Report Edward Przydzial aka (Lawson J Denning) To The LAPD If Anything Happens To Me

Hello Jay,

NationalNet has received the following DMCA complaint.  Please remove the offending material ASAP and advise when completed so we can call this resolved.

Abuse Team


———- Forwarded message ———-
From: edwardprzydzial<[email protected]>
Date: Mon, Jun 19, 2017 at 9:38 AM
Subject: Fwd: [WordPress #3268259]: dmca removal notice
To: [email protected], [email protected]

Takedown Notice Pursuant to the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998
To Whom It May Concern,
This is a notice in accordance with the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998 (DMCA) requesting that you immediately cease to provide access to copyrighted material. I wish to report an instance of Copyright Infringement, whereby the infringing material appears on a website for which you are the host.
1.The infringing material, which I contend belongs to me, is the following:
my photos and name-title
2.The original material is located on my website at the following URLs:
3.The infringing material is located at the following URLs:
4.My contact information is:
Name: edward przydzial Mailing address: ecpi box 3919 hollywood, ca. 90078 Telephone number: 323.632.4512 E-mail address: [email protected]
5.I have a good faith belief that the use of the described material in the manner complained of is not authorized by the copyright owner, its agent, or by operation of law.
6.The information in this notice is accurate, and I am either the copyright owner or I am authorized to act on behalf of the copyright owner.
I declare under the perjury laws of the United States of America that this notification is true and correct.
Signed: edward przydzial Date: 2017-06-19
———- Forwarded message ———-
From: Emilia L. –<[email protected]>
Date: Mon, Jun 19, 2017 at 2:54 PM
Subject: [WordPress #3268259]: dmca removal notice
To: [email protected]Hi there,> The infringing material is located at the following URLs:
> //'m sorry, but the web site that you have reported is not hosted at As such, we are unable to provide any direct assistance in this manner.The fact that the site was built using WordPress, or may mention ‘Powered by WordPress' (or something similar) simply means it is using the software, which may be downloaded and installed on any web host. Please refer to for the further differences between and you need assistance in determining a web site's host, we recommend reviewing the following articles:

Thank you for your report, and we're sorry we couldn't help.

Emilia L. | Community Guardian |





Editors note I did use Grammarly to make this more readable. The content is 100% unaltered otherwise.

Try it free, you will wonder how you wrote without it!<br/ >Best Plagiarism Checker & Proofreader


If anything happens to me here is the nearest police station. I am being stalked.

1358 N Wilcox Ave
Los Angeles, CA 90028



If anyone has info on this Edward Przydzial aka (Lawson J Denning) feel free to contact me:



Morgan Mcnerney: Transexual Pornographer Newport Beach

Morgan Mcnerney Is a Tranny Pornographer Residing In Newport Beach, CA

Amended 2/2/2016: At Mogan's urging, I had initially decided to take this post down, but I've been thinking about it and weather he made a comment or not: Where was your mercy and compassion October 8th, 2013? You could have broken the vote that ultimately ruined my life, but you didn't: SO FUCK YOU! Even more ironic, being fired from a company for having a “drug problem” BY people with drug problems!

In case you haven't noticed, I've been going through a severe bout of depression. I recently lost all sensation in my left arm driving across the country after losing my house. Below demonstrates dickhead business partners Morgan Mcnerney, of Newport Beach, had to say on the matter:

Screen Shot 2016-09-07 at 7.48.54 PMI was shocked at the insensitivity this bastard had, considering I haven't spoken a word to him in almost four years, so I fired back, and there was a small verbal melee, you can read it if you want it's nothing that great. I admit to a couple of misspellings because I have to rely on Dragon Dictate these days to type.

The real purpose of this post is I want the people of Newport Beach to know the tranny pornographer that lives in their midst. Here is a picture of Morgan Mcnerney I found publicly available on his Google+.



A picture of Morgan Mcnerney Morgan Mcnerney Newport Beach-pornographer-chronic-Weed-and-pill-addict
A real piece of shit? Right?


Let me make this clear; I am not threatening Morgan with any physical harm. However, I rely on Facebook advertising to earn a living, and he got my account banned for 30 days for posting a picture of his ugly mug. I figured if he had the balls to make a comment like that, the least I can do is return the favor and post a picture of the face of the guy who had the fortitude to be so insensitive.

I figured there isn't anything I can do to him, so I may as well make his life hell on Google so he can't even get a job at McDonald's. This idiot has the gall to call himself a "graphic designer" but his chronic pot smoking impaired in from even trying to learn CSS in till it least 2010 even though cascading style sheets had become the web standard going back as far as 1997.

Newport Beach: Do You Know Who Your Neighbors Are?


And just for your information, Morgan Mcnerney is a peddler of straight, gay and transsexual pornographic material and is responsible for the creation of the websites and the content contained therein. Morgan tries to keep a low-key profile blending in with the other rich snobs in Newport Beach. When, in fact, if the neighborhood Association knew what he did for a living, they would have him run out of the exclusive country club community in seconds flat.

This is the corporation he is currently a member of that produces transsexual and "straight" hardcore pornography and puts it up on "tube sites" even though Morgan has a young child shouldn't be exposed to.


