Extra Extra!

My Dearest Devils, we're moving the blog over to my regular site, kristinelevine.com.  Stand by for more details but some really exciting changes are coming very soon.

All my love,
Your pornclerk

He Fuckin Knows.

We clerks are not perfect.  When you're in the babysitting business, you've gotta kick out scumbags and sometimes, we get the wrong scumbag.

Sometimes police get the wrong guy.  

Not everyone can have a photographic memory like Detective Goren on Law and Order...  That fuckin guy. 

There is a club here in Portland called Dante's.  It's exactly what you think it is.  It's dark.  It's broody.  There's a fire pit.  It's filled with sinful things. But it's also what I consider to be my home club.  The owner has always been exceptionally kind to me and I love him very much.  When he can, he lets me sit my fat ass up in the balcony during shows so I don't have to sweat it out in the trenches with the commoners.  

It's also where he puts celebrities when they come to town.

On one such occasion I was up in the balcony, sitting in the front.  There was no one else up there.  When  the show started, up came a very tall man, full lips and curls.  I knew this motherfucker in an instant.

I turned to my friend and said, "Oh my fucking god. THEY ARE EVERYWHERE."  I looked back at the man sitting behind me.  Mean mugged him as hard as I could.  I have to deal with these pricks in my real life, I'm not doin it while I'm having fun too.  HELL NO.

My friend said, "What?  Who?"

"Customers.  From the fucking store.  How the fuck did they let this piece of shit up here."  I made sure that stupid fuck behind me, heard me.  He curled up his dopey eyebrows as if to be confused.   What a fucking retard.

"I've had to 86 this asshole so many times..." I told my friend.

"No shit?" My friend said, "What'd he do?"

I turned and burned a look of disgust at him, so dark and unholy and said, "Oh. HE FUCKIN KNOWS."

I went downstairs to get a drink, the owner of the club stopped me and said, "Hey Kristine, did you see Vince up there?   You guys getting along?"

???  Vince? Who?

"Vincent D'Onofrio.  He's up in the balcony."

Not for long, he wasn't.  When I got back, he'd left.

I hope to meet him someday.  And apologize for my terrible behavior.  "I'm sorry sir, I thought you had masturbated in the King Cock isle."  

"I'm the Official Sentry of the Island of Misfit Toys..."

Michael Mcbride was a scumbag from the day he was born. He was ugly and ridiculously stupid. His mother was a whore and a drunk, his sisters were no better. Now in their 60's, I imagine Bev and Barb feel bad about leaving me alone with their pervert brother, but it's too late now isn't it.

The twins were supposed to be babysitting me. But they always went upstairs to smoke weed and listen to records while Michael "watched" me. I was 4 years old. I remember he took out his penis in front of his friend, an even uglier motherfucker with crazy teeth pointing in all directions like a confused compass. Ugly's name was Red, due to his long, bright red hair. Red said, "Dude, that's gross..." I remember Michaal saying, "Don't worry dude, she does it all the time..."

All the time. Thank god I remember only once.

Fast forward 30 years, I was working at the porno store on a snowy Christmas eve. I have often thought the only reason I've understood the store, the way it functions and it's dysfunction, is BECAUSE I was molested. Normal people can't cut it there. You have to be broken to know how it works, so that you can work with broken parts of people... All I have ever tried to do is see where their holes were, same as mine usually, and try to fill them up best I could with love and care and sometimes, discipline.

But on that cold Christmas eve, an old man came in to the store. Now, coincidentally, my mother used to work at that same store, back when it was a restaurant called The Crab Bowl. When I was a little girl, I used to sit in the corner of that restaurant with a drunk man, my mom's friend, who I named "Woofie." His real name was Don. We'd color, he'd howl, eat poached eggs and toast with me while my mother was working. I drank hot chocolate, he'd drink whatever was put in front of him.

Don recognized me because I look so much like my mother. "You Suzy's daughter?" I am, indeed. We were both astonished. He remembered me as a child, I remembered him, looking the same.

Woofie came in that Christmas eve to give me some "terrible" news, he said. "So sad," he said. "Marianne's son was killed tonight in a car accident."

