I’ll tell
you what, I’m incensed right now about the television show I saw the
other day about the Girls Gone Wild guy. I’m talking about the founder
and aspiring international playboy, a joker by the name of Joe Francis.
At the time, watching him fly around in his plane and drive around
in his Ferrari and his Bentley had me incensed, as well. I’m just
revisiting my incensitivity, as it were (“as it were” meaning it’s
total rubbish and “incensitivity” meaning my weakness for envy). I
envy the guy, I really do. In a very detached, make-believe way mind
you, but I couldn’t call myself a man if I didn’t envy him on some
level. He’s building a 28,000-square foot compound to serve as World
Titty Headquarters for chrissakes. Imagine that, an empire built on
smut. I say, if you’ve got a compound then you’re up to one of two
things. One, you’re an isolationist. Or two, you run an empire of
some kind, smut or otherwise. You are a lord of some kind, smut or
otherwise. Hell, you could be a passion fruit lord as long as enough
people called the number on the screen. Perhaps you could show some
girls beforehand, eating passion fruit and flashing their titties.
And I apologize again for my repeated use of the word “titties” and
its variations. It’s for a good cause.
The world has got to be
chockfull of smutlords like this Joe Francis. But that’s not what
has me so incensed for the second time. It’s that I know for a fact
that he’s a close personal friend of Jason Hervey. Okay, I know via
a secondhand eyewitness account from a former co-worker. He used to
be my boss, Jason Hervey. But he got fired and then I got laid off.
This is the company with the CEO who sings TCB at the company Christmas
party. Two syllables, sounds like fraud? Have you guessed it yet?
And
more importantly, have you figured out who the hell Jason Hervey is
yet? Don’t worry, you’re not alone. He’s the guy who played Fred Savage’s
older brother Wayne on the hit TV series The Wonder Years. He’s also
been in a few recognizable films, such as Back to School, in which
he played the young Rodney Dangerfield, and Back to the Future as
Michael J. Fox’s uncle I believe. I have previously unlocked all the
answers via the Internet, I just forget most of them. After all, how
much memory space could I possibly justify earmarking for extraneous
Jason Hervey-related material?
I hesitate to criticize
Jason Hervey because I hear he’s litigious. Not that I couldn’t mount
my own legal defense with a capable team of attorneys. I just want
to avoid litigation at all costs. Suffice it to say that he’s extraneous.
And no Rodney Dangerfield. (I’m sorry Jason, if you’re reading this,
but it’s my humble opinion.) That’s the worst I care to say about
him, and the worst I care to say about his so-called buddy Joe Francis
is that he’s ambitious. I believe we should be watchful, if not wary,
of highly ambitious people (I assure you I’m not one of those pink-o
bastards you hear about on the local news at noon who want to outlaw
thong bikinis).
As I continue on with this harangue, I’d hate
to think that I introduced anyone to the concept of Girls Gone Wild
who had not heard of it before. My apologies if that’s the case. And
my apologies to any smut fans out there who think Girls Gone Wild
is the best titty action since Porky’s III: Porky’s Revenge. My intention
is not to belittle you for being so depraved. Really, it’s not. Just
go about your business.
Which returns
me to my point. What really burns me up about this Girl’s Gone Wild
behind-the-scenes show – what really percolates my fondue – is that
I’ve concluded this man is a business genius. He hands out tee shirts
to girls and they flash and moon and engage in other lascivious acts
of eroticism for the camera. Notice I say eroticism and not pornography.
Part of Joe Francis’ genius is that he’s managed to separate his image
from that of the porn industry itself. But come on, is he really a
genius for creating millions of non-biodegradable VHS tapes that will
be obsolete within ten years? That will be languishing in some
Is
this Joe Francis guy a genius for exploiting these intoxicated young
girls? Notice I say “intoxicated” and not “innocent.” That would be
a real stretch. “But hold on a minute now!” Joe might say if he was
here before me. “No one is being exploited.”
“But how can that be?”
I would say. “Do you deny that you profit from the captured video
images of titties?”
“No.”
“You’re capturing the titties is what you’re
doing. Not leasing or licensing but capturing them!”
“Objection!” Joe’s
lawyer would say.
“Sustained,” the judge would say.
“You own this titty
footage, Mr. Francis?” I would recover.
“Yes.”
“But do you own the titties
themselves?”
“No, of course not.”