 Business Entity Information
Status:  Active File Date:  9/9/2009
Type:  Domestic Limited-Liability Company Entity Number:  E0484132009-2
Qualifying State:  NV List of Officers Due:  9/30/2016
Managed By:  Managers Expiration Date:
NV Business ID:  NV20091103677 Business License Exp:  9/30/2016


 Additional Information
Central Index Key:


 Registered Agent Information
Address 2: City:  LAS VEGAS
State:  NV Zip Code:  89119
Phone: Fax:
Mailing Address 1:  7582 LAS VEGAS BLVD SO #449 Mailing Address 2:
Mailing City:  LAS VEGAS Mailing State:  NV
Mailing Zip Code:  89123
Agent Type:  Commercial Registered Agent - Limited-Liability Partnership
Jurisdiction:  NEVADA Status:  Active
View all business entities under this registered agent


 Financial Information
No Par Share Count:  0 Capital Amount:  $ 0
No stock records found for this company


 Officers  Include Inactive Officers
Address 1:  70 BIRCHVIEW Address 2:
Zip Code:  H9A 2Y4 Country:  CAN
Status:  Active Email:
Address 1:  360 E DESERT INN RD UNIT 804 Address 2:
City:  LAS VEGAS State:  NV
Zip Code:  89109 Country:  USA
Status:  Active Email:
Address 1:  339 PEACH TREE LANE Address 2:
Zip Code:  92660 Country:  USA
Status:  Active  Hey


More proof:


Causes Morgan cares about these are the things that Morgan claims to care about on his LinkedIn page which all are a bunch of bullshit just so the child protective services don't call me and take his child. The only thing that Morgan cares about his marijuana, Pornography, fast cars, alcohol, and it has been arrested two times in of Orange County.

  • Animal Welfare - yeah right
  • Arts and Culture - doesn't know how to use a crayon
  • Children - un-fit father
  • Education - high school dropout
  • Environment - as long as there's slogan his lungs
  • Health - see above
  • Human Rights -as long as it involves growing marijuana in his backyard
  • Politics - now that's a laugh
  • Science and Technology - Morgan has barely made enough technical progress to make it out of the Stone Age




I Got My DEATH Threat from Dwight Cunningham (aka “Dave From The Luxury Companion”)

A death threat is a threat, often made anonymously, by one person or a group of people to kill another person or groups of people. These threats are often designed to intimidate victims to manipulate their behavior, and thus a death threat can be a form of coercion. –

dark picture of Jason Quinlan

DEATH Threat from Dwight Cunningham form “Dave From The Luxury Companion”)

I'm so excited! I got my first death threat from this blog today; I was going to leave names out of would fuck it – I Got My DEATH Threat from Dwight Cunningham (aka “Dave From The Luxury Companion”)! I don't fabricate stories to try to get attention, and unlike Mike South, I don't take down posts and deny they existed. I dish out bowls of 100% #truthsoup! I do have every reason to take this threat seriously, but to be quite honest: If you kill me, it takes the pressure off me to do something I haven't had the courage to do myself. I think about suicide every day anyways. If I kill you trying to defend myself, that is a win-win. It has always been a fantasy of mine to take someone else's life.

Dwight Cunningham Is A Police Informant (A NARC)

I'm not going to say who was the one who made the death threat but I should've kept them on speaker phone longer instead of hanging up so I could capture some of his sadistic rants. I will entrust someone with the name of that person, so if I'm killed, they are likely to spend the rest of their miserable life getting ass-raped in prison.

Oh yeah, when you want to start making death threats, it's probably a good idea to block your caller ID. I'm sure was done from a burner phone, but the number is (213) 379-0075. Check on Spokeo if you want:


So if you want to have do some fun, bring it. I'm not hiding where I am or my phone number.

If you want to try to guess who it is, just leave their name in the comments.

I haven't lied to you yet, and I won't start now.

If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can actually order of mocha Frapuccino, donations are always appreciated!

jason quinlan paypal



Tuberculosis and Me

What do Nelson Mandela, George Orwell, Tom Jones, Cat Stevens, Desmond Tutu, Florence Nightingale, Edgar Allan Poe and Jason Quinlan all have in common? – We Are All Tuberculosis Survivors!

jason quinlan in the hospital

Tuberculosis and Me


In March 2008, I had my official “Off Probation” party! I was free — finally free from rednecks cops in South Georgia.

Or was I?

During that time I was in an on-again-off-again relationship with a girl named Yvette. If there is one regret in this book/blog, I should've stayed with Yvette. At the time I was making money hand over fist, I had a mansion in the Hollywood Hills, a condo on the Vegas strip, a Mercedes, was relatively young, in porn, and had bitches on my dick like they had scurvy and I could cum orange juice.


picture of yvette garcia and jason quinlan

It was a lot of temptation: Being young, rich and having lots of shiny objects. I wanted to live that lifestyle for a minute, or that's what I thought. Now, in this late hour, I can tell you none of it means a goddamn thing.