I paused. "WHAT? Which son?" She'd had another son, a bastard from a married man who was never told who his father was. Every one knew, including me, but him.

Woofie said, "Well David died a long time ago, also in an accident. But tonight, Mike Mcbride died. Isn't that awful? Marianne lost both her sons."

I laughed. Damn right she did. I'm in this porno store because of what that stupid fuck did to me, for what it's worth, good and bad, I can't even get out of it or away from it. She lost both her sons. She didn't deserve either of them to begin with.

And as Woofie went on to tell me about the details of Michael's "tragic" death, I listened passively while watching the snow softly fall through the windows of the porno store. Sitting at my counter. Right where I believe, I was meant to be.

For good or bad.

You don't know me from TV.

Once upon a time, a very beautiful young man came into the store looking for a vibrator for his girlfriend.

She's shy, he says.

Then she's not adult enough to have sex, I think.

The boy seemed a little nervous too but, hey, I've done this way more often than he has, so I put him at ease, asked him some key questions and sent him home with a basic model that would get any job done. The very next night, he came back. This time, much more nervous. And he was carrying the bag I had sent home with him the night before.

"Hey Jason, What's up?" "Well..." He stammered. He pulled the vibrator out of the bag, "It's weird, it's... it's too big."

"WHAT?"  I said, "Jason unless your girlfriend is a seven year old, this thing is not too big. If she's an adult and cant get it in, she needs to see a doctor. If she's a child, YOU need to see a doctor. Either way, I'm not taking it back."

"Oh ok ok no I know it's just that, can I talk to you over here?" He looked sideways like he was about to tell me a racist joke. "Ok. The truth is, and I should've told you this yesterday, but the truth is." Deep breath. "It's not for my girlfriend, it's for me."

"OH JESUS! Well now it all makes sense, why didn't you just tell me that shit in the first place? Now look what you could have avoided, this is TOTALLY not the right one for your butt. Silly boys. Ok baby, come with me. Let's find you the right one. I'm still not taking that shit back though..."

And happily, we walked through the store, put batteries in things. We had a lovely time, and finally I sent him home with a great turd shaped thing meant for baby boy's fresh, pink bottoms.

Fast forward a year. I'm at a night club and the boy bumps into me. He's with a whole pack of his dude-brofriends. Jason grabs me, stops me.  "Oh my god I KNOW you!" He says, "I've seen you on tv right?"

I smile, shake my head. "No, you don't know me from tv."

"Yeah I do! I know ok don't tell me I'm gonna figure this out, what show were you on, Comedy Central special or something?"

I've crossed my arms, shaking my head.

"You've been on tv, right? Ok I'm gonna get this."

"Yeah, I've been on tv, but that's not where you know me from. You don't want me to tell you, in front of your friends where you know me from so I suggest you drop it."

His eyes got wide and more confused. "What the fuck, really? Where the fuck could I know you from that you can't say in front of my friends? I mean seriously, it's gonna drive me crazy. Guys, it's gotta be tv. Where else could it be? Come on, you're fucking with me. What show was it?"

I give up.

I took his hand in mine, looked him in the eyes, and spoke gently thus, "Jason White, I work at a porno store. And you lied to me when you bought a vibrator, telling me it was for your girlfriend but it was actually for you, and it was too big for you butt. And I remember you because in all my years of pornclerking, you are the only person who's ever been brave enough to come back and tell me the truth. I love you for that." I gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked away.

His dude-bros were silent. When your pornclerk tells you to drop it, drop it.

Don't YOU love your Bitch Ditch?

Well I do. efferteez.com, click on the KL logo and go get you somethin pretty. My head hurts and is still fuzzy from the possible brain damage I may have had during my drunk skinny dip/fall in a fountain. Love, your pornclerk

Miss M and the Perfect Blow Job.

Continuing our saga of the Tranny hooker we call Miss M...

She claimed she could deep throat a soda can with out even using her hands.  I called bullshit on her. Seriously? In fact the Girl had a big, luscious mouth, so I didn't doubt her ability to get a cock IN it, but to deep throat it with out even forcing it down with her hands?  No one pulling on her wig/hair?  PFFT!

