Cassidy Vivid Girl – Hurricane Bob (Prelude To Ruin)
All women are born evil. Some…All women are born evil. Some just realize their potential later in life than others. – Jean Giraudoux
Why Nothing Good Starts In A K-Hole
Ketamine, I snorted it before. I thought I been to the infamous “K-hole”. After I had mainlined, I realized I hadn't come close. This porn chick gave me a “skin pop,” I walked two steps and then slumped next to my refrigerator and went into another dimension for 45 minutes.
One night, the girl came with a friend. We're supposed a threesome but just wound up banging K. My porn star buddy was a Samaritan and told girl #2, “If she ever needed some dick, I would be a good unattached guy.” A few quickies and months afterward, girl #2 rings me about dusk, and she says she wants me to meet her friend Bob. I thought, “Why are you bringing over a guy?” Then she texted me a picture of “Bob” – a stunning Latina with piercing green eyes.
As with most girls that would eventually make my life a living hell, I was smitten with her. I scrounged my house for drugs; we could find ecstasy, mushrooms, cocaine, and lots of alcohol. Bob and I took the mushrooms, while Girl #2 had a party of 1 with the blow. In few minutes, Bob was naked. I joked I could “eat pussy like a lesbian” and she asked me to prove it.
We will leave it at that.
10 minutes later, Bob and I were in our bedroom. The sexual chemistry was ten right off the rip. The other girl sat in the kitchen interested in little else but the bugger sugar. While Bob squirted, 300 orgasms, soaked my entire bed, and we had to go to the other bedroom to continue coitus.
The Strange Thing About Porn Fans
Back in those days, I was banging 2-3 porn stars a day. I never thought about it. My “civilian friends” knew their names better than I did. They would always ask, “Have you ever banged [insert their favorite pornstar] and I would draw a blank because I always knew them by their first name. Then they would pull up a picture on their phone, and I would be, “Oh, Lisa, yeah I know her.” I always got along well with the girls because I was “in the industry,” but wasn't talent, so I was never looked on as “work”.
Bob was relatively a well-known Vivid Girl named Cassidy but I never heard of her. She'd flown in from Texas to do a few scenes and was supposed fly to her boyfriend (who somehow “didn't know” she did hardcore porn). I had fucked many porn chicks, have the multiple trips to see Dr. Rigg to prove it, but never tried to “date one”. Bob, and I had an attraction.
She was supposed to be going home on Wednesday. I told her about my 4/20 party on Saturday. I joked she would be in California for that party.
One day became to the next. One week led to the next, and I realized Bob had blown off her boyfriend. She never called him and was living with me my proxy. I didn't have a problem with it because we were having a real time luring girls(sometimes from Ralph's parking lot) to join in our sexual shenanigans.
Call me a traditionalist, but I can’t take a porn star seriously. I just can't deal with knowing that some dude who probably has a dick bigger than mine (a tough feat) inside your girlfriend. I'll give Bob credit where credit is due, as soon as we hooked up she called her agent, Derek who runs escort agency The Luxury Companion with Dwight Cunningham and stopped doing boy-girl scenes. That costs her a lot of money, I'm sure.
Don't forget My first course on Udemy:
Only $10 utill the 21st then up to $200
Bob and I got into doing GHB. I had pretty good experience with the G sex party rules: Not to drink much etc. Don't don't and missed booze. We would make videos of each other and other girls, G-passed out videotape it (sometimes it was me); it was some sick twisted shit. They always woke up and it was back to good fun. One weekend by the end of doing GHB for two days Bob insisted that we find another girl. Threesome etiquette dictates guys should never choose the girl. Bob asked, “I must know some bitches,” so I just started looking through my cell phone to find girls. We looked through my Facebook, and she said, “Oh, she's cute. “I joked, as a bonus, we would be able to get free drinks later.”
