Column:
A truly sad occurrence
Published Jan. 24, 2006
So I was watching some porn the other day and really just taking in the subtleties of the art form. This particular session had me enjoying the objectification of a young lass named Britney Madison.
Over the years I have kept my eye on her. It's always a treat when I am cruising the Internet and I come across one of her "pieces." She used to be called Britney Speers until she realized faux-celebrity names don't work too well in the "adult industry." The problem is that Britney Spears is really hot, certainly hotter than Madison. Borrowing a hotter person's name as your stage name in an industry based entirely on appearances is not a great plan.
Although not as hot as the former pop princess, Madison is really right in my porn star wheelhouse. She has flowing blonde hair, cascading breasts and, the kicker, she's slightly chubby. I've never been too attracted to the spindly girls or even the "in great shape" girls. From my contact with the fairer sex, I have learned that staying in "club Tonic" shape is a full-time job for the ladies.
I guess I have never understood the appeal of a girl who runs in place for an hour a day to make random men want to screw them. Ladies, you need not try so hard to impress me. I will accept you just the way you are, unless you are pushing 300 pounds.
But I digress. I was talking about porn. This scene, Britney was working what is known as a "glory hole." I don't think the editorial board will let me explain this one, so I suggest you Google it. Now, this really isn't something I am into. It was purely a star-power situation. It's like if you're into Steve Martin, you might like "Bringing Down the House" even though you aren't into shitty movies.
So I finish up my business and mop up, wipe my brow. Normally, this is when the shame sets in. However, this comedown was different. My balls were curious. "You know, I haven't seen her in anything new lately. I wonder if she quit the biz," I thought to myself. My investigative journalist bone, long dormant, finally made its presence known.
I searched for her name and found a bio site. Imagine my shock and horror when I found that she died in a drunk driving accident almost a year ago. I had just finished beating off to a dead girl. Cue the shame. I felt like a degraded pervert. I tried to console myself: "It's OK. I didn't know any better."
My mind started reeling. I thought about how a lot of porn stars attempt to go mainstream and, failing at that, end up writing pseudo-erotica disguised as a legitimate memoir. Madison never got that chance.
I thought of Ma and Pa Madison. Their daughter died, and her legacy was being a "down-and-dirty slut." What sounds sort of naughty and fun when you are alive turns really creepy the minute you die.
Then I thought of my parents. If I were to die today, they would have a bunch of college columns about masturbating to serve as my immortal words. Perhaps in this sense, embarrassing our parents, Madison and I are kindred spirits. Except there is no video of me taking it in the behind from three dudes for a month's wages.
Madison was tragically taken before her time. Like any artist, she left behind a catalogue of her work. It would be no minor tragedy if people stopped appreciating "L'origine du monde" after Gustave Courbet passed. Although I have not done so yet, I reserve the right to masturbate to Madison in the future. She would have wanted it that way.