I admit, I went a bit crazy drinking and partying when the whole probation debacle had ended. I would selfishly break up with my girlfriend, so I could go out and go nuts, and then we would always wind up back together.

But just a month later, in April 2009 I started to wake up late at night drenched in mysterious pools of sweat. At first, I thought it was just my nerves or maybe just partying. As the weeks went on, my condition worsened.

Nights Sweats?


I started to Google “night sweats” on Web MD and saw there were three conditions commonly associated with night sweats:

1. Menopause – I could rule that one out!

2. Tuberculosis – Nobody gets that disease anymore!!

3. AIDS – I knew it, I had the monster: The High Five. All those women. All that unprotected sex. I went down to the AIM clinic (the old porn clinic) to get checked for HIV. You'd get your results in 24 hours. That endless night, I mentally Rolodexed every shady piece of pussy I've banged. I narrowed down to 2 or 3 girls that gave me the bug. Fortunately, of the tests came back negative. For a short time, the symptoms abated. I chalked it all up to being psychosomatic.

It wasn't long before the symptoms came back except a worse. I would start sweating the bed so profusely that I would have to change my clothes and sheets two or three times almost every night, during the day I began to feel weak, but oddly enough I never coughed up blood or did anything like your typical tuberculosis patient.

By the end of May, I couldn't ignore the sickness anymore. I was starting to feel run down and losing weight, but still wasn't convinced that it was anything serious, so I went to see a doctor and told him, “I think I have the flu.” He checked my breathing. My left lung obstructed. The doctor said I should go directly to the emergency room and get a chest x-ray. It didn't seem like my left lung, was inflating.


How I Lived For 2 Months On One Lung


I was so sick that one of my lungs had already collapsed. The funny thing was, the doctors said my lung had been collapsed for about two weeks. Even stranger, I was still able to workout and go on 20-mile-bike rides. I had no clue I was doing it on one lung!

I got to the emergency room and admitted immediately; I still didn't think I was that sick. The medics start running all kinds of tests, X-rays, TB, HIV, bloodwork, immune response, and everything checked out normal, but I keep getting sicker and sicker. That is the thing with TB, once the virus goes “active” it doesn't show up anymore on those pinprick tests like you used to get school. What they are doing is injecting a small amount of tuberculosis to see if your body will resist it. Of course, when your body is loaded with TB the test turned out negative.

Once I have a negative TB and HIV test they began treating me for rare diseases such as Valley Fever. They put me on antibiotics so hard-core it wasn't used in humans anymore. That just made me sicker.



X-rays show that I have a massive effusion in my pleural cavity. They drain the liquid out of me by sticking some spikes in my back. I was awake for this, and it was terrifying, but the infection it still keeps coming. The doctors think it might be TB and order a second round of test that proves inconclusive.

Halfway through my stay, I have to get a major operation (a thoracostomy) to remove the infection from my lungs. The operation is a success, but the infection still keeps coming. If the source of the infection still couldn't identify, so if this didn't stop I was going to go through all of this again

After being in the hospital for 18 days, they think that I way have had and am released. The day after I get home, a blood test used to screen for TB came back positive. To find out if I had TB, I would have to wait six weeks for the results of my biopsy. To be safe, I was placed on a regimen of anti-TB meds.

The odd thing is withing 3-4 days of taking them I felt as if nothing had happened.


Tuberculosis Positive


In July, the results of my biopsy came back: I had tuberculosis. Worse yet, I've left the hospital with an active case of it. To this very day they quarantine TB patients.

I probably had contracted TB somewhere overseas in my travels or (even more ironically) in prison. TB an airborne disease that anyone can get, one-out-of-3 persons in the world ARE exposed to it; it just requires something to wear you body down (in my case it was alcohol) enough to become active. I also had atypical pleural TB, which isn't in your lungs, so I could't cough and spread it. If you hung out with me in that period you are fine “I wasn't contagious”.

I spent the whole summer of 2009 sober. I wasn't even smoking weed. Honestly, once the TB meds had taken effect, I felt pretty much normal, aside from the pain from the surgery.



If you have been reading this far, you probably realize: I like to drink. I can't help it. I suffer from a form of social anxiety. I am a silent and shy person naturally; it takes some alcohol< to bring be out of my shell. When I am sober, even the most mundane of social scenarios make me nervous and fidgety. If you know me, that may seem ridiculous, but it's true.

One of the cruel tricks TB meds play on you is they completely cure the disease (if taken correctly) but destroy your liver at the same time. The state also assigns the health department on you. It's a total pain in the balls, and ironically it was just like probation!

The last 6 months of 2009, I have been getting complete blood workups done once a month and as of December 17, 2009, I was completely cured, and my liver survived. I would always ask the doctor “Are you sure you have the right chart?” when he said everything as OK.

So, I am free to live my life again, right?

Not Really!


If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can actually order of mocha Frapuccino, donations are always appreciated!

jason quinlan paypal


Trapped In Purgatory (With A Pinched Nerve)

Trapped in purgatory, A lifeless object alive, Awaiting reprisal and Death their acquiescence –

Purgatory and Pinched Nerves

Perhaps, I haven't been clear enough in all the Charlie Sheen Nonsense, exposing prostitution rings, exposing shady accounting, Jerry Springer, the police in south Georgia that my number one vocation in life is playing guitar. I am not trying to toot my own horn, but I'm damn good at it.