“And do the owners of the titties
receive any share of the profit, aside from a measly, two-dollar Chinese
tee shirt that probably nets you over a thousand dollars in brand
exposure? In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you branded the 800
number right on the shirts! That’s what you call a different kind
of branding, ladies and gentlemen of the jury!”
Who buys those
tapes anyway? If it’s you, then please send me a five thousand-word
essay on what precipitated this decision. I’ll tell you who it is,
and it’s not you. It’s the drunk college guy who stumbles in late
at night and plops down in front of Howard Stern on E! or reruns of
The Man Show. The guy who didn’t get none of them titties tonight.
He sits there and thinks, Hell yeah! I’m gonna get me some of them
titties! Or perhaps he’s more of an intellectual type. They’re no
more immune to the siren song of gyrating titties. Although his intent
may be to present the video to one of his girl-slash-friends as a
gag gift. A non-biodegradable gag gift that she’ll watch once with
him, making fun of all the girls for one reason or another, and then
surreptitiously slip in the nearest trash chute.
But let me
get back to this Joe Francis guy one last time. Because I think he’s
only got it half figured out. Sure, he’s got money. But number one,
is it worth the big sellout? And number two, couldn’t he use this
money and influence to leave a mark on the world? That is, other than
a grassy knoll in
I
propose that Joe Francis give 10 percent of his profits to charity.
You know, reading to blind people, swimming with quadriplegics, dressing
the wounds of cock fighting birds. Good causes. And here’s why he
should do it (and pay me a ten percent commission on future increases
in profit): Because he’ll feel better about himself and not as bad
about adding a few more drops to the smut melting pot. And more importantly,
his customers will feel better about themselves and not as bad about
buying more videos. So, in essence, he’d make smut responsible for
turning our squalid inner cities around. It would be a goddamned PR
windfall for the guy! See, my perception right now is that he’s doing
shows on cable but not so much on mainstream stations. I’d like to
sick Matt Lauer on him. But if he followed my coaching to the letter,
he’d come out smelling like a rose. Or at least a rose tattoo on a
well-oiled titty.
He’d have to say, “I understand how you could
think that I’m a [exploitative smutlord] Matt. But let’s look at the
facts. Number one, people enjoy the videos. The gift of titties is
one that keeps giving and giving to oneself. Number two, people are
going to continue buying these videos, whether it’s me profiting from
it or someone else. It’s become part of our culture, part of our society.
So why not give it cultural and societal importance? That’s what I
say. If you told a girl that she could cure a man of impotence with
one flash of the titties, chances are she’d do it in a heartbeat.
Why not harness that power, is what I say. It’s only a matter of time
before everyone realizes that titties are inherently good, plain and
simple, Matt.”
The only viable case study I can cite, to underscore
the long-term benefits of giving short-term profits to charity, is
that of Paul Newman. You know, he’s got the lines of salsa and salad
dressing and various “snackums.” In fact, just the other day my wife
and I were at the grocery store, buying popcorn among other things,
and we had the field narrowed to Paul Newman and Orville Reddenbocker.
Despite Reddenbocker’s popcorn-making seniority, we considered it
about a dead heat. The fat contents were similar, the packages were
the same size and, all other things being equal, they were just bags
of dried corn. But the charity factor was the tiebreaker. So, I guess
my flimsy conclusion is this: If some drunk college fratboy couldn’t
decide between purchasing a Girls Gone Wild video and a similar product
– say, a Girls Gone Utterly Bonkers video – I think the tiebreaker
would be the contribution being made to society. Not in his name but
in smut’s name.
Do you think it’s a coincidence that the words
“surreptitious” and “quantitative” have tits in them? But that’s not
the question I want answered. The question I want answered is this:
If the girls are intoxicated when they “go wild” – and are also intoxicated
when they consent to having video footage of their escapades replicated
millions of times and distributed to anyone with a major credit card
– doesn’t that render the contract null and void? My understanding
is that no physical contract is signed by either party. And if the
college guys and the single, middle-aged men are also drunk – the
very men on the demand side of the equation – is Mr. Francis not merely
exploiting cheap, watered-down beer? If we “drill down” to the core
of the issue, we are forced to enter a debate on where the quantitative
and qualitative lines are drawn between sobriety and drunkenness.
Between free-spiritedness and poor judgment. Between requesting and
aggressively supplicating young girls to show their titties. Between
profiteering and exploitation. The list goes on and on, but I fear
I’ve said too much already.