I know everyone's out there holding their breath waiting for my report on the "Rush" premier. Sadly, a chain of events took place that stymied me and kept me from attending.

It's all Mike Quasar's fault! That's right, Q, Quasarman, The Oracle Formerly Known as Q: It was his fucking fault, and he's just going to have to accept full and complete responsibility.

You see, Q was my secret date for the evening. And before you even start, you can shitcan the fag jokes. Our relationship is purely platonic. Anyway, Q stood me up.... he flaked... he allowed certain events in his own life to then effect mine.

It began yesterday at about 5:30P.M. I was in the office editing. My cell phone rang. It was Q.

"JimmyD! You all set for tonight?"

"Yep! I'm even wearing clean underwear," I quipped.

"Okay listen," Q continued, ignoring my quip. "The girl just got here. We're already shooting pretty girl, I'm out of here in an hour or so," Q promised.

"Call me when you're leaving," I said.

We hung up. I went back to work thinking its going to be tight, but we can certainly get there by the time the screening starts.

As usual, I lost track of time while editing. It's a common sympton of editors. My cell rang again. I looked up at the clock. It was 7:30 P.M. Enough time for Q to get here, pick me up, and make it to the screening.

I flipped open my Nextel. "Hello?"

"Jimmy, we're about to get the pop and I'm outa here," Q said.

"You got it man," I said. "I'm ready to go. Call when you pull into the parking lot and I'll meet you in front of the building.

We hung up again. And again, I went back to work and promptly proceeded to lose track of time.

My cell phone rang again. I looked up. The clock stood at 8:40.

"Dude! Where the fuck are you?"

"Jimmy, I'm sorry. We can't get a pop. The guy's been pumping his meat for an hour and nothing. I'm going to have to cancel."

"Okay," I said. "I guess I'll just head over there."

Flipping my phone closed I thought, "Shit! By the time I get there and park and go in it's like ten o'clock or so.... Fuck!"

So I decided it was too late to go. After all, I already missed the drinks, the grub, the excellent conversations about everyone's oh so fascinating lives in the porn biz. The movie will be more than half over. I certainly can't review half a movie. That would be unfair to the movie's producers. Fuck it. I'm not going. And I didn't.

So there you have it.

Q's inability to coax sperm out of some meatpuppet's testicals has now directed my life into another direction. What if the building blows up? What if I get mugged when I go out to my car? What if I get hit by a semi and killed while driving home? All these possibilities would be the direct result of some nameless guy unable to ejaculate on some nameless girl's face, and its effect on the timeline of my life.

Yep! That's how things could happen. My life altered because spooge failed to shoot forth from some man's penis! If anyone had ever said to me--earlier in my life--that any part of my life would ever be directed by another man's ejaculation, or the lack thereof, I would have thought them insane. But it has come to pass, or come to pass because someone did not come.

And it got me to thinking that a person's life should only be impacted--sperm impacted that is--in very limited ways. First, by their own conception, that is, the sperm of their father. Second, the result of any sperm that you, this person, might have ejaculated in your own lifetime. And that's about it. Certainly, one's life should not be effected (affected?) by the ejaculations, or the non-ejaculations of others.

Well, there you have it. Another valuable life-lesson that can only be learned here, in the jiz biz, where else?

P.S.: I guess it's suitable to mention here. This article is partly about "Rush" and since Nic Andrews is the director, it kinda fits. Anyway, I got a phone call today from someone in the biz who I won't mention. He said, "You know that article you have on your site about the porn carwash? You know the part where it says Nic Andrews is the detailer? Well, if Nic had that job, he wouldn't be rubbing a rag on a car, he'd simply hold his arm out, rag in hand, and they'd drive the car in circles around him."

Okay, okay... this guy doesn't need to quit his day job and pursue a career in comedy, but I thought it kinda funny.







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