Even when I wasn't practicing with a band, I would pick up the guitar for 30 minutes to an hour a day, if to do nothing else than practice scales and keep my chops up.

One of my main reasons for moving back to Atlanta is because I am a relatively well-respected guitar player here. I've been here for five weeks, and I figured I would be in six bands by now.

Here is the caveat, upon arriving in Atlanta, I realized I couldn't play guitar at all. I developed a strange weakness and numbness in my right hand that made it impossible for me to play. I can barely move my pinky and ring finger. The best way to describe it is when a string vibrated beneath my finger it creates a sensation I can only describe as rubbing your fingers on a chalkboard.

Here is an approximation of the route I took from Los Angeles to Atlanta., because of the numerous detours what I thought would be a 35 to 40-hour drive wound up taking around 50 hours. Having my elbow resting on that god damned door was almost definitely the culprit.

I was driving alone. I figured if it was a 35-hour trip I could split it into three days driving 12 hours a day with no problem.


1. I was planning to leave LA on the morning of June 15 just after traffic. As the day went on, delay after delay kept me from  getting on the road until after 7 PM. I drew for as long as I could and reach New Mexico.

2. The next day I was hoping to make up time but is soon as I started driving the mirror of my truck fell off, there were road word detours everywhere, and the battery mysteriously started having problems even though it was brand-new. Because these of delays I only made as far as Oklahoma

3. The third day, I said “Fuck it, I don't care how long I have to drive, I am going to make it the rest of the way to Atlanta starting around 9 AM. So I totally white-knuckled the drive from Oklahoma to reach Birmingham and Atlanta's morning rush hour and got to ATL after 25 hours of driving straight stopping only for gas and gummy bears.

While I'm far from a physician, I have a pretty good idea what happened. Having my elbow in that position for that many days and that many hours entraped my Ulnar nerve. I don't want to be a hypochondriac and expect the worst, but at this point, I've become accustomed the worst happening.

Nerves extend from your brain and spinal cord, sending important messages throughout your body. If you have a pinched nerve (nerve compression), your body may send you warning signals such as pain. Don't ignore these warning signals.

Damage from a pinched nerve may be minor or severe. It may cause temporary or long-lasting problems. The earlier you get a diagnosis and treatment for nerve compression, the more quickly you'll find relief.

In some cases, you can't reverse the damage from a pinched nerve. But treatment usually relieves pain and other symptoms.


To make matters worse, just before leaving California I let my healthcare insurance lapse, meaning if I needed some operation I wouldn't have the cash to do it. I've seen a chiropractor a few times but it made no difference.

So, I have been existing and purgatory here in Atlanta. I've been putting ice on my arm; I haven't been doing anything that would cause more elbow inflammation such as riding my bike are going to the gym, hell, I've even lost my interesting going out and trying to make money and attain marketing clients.

On the bright side, I'm working to use this time in purgatory to finish what I've been trying to do for three years: finish writing Don't Tell Me How To Ruin My Life.

If so many things hadn't happened I would be done by now, but a lot of the chapters of this blog we're never in the original manuscript.

Once I get done with that, I might just decide to go out like my literary Hero Hunter S Thompson<. At 44 years old it wasn't like I was expecting to be a rockstar or anything. Playing guitar is just something I loved above all other things.

PS: this isn't a call to start a bunch of GoFindMe crap. One way or another, I will figure it out or I won't.

PSS: Thank you to everyone who is been supportive and has tried to make this easier on me. 🙂

I am leaving this link to my PayPal as I do with every blog. I am not seeking sympathy, If you want to support or enjoy my writing my affiliate links have generated a grand total of about $3. 🙁 That being said, donations are always appreciated.

jason quinlan paypal


A Frightened City Of Atlanta Sleeps Safe Tonight!

Atlanta Sleeps Sleeeps Safe!

This one goes back to the tail end of my first stint in Atlanta. The only time Dick Delicious “broke up” was Shortly after our appearance on the Howard Stern show. My new band was called “Operation Asparagus” (operation embarrassment) where I tried to play every single instrument at once surrounded by an army of kung fu hamsters and Singing Fish. I was leaving “practice” on my bike and peddling up North Avenue around 12 AM. I could see that a quarter mile up the hill the cops had a DUI checkpoint. I didn’t have any drugs on me, and I was sober, so I figured rather than getting cased-up scurrying off on one of the side streets where the police always hid for people trying to avoid the roadblocks, it would be better to go through it. They probably won’t even mess with me – I’M SOBER ON A BIKE — RIGHT?

bike in venice

Don't Cops In Atlanta Have Better Things To Do?


“Let me see your ID and get off the bike.” One of the officers working the roadblock asks me.

So I put the bike down and sit on the curb while he runs my ID.

Once he's finished, in an extremely thick southern drawl, states, “Did you know that you need to have a light when you ride a bike at night?”

“No, I didn’t know that, sir.”

He gets back in his car and starts writing me a ticket.

