Fear and Loathing

Trashman sinks his teeth into the unholy union of porn and Vegas

It was Friday in mid-July at noon, and I found a bar in the corner of the room. It was time to start. A bright young publicist from Private named Adella recognized my name from my pinned-on press pass and started footin' the drinks. Perfect. She introduced me to porn vet Gloria Leonard, who now heads up the industry's FSC (Free Speech Coalition), a team whose goals are exhibited in its namesake. Gloria is an articulate and funny woman in her 50s. She made more than 35 porn movies in the late '70s and early '80s. She worked on Wall Street, and for more than 10 years she was publisher of High Society magazine. "The FSC [Free Speech Coalition] is fighting the real deal, it's fighting censorship every step of the way. This business needs this type of representation," she says.

More drinks ensued, and I noticed Sunset Strip/Cathouse diehard Janine wander by, a line of Japanese gentlemen armed with cameras in her wake. It was obvious those guys were full-on diggin' Janine's doctored-mammary scene and trailer-court Cindy Crawfordisms. Amphetaminic anal queen Phyllishia Anne sported the smallest sheer shorts I have ever seen. A porn-star pal of mine calling herself Randi Rage signed autographs at the Odyssey/Gen XXX booth. She was striking in her lace and sheer tutto get-up and orange G-string, a curvy girl topped with a shoulder-length brunette do.

"You better call me tonight," she says. I watched her sign a photo for a jock type with a gym-assisted torso. It said: "Jim, you make me cum soooo hard! XXX OOO, kisses Randi!!"

I saw some male porn stars like Randy West, lurking about largely unnoticed. The males are the unsung heroes of this business, an industry that is probably the only one in the world where women are paid three times as much as the men.

I talked to Valley-girlish blonde Shane, an ex onscreen rod-stiffener and current shooter of three separate condoms-only hard-core "gonzo" lines (Shane's World, Pornological, Slumber Party), about the five porn stars who have tested HIV positive since the beginning of the year (Marc Wallice, Tricia Devereaux, Caroline, Kimberly Jade and Brooke Ashely) and if it influenced her decision to go all-condom.

"Yeah, that was half of it, and the other half is I have three younger sisters and one younger brother," she says. "So I do it for all the kids. When I go down to the beach and all the little surfer boys go, 'Shane, you rule,' and I'm like, 'I can't believe you're watching porn already; how old are you, you little perverts!' Really, somebody has to set a good example; it makes me feel better about my job."

At the Sin City booth, PR princess Lysa Stone roped me into a picture with two of their stars, then bought a round and invited me to the Sin City party that night at the Rio hotel and casino. After more drinks, I split back to my hotel.

At around 10 p.m., I was hammered and talking to the stiff and well-suited concierge behind a desk at the Rio hotel.

"Do ya know where the Miranda room is, kind sir?" I asked.
"Lemme guess," he said sprightly, "you're looking for the Feed the Children event?"

"Uh, not exactly. I'm looking for the Sin City porn party," I answered through a burp.

His brow furrowed as he answered me with a smirk while pointing in the direction of the crowded casino, "Go straight through the casino to the back." As I turned, he added, "That's where the porn freaks are."

The fucking hypocrite, I thought. The dork probably beats it to porn on a regular basis.

A minute later I found the party, gave my name to a duo of rent-a-cops at the door and was let in. The cafeteria-size room was done up in a beach motif in celebration of Sin City's new smutflik Cape Sin. A DJ spun the hits from a booth above and behind the dance floor. A good 200 or so press, industry and porn stars were crowded into the scene.

A full catered buffet of shrimp, crab, chicken and whatnot was stretched out along one end of the room. I spotted portly porn legend Ron Jeremy stuffing his face with everything in sight, his fat fingers pushing the fishy pieces into his rounded face. I coulda puked. Lysa Stone introduced me to famed Pussyman director David Christopher, a loud Jewish guy who spat tiny fragments of chicken in my face as he spoke. I left him and went to the bar.

While I waited for a drink, someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around to see a Tommy Lee-looking guy going, "Hey, don't ya remember me?" He had an insanely mammiformed Pamela Lee clone under his arm.

"Uh, no," I answered.
"Stacy Starr. I was the drummer in the Zero's ['80s/'90s purple Zero's, not punk-rock Zeroes]. I met you in Arizona at the fuckin' Mason Jar, remember?"

"Ah, yeah, I remember. You had long purple hair then, huh?"
I did remember. He played like Razzle, the late drummer of Hanoi Rocks, the guy Vince Neil manslaughtered. I was amazed to learn Stacy is now acting in pornos with his wife Elizabeth, a woman mostly known for her fetish work. They said they recently shot a show with perv David "Pussyman" Christopher. According to his wife, Stacy is in possession of a monster schlong; "porn stars ain't got nothin' on my Stacy," she said.

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