So summer came around, and Bob was still living with me, we never discussed it, it just happened. One day in the middle of the week, I was sleeping. Bob usually got up early to start drinking. She woke and said that I ought to look at my phone. My friend, Jeff Hanneman had passed just a few hours before from liver failure. I had seen Jeff only a few weeks before, and he seemed fine. He was the same Jeff I always knew guzzling Heineken and cracking jokes; I couldn't believe that he died. BTW: Jeff wasn't killed by a spider, it was (more on this later). I drank cried and played Slayer for the next two days.
I also had another problem; there was this girl I had had sex with around nine months prior that was claiming there was a good chance I might be baby’s daddy. The night I had sex her last, she was going to leave for rehab the next day and unbeknownst, she was living with her boyfriend who was in the house at the time.
Like Phil Lynett, I put my trousers on and got the fuck out.
I didn't hear until her child was born and there was a lot of back and forth as to who the dat could be. When she started getting a hold of me, it was the day after Jeff's death, and she also knew that I was friends with Jeff Hanneman because she was with me the night in the hot tub (hint, hint).
She kept telling me I have something that will cheer you up. I tried explaining I'm going through some heavy shit right now can we just hold off on this? She announced, Friday, and she says she’s coming over with the baby. I was like no, “there is a porn shoot shooting” at my house. She said well our son doesn't have problem porn. An underage person on set, while they're shooting porn, are all going to jail.
This is only a half truth; we were taking some stills for a model for OC modeling. There was no actual sex going on I was just trying to keep her at bay. So after the shoot, Bob and I tried to seduce the model, like we usually do. I go to the bathroom to take a piss, and I can hear the sound of my front door, I look, and there is baby's mama holding the kid standing in the middle of my living room. She said “Jason meet Owen,” “Owen meet Jason”. I looked into the child's eyes, and he looked at me with the same brown eyes and pointed his finger as if he knew me. It was surreal. So, Cassidy, was an excellent host playing with the kid, and babies mama is trying to make small talk, and we are just all hanging out.
The group consensus: It was mine.
We had a big bottle of Jager sitting on the table. Babies mama proceeds to pick it up and take to the massive swing out of it. We were all like “Hey, aren't you driving? That ain't cool.” So then she copped an attitude and asked me to have a word outside.
She says you know how I know this baby's yours and proceeds to pull out the kid's wiener in the cul-de-sac. I guess it was a big winner. I don't look at children winners. Then she proceeds to ask me if I can get some Xanax for her and then our drummer Freddy drives up a.k.a. (The Mexican Tom Linkous) dives in out and plays Capt. save-a-ho and said I had to be at being at band practice and the girl finally wound up leaving.
A friend of Bob invited us to a friend of mine Chris Hayes had a party way up in Canyon Country. Chris was the “husband” of porn star Allie Haze of whom had previously been without OC modeling but left so her suitcase primo man. Despite our business differences I had always gotten along with him.
Why I Will Never Speak The Same The Rest Of My Life
So the next day goes to the party, it was like a 30 or 40 miles drive out to Canyon Country where. When I got to the party, I said hi to Chris, and seemed glad to see me. I introduced them to Bob, and everything appeared to be well and fine. The party was okay, but it was just one those typical porn parties, there was always some bad vibe. So it starts to get darker, the alcohol runs out at the party, there is a guy there selling Molly. I was starting to sober up from the lack of alcohol in getting bored. I asked my buddy if we could leave, but there was some chick or something he was trying to bang, so we were kind of stuck.
We scrounged the basement fridge for beer, to no avail. Now what happened after that I only remember in vignettes of pieces and from what others have told me. Apparently only a few minutes after Bob and locked the door Chris came knocking on it, Bob got off my lap and went to open the door, but before she could even open it, he busted the door down. Chris is a big felon steroid-laden-fuck-with-a-2-inch-penis trained in martial arts. I don't remember because concussion, but I hadn't even gotten up off the couch and he just cold-cocked me to the jaw, the bunch wasn't so bad, it was my head smashing the concrete that was the brain leakage. Bob was freaking out, I was unconscious, there was blood everywhere, and the other people at the party started to file in the room.