“Are you writing me a ticket ?” I ask.

“Yes, I am. You’re lucky – I could haul you in for this. You’re lucky bud; you’re going home tonight.”

In the meantime, I would estimate 50 drunk drivers passed through the intersection.


The Next Night?


The next night, I decided to ride my bike to grab a slice of pizza. Being the rebel I am, I still hadn’t got my light. I peddle into the parking lot of the pizza place, and there's a cop car sitting there.

From out of it, I hear, “Hey boy; you know that you need to have a light when you ride at night, right?”

I was half way through saying “No officer; I didn’t know that was a law…” when I realized that it was the same cop from the previous night.

You would think in a town with more than its share of murders, rapes, robberies, burglaries, aggravated assaults, arsons, carjacking, and aggravated-aggravation by repeat aggravators that the cops would have more to do.


This shit was retarded.


I fancy myself as a bit of an armchair lawyer, so I knew if I took this to court, I could either get it reduced or thrown out entirely. Both tickets from my crime spree were so close together that my court date for both was the same day.

Someday I will write “Jay’s Big Book of Lies” and I've already got my top contenders.

1. The check is in the mail.
2. Let's go out for “a drink”. (notice the singular expression)
3. I won't cum in your mouth.
4. I always use condoms with other girls.


#1 The Big Book Of Lies


I was coerced into going out for “a drink” by a friend who would only be in town for the night. One drink turned into another drink, then beer turned into liquor, and 100 bucks changed into a bag of low-quality bar cocaine. The next thing I know I am sitting yapping and drinking beer over a pile of weasel dust at my coffee table. My court is at 8:30 AM, so around 7:45, I decided that I’d take a quick nap. I set my alarm, put one foot in bed, and am about to put the other leg in bed when the alarm goes off. I walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth – just as soon as the toothpaste hits my mouth, I find myself doing the technicolor yawn into the sink.

Then, it dawned on me: I WAS TOO DRUNK TO DRIVE TO COURT!

Instinctively, perhaps, I grabbed my bike light off the handlebars.

So, I called a cab; it got me to court just in time because my case was the first one called. Now, keep in mind that I am still as blasted as Robert Downey Jr. on New Year's Eve with puke on my shirt, coke buggers dangling from my nose, and slurring my words as I approach the bench.

The judge asks, “Mr. Quinlan, looks like we have two riding a bicycle at night without a headlight violations.”

I held up my light for the bike and turned it on the middle of the courtroom as I slur, “Your honor, I bought a light. The neighborhood is safe now.”

Despite my buffoonery, he dismissed both tickets.

Either way, the neighborhood could sleep safely that night.


If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can actually order of mocha Frapuccino, donations are always appreciated!

jason quinlan paypal


At Least I’m Not Mike South

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not seek revenge? – William Shakespeare

lemmy xxxjay

At Least I'm Not Mike South


In my last post, I initially made the mistake of linking to a blog written by Mike South.

Who is Mike South you might ask?

Don't worry about it; he's a nobody.

When I have the sporadic thought of suicide, I just remind myself that I could have been born Mike South, and I go on to live another day.

The post was regarding “Dave” from the Luxury Companion. Guess who I got a call from last night?

Dave from TLC.

Dave was very cordial, and we cleared the air about past misunderstandings. There was no discussion of his “legal troubles” (which have been widely misreported by Mr. South) and we mostly bonding discussion over our mutual hatred of Sandra McCarthy and the rest of The Gay Mafia currently controlling the mortally wounded porn business.

Mike South's post correct. I would link you over to his blog, but I don't want your IQ to drop. Last night, I buried the hatchet with Dave, and we both realized we would've made better friends than “enemies,” had the cards played out differently.

It doesn't matter to me if he was or wasn't pimping out girls behind my back that isn't his problem.

According to Mike South, that's his vocation.

My problem is unknowingly being the head of a Rico-sized prostitution empire run by Sandra McCarthy.


Sandra McCarthy Prostitution


Sandra McCarthy: Human Sex Trafficer


They say don't do the crime if you can't do the time. It's also said crime pays, but if you are not receiving any of that delicious tax-free human trafficking money, this slogan isn't true either.

When I write, people pay attention. I don't need to spam GFY with links to set traps for the trolls. That's all I was using GFY for anyways, until they banned me. That is going to hurt thier Alexa rank for sure, which is already pretty bad. Unlike, Mike South, I don't put a robots.TXT file to block my posts from being indexed in to deny I posted something.

I speak my mind, and I own what I say. I don't take posts down.

A picture of xxxjay and lemmy from GFY
Mike South has the unmitigated audacity to call himself a “blogger,” plagiarize my posts and then go on to criticize me public forums as he did with Lemmy post. I never said Lemmy was my best friend. I merely shared stories from the last two decades I've known Lem.

Here is a screenshot of Mike's post, do you notice any similarities to mine:

Screen Shot 2016-07-15 at 3.35.31 PM
My 2-hour conversation with Dave and / GeneRossIsBack / “Seo Guy”(LOL) Internet Terrorist Donny Long was rather entertaining. Apparently, Sandra McCarthy was supposedly trying to make use of Dave's “political connections” with judges to obtain a search warrant for the police to raid my house because I was “dealing cocaine”. With certainty, if she had been telling Dave to drop dime on me, there is no doubt in my mind she was doing it herself and having others do it.

