenes with Denise, a dilemma came up (will the puns ever stop?): should Dick show dick in the movie? In other words, was Jamie going to show Little Jamie in the movie or not? To show peepee or not to show peepee, that was the question.

Personally, I don't think showing junk on film ever really hurts a man's film career. If you saw that movie KINSEY a few years back, you saw clear as day that Peter Saarsgard is hung like half an acorn, but he's still a hugely successful dramatic actor and has been nominated for multiple awards. There might even be an inverse relationship between Oscar trophies and schlong size. I don't want Mr. Saarsgard to 'google' himself and find this (although if he 'googled' himself more when he was younger he might have turned out larger), so I will say, in his hypothetical defense, that he could be a grower and not a shower (you need to pronounce that correctly or that sentence makes no sense).

I count myself as part of the 'grower' family. Sometimes, after a shower (now pronounce it the other way), I have looked down to find something that looked like a sad cocktail wiener in need of a Zoloft - come on, everyone has had LDS before! No, not Latter Day Saints -- Little Dick Syndrome. It's winter, you didn't eat your Wheaties, and you walk around all day with a crinkled, deflated balloon flapping in your boxers. Fortunately, I feel like I have a circus clown living in my taint who can blow the balloon up to an impressive size; at times long enough to be twisted into a poodle. Okay, a toy poodle. Still, it's quite a difference from the piece of fusili I had five minutes before. Or elbow macaroni. Whatever pasta provides you with the best visual. That being said, even soft, I'm at least a FULL acorn in season. Plus, the day of the shoot, I wasn't having any LDS problems, so I figured, "Hey, I'll go all in. Who doesn't love toy poodles?"

Unfortunately, more than a half pint of blood flow to the package region and the film gets an X. Yes, that's correct, you can't show a boner in a movie or its gets an X rating. I was very disappointed when I found that out. On the other hand, I didn't want to risk getting performance anxiety penis either. I know it can get cold when you're hanging out in the breeze, and the last thing I needed was for Little Jamie to not come out of his trailer.

Like most men who go full monty on film, I needed to look casual yet respectable. Since I'm famous, you have to add another inch for what is considered respectable compared to some unknown, for instance, who's playing a tranny Off-Broadway (cough, Bill Dawes, cough). That meant I needed the perfect amount of fluffing. So, seconds before shooting, I sat down with Little Jamie and gave him a stern talking to. I shook him and smacked him around a few times like I was Ike Turner and he had jut messed up dinner

I felt that the proud Mary beatdown resulted in a pretty good balance between 'blood flow ready for action' penis and 'whatever, I'm just a penis chillin' with my two homey balls' penis. Still, the director informed me that just because we filmed it, I could wait until I saw the dailies of the footage (or inchage, rather) before signing off on whether or not it could be used in the final cut of the movie.

One of the more bizarre, serendipitous things about shooting this film is the fact that one of the stars of the film is Ron Jeremy. If you don't know who Ron Jeremy is, you are probably a gay man who reads or something. In case you are in fact a gay man and you are reading my site by accident, Ron Jeremy is short, fat, hairy and, against all odds, probably the most famous male porn star ever. I saw one of his pornos with a girl I was dating once, and she said those words that every man fears: "Now THAT'S a cock!"

Seeing Ron got me thinking back to my "tuna fish" days when I had my first interaction with him. I had just been dumped both by my most recent job and my most recent girl. Not surprisingly, I was broke. And I don't mean like 'I got to wait for daddy's allowance next week' broke, I mean like below the minimum ATM withdrawal amount broke - if I even had an ATM card, which I didn't.

That meant the real worst part about being dumped wasn't 'no more woman for sex', it was 'no more woman to mooch food from.' Unfortunately, I still had to eat. So I trolled the restaurant circuit with my doctored-up resume looking for waiting jobs. For nearly a week I got bupkis (that means "nothing" for your non jews out there). That Thursday, I went to a new-fangled vegetarian restaurant in Beverly Hills in order to audition for their Friday night comedy show. After my 5 minute audition, the owner, a fat Italian guy from New York said, "Hey kid, you're not funny, but I could use a waiter." And THAT was how I "lucked" into my job waiting tables at "The Tofu Hut."