I challenged her to a suck-off.

She accepted my terms.  I picked any rubber cock off the wall, she'd get it down her gullet.

I chose wisely, not an expensive one, one who's packaged was previously damaged by a man who'd tried to bite through it (more on that later) but it was of significant size and girth.  I thought for sure she'd have to do a cartwheel over it to get it down with out using her hands.

We opened it, Miss M put it in her mouth, tilted her head back and the damn thing slid down like she was a professional sword swallower.   My co-clerk and I were in awe of her!  She spread her arms as if to say "Tada" and "Told you so."

She took a very graceful bow and ejected the wet rubber wiener.  "See Girl, I tole you so.   What you gotta do is open your throat, you just gotta relax.  Once it gets passed the tonsils you can get anything down. Oh and you gotta breathe through your nose, that's important."

Miss M had cock sucking down to a science.  "It should never take more than 7 minutes.  Longer than that, you're doing it wrong."   She should know, it was her business to know and in her business, time is money.

I half assed wiped off the cock with a paper towel and tried it myself.   I gagged almost immediately.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  Not from the humiliation of being out done by a gorgeous man in designer mules, but from the torture of shoving that giant stupid fake shaft down my pie hole.

My co-clerk took the thing from me, I don't even think she bothered wiping it off, and she did get it down, though with much less grace and flair as our Miss M.   Women do everything with less grace and flair than Trannies.

Up till then, I'd assumed I was a fantastic cocksucker.   As a fat woman, and a pornlcerk at that, I have very little to offer a man.  Sure, I'm smart and funny but what good does that do me?  Men don't give a shit about smart and funny, in fact sometimes they flat out fucking resent us for it.  The only thing I had going for me, I was certain of it, was that I gave great head.  Fat girls give great head, everyone knows that.  Look at us, we clearly love shoving shit in our mouths, we eat everything how can we not give great head???  HOW COULD I POSSIBLY SUCK AT SUCKING!?

I was distraught.  I needed lessons.  I put my pride aside and begged Miss M to teach me her ways.  She said, "No problem, I'll find someone.  I'll give you a live demonstration."  She turned on her heels and trotted back down the dark hall to the arcade.

She came back a few minutes later, "Ok I got a guy, his dick is a tree trunk.  He said you can come in and watch."  I took a second to process what she was saying to me.  I was being invited to watch a tranny suck-off a straight guy.  In a booth.  In the arcade.  And I was gonna learn how to suck cock myself.  By watching.  A tranny.  Suck a man's "tree trunk."  In the arcade.   I probably stopped blinking cause she said, "OK?  Girl you comin?"

"Uh yeah...  Why not."  I mean, when am I gonna have this kind of invitation again?  (As it would turn out, about a thousand times more but that's not the point.)

We walked down into the darkness together, at the end of the hall one booth door was open and the porn was already running.  Our star was getting ready for the show.

He was naked from the waist down, and sure as shit, big as a tree trunk.  A tree with many, many rings.   Think, Rainforest Teak with vines as his veins.  BIG.  He put out his hand to shake mine and I respectfully declined his offer of courtesy.  No, I'm Jane Goodall and you are now a monkey.  We're not friends.

I locked the door behind us, and Miss M went right to work.  She very lightly went to her knees, looked at me, put her hands behind her back just to show off, took a deep breath and dove in.

After a minute or two of watching her technique I think I got it.  Slow, breath through the nose, a little tension past the tonsils, head tilted ever so slightly... I knew her time was short to the big moment so I excused myself from the room. I marched right up to that rubber dick and shoved it down my throat!  Of course not with as much grace and flair as Miss M but by the Gay Gods I got that shit down!  I was so proud of myself.   My co-clerk hugged me.  I did it!   I CAN DO IT!  Miss M is a wonder.

My co-clerk and I stared at the merchandise we'd used to learn on. I finally addressed the issue at hand, "What are we gonna do with it now?  It's been in three mouths and none of us want it.  Are you gonna buy it?"

"I'm not gonna buy it."

"Well we can't put it back on the shelf that would be disgusting..."