That is how much of a CUNT Sandra McCarthy is. Since we are on the topic, let's get a few facts straight.

1. The mass exodus of porn girls from 101 talent was main reason Sandra wanted to squeeze me out. She saw the opportunity to double roster. Why split twice the money three people instead of 2?

2. Sandra falsely alleged that I was a Coke dealer. Was I a big cocaine dealer? No. Would the cops have found cocaine at my house, had they decided to raid it? Maybe. There might have been some baggies in the “drug pockets” of jeans I washed or half empty bag sitting in a drawer somewhere I'd forgotten about. That was three years ago. In a community with a median age of 60 and a very active neighborhood watch, they would have nailed me by now. The cops never came to call. Do you know why? Simple, because I wasn't selling cocaine!

Here's the catch: Let's say the police had found a minuscule amount of devils dandruff I'd forgotten? That would be enough to force me out of the partnership, rather than buy me out. If I was the big cocaine dealer that she claimed, wouldn't I still be living up in that beautiful house in the Hollywood hills, instead of homeless in Atlanta? Which brings me to my next point of contention….

3. Sandra McCarthy told everyone in the porn business I was bought out for $250,000. That is an out-and-out lie. I will swallow my pride and tell you the exact amount I was “bought out” of OC Modeling for $32,000. Yes, you read that right, that wasn't a typo: $32,000. You can get on food stamps and make more. Let's remember; the agency didn't earn money for the first three years. While Sandra bungled her way through the first original partnerships and just clung on like a dingleberry in the part of your asshole that you can't wipe, and trashed talked people out of their jobs which grew the business like Phil Mac; Sanda usurped the throne by attrition. If you did the math, technically I lost money. And that doesn't include checks never mailed to me for falsely endorsed and deposited in other bank accounts via Katie's creative accounting process.

4. Sandra McCarthy claims to have come into the porn business through her experience as a “mainstream talent agent.” That is another lie. When she left her job working in a custom closet company and continued to fail miserably at running a porn agency until Phil Mack got things into full swing, I covered her rent, expenses and supported her family while patiently waiting for the business to turn a profit. Her name was not on the bond, nor was John Baumgardner. That was me.

5. Anything you email to [email protected] or from that email address is BCC'ed to John Baumgartner. Yes, that's right. Sandra McCarthy isn't even the real owner of OC Modeling. She is nothing more than a patsy for JC, who is the real president.

Okay Sandra, since you like to have fun getting the attention of the police: Two can play that game. This blog has a lot of loyal readers, and they are growing every day.

Let's have a little bit of fun.

If anyone would like to report an illegal prostitution ring run in Chatsworth California this is the address of the offices:

OC Modeling Los Angeles Main Office:
22024 Lassen Street
Suite 114
Chatsworth, Ca. 91311
(818) 626-9550

Here are some links to law enforcement would take an interest in Sandra McCarthy's prostitution empire:

Chatsworth Police Department
810 G I Maddox Pkwy,
Chatsworth, GA 30705
Phone:(706) 695-9667

Los Angeles County resources:

Human Trafficking Section

Gaming, Bookmaking, Pornography, Prostitution
251 E. 6th St, Rm 332
Los Angeles, CA. 90014


Kelly Mulldorfer
Detective Support and Vice Division
Email: [email protected]

Vice Division (VD) is responsible for collecting, recording, maintaining, and disseminating intelligence data a major organized criminal enterprise within and affecting the City of Los Angeles. The Vice section concentrates on the enforcement of vice activities such as gaming, bookmaking, pornography, and prostitution. –

I've thought about it, but I have never reported any of Sandra McCarthy's illegal activities to the police. I don't believe in getting law-enforcement involved with anything. My new daily goal is to make her spend her life inside the confines of a State penitentiary.

In the event, the police are paid off, which I have often believed that they are. With companies like LADirect and Oc Modeling flagrantly operating out in the open for so many years you'd think they would've eventually gotten the attention of law enforcement? You never know, we might get lucky, this is an election year. The office located within proximity to public schools and other areas that wouldn't want this kind of activity.

If the are police paid off, I would happily pass the baton over to the criminals.

Prostitution is a cash business. Though it has been some years since I was in that office, Sandra would always stash the cash in the file cabinets on the left side of the main room. Of course, that was three years ago. Surely, she can't be stupid enough to be still stashing the cash in a rental office with minimal or no security, but this is Sandra McCarthy we are talking about. If no money can be found there, Your next best bet would be to jack one of the model houses or catch one of their employees in the parking lot when they usually leave the office between 8 PM and 11 PM. She perjured herself in court, saying, “Jason Quinlan has a gun and is dangerous.” Which couldn't be further from the truth, as I've stated in previous blogs I am an advocate of gun control. So I'm assuming she isn't packing, but I can't confirm that.

I am not going to cross the line and post personal information, but if the police don't want to handle it, use Search anybody by name, e-mail address, phone number, online username or even friends in your address book and instantly return lots of info.