I woke up about 10 minutes later, still not sure of what was going on. I charged Chris there was another skirmish, but then somebody opened the garage door, and I walked outside, and my friend gave me a ride back. When I got to my home, Bob said I was confused, walking into walls and didn't even know what happened. Freaked out when I looked at my face in the mirror and saw how fucked up I was. Ike came over and said that I at least probably had a broken jaw, so they took me to St. Joseph's Memorial Hospital. The same place where I had been treated for tuberculosis and Ike was brought in for a drug overdose the just week before. I initially didn't think it was that bad. They took me to get a CATscan; the doc came back, I will never forget these words “Son your brain is hemorrhaging, you had the worst type of stroke you could have. If the hemorrhaging hasn't stopped in the next few hours, we are going to have to get you into brain surgery. I couldn't believe it, so I called my mother it was Mother's Day about 3 a.m. EST and left the news on their answering machine. Bob held my phone in case they called back. Meanwhile not being in the best state of decision-making I left a post on Chris's Facebook page saying something to the effect of a “mother fucker, I'm in the hospital I just out of bucking stroke,” and I'm going to get back. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do.
The best offense, being a good defense, Chris ran around the house punching windows and called the police and said I had attacked him with a knife.
The only permanent loss I speak with the speech impediment.
In the meantime, Bob would wake up every morning with a big glass of grapefruit juice and block a and would proceed to get drunk throughout the day. Which I don't mind, but when you're trying to be sober, it's annoying to have drunk people around you. I even tried to drop her hint like “Hey Bob do you know how when you go to bars, and you are sober, and there are a bunch of drunk people aren't they annoying?” I guess she didn't get to hint.
A few weeks later Bob was supposed to leave on a trip to visit some friends in Tennessee. The day before we decided to do G and have our girl from the over again, it was a great 24-hour sex-a-thon, and by the end of it, I was way too wasted to take Bob to the airport, so she had made some arrangements with their friends to meet up nearby. I passed out for a little bit, and when I woke up next to me I noticed Bob was out cold, I tried to wake her up, but she was G doubt. Eventually, our friend back came over. We both sat there and tried to wake her up for a while; then her friends started calling her cell phone and leaving text messages leg “Hey, you dumb bitch wake up”.
We wound up leaving, and I started getting on the Internet, to look up what the symptoms of the GHB overdose were. My unprofessional guess: III GHB overdose which could be fatal. I knew that I had to get her to the hospital, so I put on some sweatpants on her the floor. We dragged her out to my car; I drove Bob to the (now familiar) St. Joseph's Hospital in Burbank As soon as I got her out of the car I could see that the sweatpants she was wearing were covered with my jizz. I was like there is no way I am bringing some OD’ed bitch into the emergency room with sweatpants covered with jizz. So I drove her back to my house and got her something more decent
When we brought Bob in the hospital there was no waiting in; we were put straight through to the emergency. I could see doctors in the room trying to resuscitate her with the paddles of life. Meanwhile, I could see a large contingency of the Burbank Police Department was now gathering in the lobby. After one swift paddle, Bob woke up and started hitting the doctors, so they knocked her back out with another downer. I could see more cops gathering and starting to point in our direction.
In California, there is a law where they are not allowed to arrest you for bringing someone into a hospital that has overdosed. However, Burbank is its municipality. Almost like in Soperton. So I drove back to my house, scrounged through all of the drawers and try to find all the drugs, and I had been in the woodpile in the hills above my house. Since I'd already parked my Mercedes in the garage, I decided to drive my truck back to the hospital.
Upon arriving, I could already see a ton of the pork already had Girl #3 surrounded and was questioning her. We got our stories straight in case this happened before going. Since she was the at the Rainbow the night before, we were just going to tell her some guy slipped her some G because she was well-known and easily recognized porn star.
Cops surrounded me in the parking mall and said don't you need the warrant to search my house. Or far refuse they would just wait for the next day and get one. I figured I would lower their defenses, the drugs out of plain sight; I said sure to come over and search. They let me drive my truck back to the house, and the two cops went to my room for the little bit and then searched the back of my car and didn't find anything. So I asked them if I could politely go back to the hospital and make sure my girlfriend hasn't died.
