Tyler Knight

So, I just got back from this red carpet thing for The 8th Day aka “the greatest porn feature ever made” according to the critics.

This is only the second time I have ever done this kind of thing, and I have to down a half-dozen mojitos ahead of time to do it. It is fucking painful. The director and the Adam & Eve studio execs make me go because after all, I’m only the male lead in this God damned thing.

At the red carpet, I am standing to the side hoping not to be noticed so that I can slither inside. A six-foot tall, ice blonde in a tight white dress that showed what she had for lunch–who had nothing to do with the film at all–walks down the carpet, and those fucking flashbulbs turn night into daylight. She walks right in. Other people who were less beautiful that actually are part of the film get hassled.

Finally, I am spotted slinking in shadows, and some unseen hand shoves me along the red carpet. Thank God I see Kylie Ireland and Amber Rayne, so I sprint over to them.

Flash bulbs do their damnedest to invoke epileptic seizure. They look fucking beautiful and I am wearing a t-shirt and Dickies pants looking like I slept in a field. I smile a phony ass smile for the pictures so long, my God damned face hurts. I am getting yelled at by faces behind the bright lights because I am not standing on the mark.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

I look down and sure enough, there is a blue “X” taped off on the carpet.

When another hot chick slinks onto the carpet, I sneak inside.

Inside,I see the director, Ren, the producers, Kayden Kross and Bree Olsen, and I hide among them at the cool kids section. Random people come up to the table trying to be seen next to the in crowd. Porn paparazzi batter us with more pics. They have to ask who I am, so they know what they took a picture of.

I can’t help but think if I wasn’t a star in the movie I would not even be invited here and nobody would even talk to me.

It’s fucking high school. The 13′th grade with more money.

At the VIP table, I chug 52,000,000 free vodkas to take the edge off. I watch the lunacy in front of me as the lesser males are trying their damnedest to get a hook up with prime ass for the night. Mini dramas all around me.

After a while I’m feeling vodka nerve-numb, and some more random hands grab me and pull me to a group of girls in the cast for photo-ops. More fake-ass smiles and my inhibitions are gone. I am fucking blinded by the flashes, drunk and disoriented.

On the way back to the VIP table an endless stream of girls whom I do not know (or recognize) come up to me and start chatting meaningless bullshit. I look at the mouths move–holes that I wonder if my penis has been inside–but no sound from them makes it to my ear before it’s washed out in the walla. Apparently I fucked them in scenes *shrug*. I have nothing to say and I sure as hell am not clever in my current state, so I grab whatever random hot girls that comes up to me and make out with them. I get zero resistance. Fucking none. Even from those that don’t know me but don’t push away in case they should know me. I’m grabbing ass–I don’t give a fuck. I am chain-macking down on the ho’s. It’s fucking awesome. I am King Dork tonight. This is for all my fellow nerds.

Drink sloshing in my hand, I’m half way back to the table I spot him. Another black guy.

Hell fucking no! This can not stand! I am the only Negro allowed at these functions!

I want to hit him. Kylie Ireland rescues me from doing something stupid like beating up the poor black kid, or worse, taking out my cock and sticking it in some random girl I make out with, and guides me by the hand to the table. I sit down, pissed and with a chubby. I am torn between beating his ass and fucking Kylie. This is very confusing.

A huge screen is showing the movie. The clip is of me chasing white girls around the desert. I have dred locks and I am wearing a duster and goggles to protect my eyes from a sand storm. Kayden is in white panties. That’s it. I am slamming a vodka cranberry, I try to make sense of it all.

I get up to take a piss, but I am toasted and I holster the cock before I am done peeing. My pants now have a piss spot. I do not care. I am drunk and pissy pantsed.

Small talk, more drinks, it’s past midnight and I get bored with the bullshit and call for a ride home. On the way to the bar’s door I make out with more random girls who seem to have something important to say to me. I’m not big on remembering names or pretending to care about what stranger has to say, so I pull them into my tent I am pitching, intent on stabbing them to death with my woody through my pants. Lots of sycophants telling me how great I am. “Dude, it’s just fucking I wanna say.” I don’t.

I think about logging into World of Warcraft and level my druid.

I just got home now. I keep my geek cred in full effect because instead of being balls deep in hot ass, I am typing this post on the Internet. Christ I’m a loser. The fucking swirlies have my head and there is a stupid wrist band thingy on me. I try to rip if off with my teeth cuz’ I gotta wake up and fuck some juicy ass Latina girl tomorrow early in the am, but the mother fucker stretches. How do you get these fucking things off anyway?

Oh yeah,to the other black dude at the party. I’m sorry bro, I’m not normally such a dick. I’m insecure and I had to get tanked to keep from bolting out the door, let alone even show up. I’m not very socially evolved. I’m sorry.

——

Sorry in advance for this post. It probably is a long ass diatribe and it is probably not legible. Actually I lie. I am not sorry. Good night.

——

afterthought.

I have lipstick all over my face, my pants are pissy, I did not get anywhere with some X-Rated Hanna Montana looking chick, and my GF won’t fuck me cuz’ my breath is flammable.

I won’t be doing this again.

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Tagged: Creative Memoir