In case you haven't noticed, this blog was originally supposed to be a re-accounting of my glory days. I haven't even gotten to the good stuff like why I have Jeff Hanneman's guitar, the incident with Oliver Stone, and how I tried to shut the ocean off.

I have only been able to post a few of those stories from the 200-page manuscript I already have written, and have opted to use this blog as a platform to dish out massive bowls of truth-soup against my enemies.

I am homeless, have a pinched nerve which makes it likely I can't play guitar ever again without surgery I cannot afford.

I have chosen to go out with guns blazing. No justice, no peace, no quarter from my enemies.

In case you haven't noticed: I don't give a fuck about anything.

I'm not drinking to excess or on drugs.

That makes me more of a threat and hopefully a better writer.

Thank you for your time.

If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can actually order of Mocha Frapuccino, donations are always appreciated!

jason quinlan paypal


Sandra McCarthy and OC Modeling: Who Will Pimp Your Bitches Now?

Sandra McCarthy / OC Modeling: Who Will Pimp Your Bitches Now?

Again, I don't mean to keep rehashing the same bullshit, but sometimes this blog writes itself. I caught this today in my Facebook feed a blog.

Dave From The Luxury Companion Gets 5 to 10 Year Sentence

For those of you who are unfamiliar with porn politics, “Dave from the Luxury Companion” is the quintessential “El Chapo” of pimping out porno bitches for illegal prostitution. If the Prince of Dubai wanted to order up the latest “it girl” in porn: Who is the guy to call? Want to obtain some hookers anywhere across state lines or internationally? Who did Sandra McCarthy go to when her rinky-dink porno agency couldn't make ends meet booking legitimate work?

That's right…

Dwight Cunningham (aka “Dave From The Luxury Companion”) and is an accomplice “Karen”!

Look, I am not some preachy Christian do-gooder motherfucker. I have no problem profiting from crime, in fact, that will be the subject of an upcoming blog post. From my late teens to my mid-20s, I openly admit I supplemented my income selling drugs.

That's my problem, I'm honest, even to a fault. I play in a “sex, drugs, and poop” comedy metal band.

I get it. It makes me an easy mark.

As for prostitution, I have no problem with it. I think it should be legal. Where I do take issue is when the company that I am holding the bond for is pimping out bitches behind my back, and not reaping the monetary rewards. That's right, if I am unknowingly be taking part in a Rico-sized prostitution ring I should at least be receiving some of the proceeds?


Even though I was a partner in OC Modeling, one of the main reasons Sandra never wanted me at the office is because she would be forced to break bread and give up a some of that sweet tax-free money they have coming through their greedy hands.

And Sandra McCarthy likes to say, “that Jason Quinlan never held the bond for OC Modeling” and I would like to state on equivocally Sandra McCarthy is full of shit.

Most importantly, to keep the bond for a talent agency it is required that you own property in the state of California. John Baumgartner was a resident of Las Vegas Nevada. Sandra didn't own ANY property and as far as I know still doesn't.

How is OCModeling “bonded” anyway?


What would've happened if Sandra had gotten caught running her her illegal prostitution ring in the two years I held the bond? I would have been arrested and forfeited my two point two million dollar house, which wound up happening anyways because of you greedy motherfuckers.

And you know what's worse?

1. At the time I wasn't aware of I was at the head of a massive prostitution ring, but I suspected it.

2. I never received any profit from OCModeling's illegal activities.

I knew it was happening. Do you know how I know? On several occasions, I sent my friends up (gratis “pimp fees”) with hookers from OCM!

I know, (Jay) stop playing the victim and blaming everyone else: You are a drug addict!

Spare me the lecture.

If any of you OC Modeling, ATM LA, or LA Direct fuck-wads want to see a drug addict or complete slimeball you need not do more look in the fucking mirror!

I know you think I've lost my voice in the industry just because you had me banned from GFY for exposing Pornstar Platinum's creative accounting practices. People still look at my Twitter and Facebook. It won't take long before this post is all over the internet.

And in closing, I gave the better part of a decade of my life to ensure you assholes success. Sandra and Nick Melillo, you didn't put down a fucking dime to ride the coattails and then had the unmitigated gall to sue me over a wet napkin! Make no mistake about it that's exactly what you fucking did. I take your confidentiality agreement and fart in your general direction.

Just like you don't give a fuck about throwing me under the bus because I was some kind of “liability”. For Christ sakes, we are talking about the fucking porn industry!

PS: I've read the blog comments and the GFY threads. I need to stop harping on this and move on with my life because karma will get you in the end.

I'm fueling karma with a nutritious bowl of truth soup, so it doesn't take longer than the Nazi hunters to find Adolf Eichmann hiding in Argentina.

Here's to the decimation of your pathetic asses!

It's not like I make money writing this. I have two sneak into
Starbucks to get WiFi! Donations are always appreciated!

jason quinlan paypal


Connecticut: The Blunder Years (Part 2) – Rumblepig!

rumblepig setlist

Connecticut: The Blunder Years (Part 2) – Rumblepig!