When I finally got back to talk to them, they told me that Bob had been so combative that they were going to knock her out and she probably wouldn't be awake again for the next 24 to 48 hours.
When the cop saw me come back in, they took me into a room just opposite rooms drilling with questions. One of the pigs finally came up to me and said our stories weren't matching up. They told me that I answered the door and for the other girl, but he told me she rang the doorbell or some minor detail and that's how they knew we were both lying. I wasn't paying attention focused on was Bob
Bob's little scare the hospital didn't last because soon she was back to waking up at eight in the morning and drinking a grapefruit juice and vodka for breakfast. I was working a lot and wasn't drinking, and I tried to explain to her that you know how you can go to bars when you are sober because drunks are annoying, I was telling her that every day of my life was beginning to feel like that.
One Saturday, my good friend Ahn was having a birthday party/going away party, and I asked Bob to release day and good enough condition so we could go that night. Instead, both of us started drinking around for that afternoon by the pool. I can handle my alcohol fairly well, but by the time it even got time to get dressed to go out Bob was three sheets to the wind. Ahn had arranged to have a whole room rented out at a nice restaurant on Melrose. We got there, and they had champagne and Bob saying “bubbles mean trouble” bubbles mean trouble, we sat down to eat, and Bob was so obnoxious that I said let's just go. We walked out onto Melrose and whoever was driving the next car should be at the Indy Grand Prix because Bob didn't even look as she went across the street and the car that turned to swerve out of just mowing her down.
At this point, I couldn't take anymore, and I just handed Bob 80 bucks, and I said take this Anywhere but my house. I walked through the streets of Hollywood, it was now nearing midnight, and I tried and tried to flag down a cab in vain, so I just Walking and walking until I finally said Fuck it and just walked the rest of the way home myself which was some 8 miles.
When I got back to my house, I could see Bob's high heels in the driveway and then I went inside and didn't see her in my room, but found her passed out in a guest room. I popped a Xanax and decided to call it a night.
While I was sleeping the next morning, Bob kept trying to come in and asked me if I wanted breakfast as if nothing had happened the night before. I just told her to leave me alone because I was sleeping and hours tired because I've walked 8 miles home.
By the time I woke up, it was about noon, and it was time to talk to Bob about the night before. Her friend Kristi was already over, and as soon as I went to speak to her, I could tell she was drunk as hell again. By this time I'd had it, I told Bob to take her she had and got the hell out of here she had made me look like a complete asshole, which is hard to do, and now it wasn't even noon, and she was tossed again, unbelievable. I told her that I had it, and she should take her shit and get the hell out of my house.
That same weekend I, supposed to go with my friend Brent Hinds (Mastodon) deep-sea fishing, but I had plans, so I didn't go. After I got Bob out of the house. I went to meet some friends in Venice Beach and try to chill. I was only down in Venice Beach was when Brent called me up. Apparently, the fishing trip had been a disaster, the broke down off international waters, and now he was stuck at a friends house whose girlfriend was bitching him out for getting home late. I said ran back to my house, not long different friends show up i droves, and it breaks out into one giant spontaneous party. Per the number of people there I could see we had put away A LOT of alcohol. My backyard littered had never been littlered with so many beer cans.
Bob and I broke up after that, but as many breakups go it wasn't a clean split. After the big spontaneous party. There were a few girls over, and I might have banged one of them, and she left some panties and my bathroom. The next Bob wanted to talk to me, but I didn't want to speak to her. She found the panties and erupted to another round of fighting.
Bob and I went our separate ways after that, most of the time. A friend of mine brought overa synched copy of Bob's iPhone who been using to do hooker stuff. I've busted her in every lie and cheated known to man.
Clients, days, everything.
It was brutal.
I heard Bob is married now, with kids these days, in all seriousness, I want her to help herself and straighten her act out.