"Well yeah but... if you think about it are any of these toys sterile?  I mean, how do we know the factory workers are just shoving them in their holes before they ship them?"

"True... and shouldn't people wash their toys when they get home anyway?  Isn't it really on them to take care of that and not to assume every thing is squeaky clean, especially if it's going in their holes?"

My co-clerk had the thing repacked up and sitting next to her stack of merchandise to put away before I could even finish that sentence.  Neither one of us felt good about it, but both of us knew what we had to do.

I don't think any of us have ever thought of tweekers as problem solvers, but as luck would have it, a very skinny, clearly gakked out of her gourd so high on meth should could see the stars below her, was probably sent to us that night as an angel.   She came in with a guy, every bit as adorably strung out as she was, but less -- clumsy and dancey about it.

"How much for a one a those rooms?  I need a room is it ten dollars fine here take this just put in any movie I don't care..." My co-clerk looked at me.  She was a goddamned genius.  She casually pushed the lesson-dildo towards the tweeker lady.  "Oh my god I'll fucking take that too, how much?  Oh that's all fine fucking give me that and a room let's go."

Problem solved and no ethical boundaries were hopped over or crawled under.   I'd like a tee-shirt that says, "Thank the gods for tweekers."  Because sometimes, they're little fairy godtweekers and meth is just pixie dust.

Fast forward five years.  I'm working at a different store, same company.  A man walks in.  Asks me how I'm doing, tells me it's been a long time...  "I'm sorry do we know each other?"

"Yeah kinda.  I'm the guy who, well you know, a few years ago you watched your tranny friend..." his voice trailed.

"OH YES!!!  GREG!  So great to see you again. I'm so sorry,  I didn't recognize you with your pants on."  

Guest Blogger: Pornclerk Andrew...SHITZILLA!

Pornclerk Andrew is more than a clerk, he is an extremely gifted writer and a fellow soldier with us, literally in the SHIT.  Though probably each of us clerks have our own personal Shitter story, this one is The Freddy Krueger of Shitters.  Andrew kindly gives us, Shitzilla.  Turn on all the lights.  Lock your bathroom door from the inside so nothing can escape and read on if you dare.  

~pornclerk.com editorial staff 

My coworker’s friend Phillip came into the store just to shoot the shit, He was a

bouncer at a dive bar down the street from my store and always would tell me stories of his days bouncing at my favorite girly bars around Portland. As we were talking a little Mexican guy brought a DVD up to the counter asking for a preview. I said that I’d put him in booth 2. After a few minutes of collecting four rolls of paper towels sheet by sheet the Mexican guy came out of the booth and up to the counter.

 

“Amigo, ders somebody seeping in der,” he said.

 

I rolled my eyes and though here we go again. After reassigning the Mexican guy to another booth, I grabbed the Mag-light and headed back to the arcade. Sleeping porn store customers happens on an occasional basis. Middle age combined with the influence of alcohol can psychically exhaust a person after they have just covered themselves in their own semen. 

 

Though a sleeping customer is not an everyday occurrence in an adult video arcade, it happens enough that most porn clerks have worked out a procedure into handling the situation. (Since this incident the management at my store has added a rape whistle to our keychain to wake people up.) I popped open the door to booth 2 and banged on the side of the wall with the butt of the Mag-light. In the glow of the DVD menu screen I saw a tall lanky man slumped out on the padded bench, he was completely naked. I was surprised to see that this man was not really in the bottom of the pecking order of porn store customers. He wasn’t a trailer dweller who didn’t pay for his booth time with bottle refunds. He seemed well groomed, un-famished and probably had only seen crystal meth on TV. In fact what seemed like moments before he came though the entrance to my store sporting and Izod polo shirt and pressed kakis, he even smiled at me and said hello.

 

“Wake up!” I yelled. He groaned like a middle school kid who’s mom was telling

them breakfast was really. “Get dressed. I want you out of here in five minutes.” I left the booth and went back to the counter. I watched the clock. A part of me was anticipating the disappointment I’d feel when he’d becoming out of the booth within two minutes.

 

“What’s happening?” Phillip asked.