The owner was like a vegan Tony Soprano. He loved vegetables and he swore if anyone stole his recipes he would have them killed. Whenever a beautiful woman would come into the restaurant, he'd whisper in my ear, "Oooh, I'd like to show her my soy dog!" or "I'd like to TOFUCK her!" That one was actually sort of funny the first 148 times he said it.

Working there wasn't just belittling for the women; it was probably the most demeaning job I'd ever had. He kept asking me, "So, you're a comic, huh?" and then he would tell me vegetarian jokes, like, "What's the difference between boogers and broccoli? Kids don't eat broccoli!" All his jokes were vegan. I'm not kidding. His setups were usually about tempeh and his punch line was always some sort of vegetable. After he finished his joke, he'd threaten me, "Don't even think of stealing my material. I'll kill you."

Ron was one of the Tofu Hut's most frequent customers. The owner treated Ron like royalty. Whenever he entered the restaurant, the owner would turn to everyone and announce, "Hey guys, it's Ron Jeremy!" Like we were in Romper Room or Vegan Cheers. Then he would whisper in my ear, "Listen, don't screw this up. Give Ron anything he wants."

I'd go up to Ron Jeremy's table and ask, "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," he'd say. "I want apple juice. But it has to be organic. No chemicals. Okay?"

"Absolutely," I'd say.

"Okay," he'd continue. "And I want the falafel. Steamed, not fried. Has to be steamed."

"Sure," I'd say.

"And I want the organic baby leaf lettuce with the organic tofu and cheese. But not dairy cheese. Soy cheese. I can't have dairy. I'm lactose intolerant. It clogs my intestines."

In the middle of ordering, sometimes he'd get a phone call on his cell: "Okay, you need me at three o'clock? Anal sex scene? Ass to mouth? How many girls? Four? Sure, I can do that."

He'd take the phone away from his ear for a moment, then say to me, "The pumpkin pie. Yeah. Is the crust organic rice crust or wheat crust? Because I don't do gluten."

Back on the phone, "Another scene at four thirty? Two guys and a girl? Okay, that's good for me. Double anal penetration? Not really my thing, I don't want to rub cocks. I don't do gay. Okay, I'll see you in a bit. Yes, I'll wash my balls before I go. Bye."

I'm not a huge aficionado, but I like a good porn here and there, so I've have seen a few of his classic orgies. At one point, I couldn't help but notice that he never seemed to suck on any of the female porn stars' titties. I didn't think much of it, but then it hit me: Ron Jeremy IS lactose intolerant. He probably has a no-dairy clause in his rider.

The second time I saw Ron was at the Scream 3 premiere. He had his arms around two girls with the zepellin 90's fake boobs and heavily made-up faces; faces that belied the fact that either they hated their life in porn or Ron had really bad BO. I told him that I used to wait on him at "The Tofu Hut" and he looked at me bug-eyed like I had just come out of a pod and asked him to take me to his leader.

We talked for a bit and I tried to get Ron into the after-party, but I couldn't. He said, "Thanks anyway," and then said "Hey man, I've always been a big fan of your work." I was about to say "me too" but then realized that sounded incredibly gay. It was surreal. Ron seemed like a pretty cool guy. Just a normal, cool guy who happened to have enormous cockage.

I tried to think about Ron's demeanor while I played Dick in "Finding Bliss". I actually made the choice that Dick would be a fairly decent dramatic actor, as opposed to the easier choice of playing him as a horrible hack for comic effect. I think it worked and the director was happy.

Unfortunately, as the dailies would later show, it is impossible to act a 10 inch cock.

7:27 AM - 27 Comments - 39 Kudos - Add Comment