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From Behind Our White Picket Fence
Week Two
by: Freddy & Eddy
Well, here we are again, producing our "advertorial" column for your viewing and chewing pleasure. Just what the heck is "advertorial?" Well, we think of it as being "vertorial," which is to say it's composed of words, while the "ad" part designates us as belonging down in the putrid septic tank with the rest of the advertising department here at the Weekly. In actuality, what this really means is that we don't have to follow all the dumb-ass rules by which the real writers have to abide. Is that the coolest or what? Sure, you won't find us up on the 3 rd floor (Or was it the 4 th ? We can't remember because no one up there was actually up there when we toured the place) with the important wordsmiths, but we can drink at lunch with our fellow advertorial scumbags in the shitty building next to them. (Pondering thought, why does the department that pays the salaries of the writers on the 3 rd - or 4 th floor - who aren't there forced to inhabit the lousy building?)
But who wants to be up there, anyway? Because, you see, we Advertorial Writers (or, as we'd rather be called, Wradvertorialists ) aren't really writers at all! Those poor folks can't even accept gifts! They have to have actual standards . In mid-September, we were interviewed by a very nice lady from the LA Times who wouldn't even take a book home that helps women achieve better orgasms. Who the hell wants that ? We bet her husband really appreciated her moral stance that night. "No, honey, I just couldn't take that awesome book on female ejaculation from them because I have journalistic standards and integrity ." Blech! As for us, we can be bought, damn it, so if you have something you want us to write about, that'll get us off, send it on as quick as you can! Hurry. Place an ad with our man Paul and you'll really get the welcome mat rolled out (special rates for those of you who can't wait to vote in November's special election - hoorah!).
Ok, ok, we won't totally roll over. Your new Wradvertorialists do draw the line at some point. If we try something crappy or your product or service simply fails to inspire the slightest urges toward our bedroom, consider yourself done a favor as we hasten your exit from the adult industry toward your real calling walking the beat at Wal-Mart. Oh, wait, that might mean you could no longer place ads with us and that's bad, so tell you what, we won't say anything bad if you fail the fuck test, we just won't say anything . Shhhhh...
Our question of the week: "Hey you two, what are porn stars really like? Do they really enjoy the sex they're having on screen?"
Not only will we be more than happy to answer this question definitively, but we'll be doing it every month! That's right, we're going to let you in on the secret lives behind the women and men who fuck on screen for our collective entertainment in our brilliantly conceived, "Freddy and Eddy Dine with Porn Stars." Think "Table for Two," only much more entertaining and with hot chicks and men with giant pricks. Oh, the possibilities! Here's how it works; we'll use our newfound clout as the Weekly's Wradvertorialists to entice adult film companies to let us borrow some of their talent for a night, where we'll wine and dine them in our fabulous kitchen - featured in "Pardon Our Dust" in the lofty LA Times, thank you - and ask them the questions to which you've always wanted answers. Is double penetration painful? Do the woman barf before or after having sex with Ron Jeremy? How much Viagra DO you ingest to make it through the day? Does that big cock require special underwear? When you decide to run for state senate, do you think your lesbian orgy scenes will hinder your chances?