 

“Oh nothing, some asshole just fell asleep in the booth. This happens from time to time.”

 

The five minutes passed and they guy still hadn’t left the booth. I sighed. I did

not want to have to deal with an “incident” as we call situations like this in the porn clerking business. I went into the booth banged harder with the Mag-light. “If you’re not out of here in two minutes you’ll be banned permanently!” I yelled, with more conviction than before. The guy just groaned louder. I walked back to the counter but with more frustration than my previous booth visit.

 

Philip saw that the incident was getting to me.“Dude let me handle this. I have

to deal with this shit all the time.” This was true; Phillip made a living as a bouncer strip clubs Devil’s Point and the Acropolis Steakhouse. It was a safe bet that he’d encountered his fair share of drunk dickheads in his day. I handed him the Mag-light and watched from the counter as he walked back into the arcade. Almost immediately he came back out sporting a thousand yard stare of horror on his face.

 

“Dude, you can deal with that fucker, I’m not going to.”

“Why?”

 

“He just shit himself.”

 

My eyes bugged out of my head “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

My heart sank as I began to realize what I had gotten myself into.

 

I left what I perceived to be a high stress and demanding job at Miller Paint to work in the pornography business. Despite a four dollar an hour pay cut, I figured that working in an adult retail establishment would meet most of my slackerish demands. They don’t care about my piercings, I don’t have to wear a uniform and my boss is well aware of how much marijuana I smoked. With all the downtime I had a chance to catch up on my reading and do homework. But with all the perks of the porn clerking profession I began to realize that I was face to face with the fine print. Nudity and fecal matter were two things I would have never had to deal with had I kept a career in home improvement.

 

“Well.” I said “We got to get him out.”

 

I stormed into the booth and pounded on the wall of the booth. I saw him still

lying on the bench passed out. If Chuck Berry and GG Allin saw the amount of fecal matter he was covered in, they would have ejaculated.

 

“LISTEN SHIT STAIN YOU NEED TO GET OUT THE FUCK OUT OF MY

STORE RIGHT….”

 

“HEY!” He sprang to his feet out of his drunken stupor. Little chucks of shit fell

off of him. “WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN MY BOOTH?!” The shit monster lunged toward me I got out of the booth just in time to see the side of his face hit the wall.  Customers who witnessed the situation said that I did a thirty-foot standing long jump in half a second.  I shined the Mag-light into the booth and I saw the shit monster poke his head from behind the corner with a murderous rage in his eye. He yelled at me but I was too traumatized to remember what he said.

 

 

Psychologist say that when a person experiences a traumatic event, the brain is

overwhelmed with processing the situation that the short term memory is overloaded, leaving parts of the event blackout from a person’s mind. This was something I never understood until this incident. Before I knew it I was behind the counter and Shitzilla was trying to put on his clothes as he yelled at me walking out the door. The Phillip and the rest of the customers were frozen in shock. I grabbed the baseball bat hidden behind the counter. While genuinely freaked out I could remember very little over the events of the final outcome of this incident. What I think happened was that another customer in the store might have called 911 on their cell phone. Within what seemed like only a few seconds after the attack the police were in our parking lot. Shitzilla had gotten into his black Dodge Stratus and put the keys in the ignition, which by legal definition is a DUI. I wanted to explain to the police what happened. I could have filed attempted assault with bodily waste on this asshole, but I just wanted this situation to go away. 

 

I spent the final hour of my shift with my face in my palm wishing that I got paid more the $8.40 an hour. But all I did was lock the booth and put a hand made "do not enter" sign on the door, wishing I knew Spanish well enough to apologize the janitor who would have to clean it up the next morning. 11 O’clock rolled around and pulled out of the parking lot as the tow truck was taking away Shitzilla’s car. The next day on the way to school I passed by a bus stop in front of the county jail. Shitzilla was standing there; apparently the guards had hosed him down since I last saw him.

 

On occasion Shitzilla tries to comeback into my store. He doesn’t understand why I don’t let him back in. I doubt he has any memory of the whole event, he doesn’t know how lucky he is. 

 

Because I really wish I could forget it.