Catholic school was a great place to meet other like-minded fuck-ups. When I was 13. I was walking home from school, with my best friend Crabtree talking about metal. Crabtree decided he would get a drum set; I would buy a guitar, and we’d start a band. We completed it with our buddy Crowface on bass and vocals. Crowface also didn't know how to play an instrument or sing, but that didn't stop us. We called ourselves Rumble Pig. We loved Carnivore, S.O.D., Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax and had some punk thrown in the mix.

We practiced in Crabtree's parent's basement and then would get high in the dugout at the baseball field across the street. Crowface and I wrote our first song “Nuclear Death” in his parent's basement. The riff I wrote was a total rip on the intro of “Jesus Saves” by Slayer. Crow face wrote the words: “Let's go blow up Russia, Let's go blow up Iran, I don't care where it is, As long as it's foreign land!” We were super politically correct as you can see!

Uncasville was BORING! The Mohegan Sun Casino is there now, prior to that it was nothing but a cow town. For excitement, we hung out at the gas station, smoked pot, and drank beer if we could get our older friends to buy it. But, our primary form of entertainment was making up nicknames for EVERYBODY. I was “Mushroom Head”, there was “AntMan”, “Snakeman”, “Iceman”,  and there was Crabtree’s Dad “Fred” and we called his mom “The Color Green” even though I'm not sure why. I'm sure there are 1000 more I can't remember, feel free to add them in the comments if you were there at the time.


Yeah, it was that boring, so the band was a fun diversion.


We all played together from the time we were 13 to 17. Are songs were straight-up thrash metal, offensive, politically incorrect and sometimes racist (thanks S.O.D.). We had songs like “Mexicans” (“Mexicans, fire-breathing, Breath stinking, Mexicans”), “Revenge Of The Towelheads” (inspired by author of “The Satanic Verses” Solomon Rushdie, who was having his Islamic problems at the time) and “Prostitutional Massacre” whose punch-line was “God dammit, I’ve got aids!!”

That was in 1987.  “Too soon” wasn’t in our vocabulary.

We recorded one 6-song demo tape with a four-track my parents bought me for Christmas. I wish I still have a copy. I'm amazed, even to this day some of my friends can remember the songs.

We've played our first show at a VFW hall that was converted for a day or two a month into a punk club called the Populace Pudding. GG Allin was working as a porter cleaning up the bathrooms at the time. He was recently released from prison and in Connecticut. We didn't listen to him, but we were well aware of who he was. I had a girlfriend who hated our band. She stayed out by the truck while we played, and when I got off stage, she said that the sweet “Jesus looking” guy had been talking to her while we rocked the house. I told her it was GG Allin; she didn't know who that was. I took her to the front of the club where he was selling homemade posters of himself fucking dead cats.


The swell chap I must say.


I had a few other close friends. One was Gordon Conrad, who I'd known since we were two because our families were friends. Over 20 years later Gordon became a big shot for a Relapse Records. I remember he had this girlfriend nicknamed “Munky” for a few months and then they broke up. Years later, Crabtree wound up banging Munky. Gordon still won’t talk to me and wouldn't even listen to a Dick Delicious and the Tasty Testicles demo, because he knew I was Crabtree's best friend.

Talk about holding a grudge!

There wasn't a lot of places to play locally, especially when you were underage, Rumble Pig's coup d'état came during our high school graduation party. We were all bound for college. So we were kind of sure we would never play again. They had this cheesy cover band playing Rick Springfield song, and we went on stage and did a guerilla gig.

I think a lot of the kids in school knew that we were all in a band, but they didn't know how good we were, so the crowd went crazy. The cover band had a hard time getting back onstage after that.

They had just felt the wrath of the pig!

I recorded this a few years ago, just for posterity on my home studio and to demonstrate how the world is changed little since Salman Rushdie.  I play every instrument on the track and made the video.

It's not like I make money writing this. Donations are always appreciated! 🙂

jason quinlan paypalNow, I'm going to have to think about what I'm going to publish next, there is still a lot to choose from!


Connecticut: The Blunder Years – Part One

Jason Quinlan playing guitar at the beach in 1989

Connecticut: The Blunder Years (Part 1)


I was either blissfully ignorant or not exposed to the seedy underbelly of rural Connecticut when I was young. Until I'd witnessed it in other people’s lives: Divorce, alcoholism, gambling addiction, poverty, and abuse. Connecticut and Rhode Island are the only two states decreasing in population. I think there’s good reason for that. My parents were upstanding citizens, almost too-perfect-parents and even though I’m sure they fought, they never did it in front of my brother and I (who is approximately two years younger).

All my life I’ve been shy, introverted, and suffered from social anxiety. I just did a good job of concealing it, mostly with my off-color sense of humor, probably from watching too much Monty Python as a kid. I never bought that “man in the sky” bullshit. I know it sounds contrived, but I’ve always been an atheist before it was cool.


Where I Got My Hustle!


I always had hustle, even as a little kid. I never begged my parents for money. At nine, I lied about my age and said I was 10 to get a paper route, which I kept till I was 16 and even one paperboy of the year. I’d memorize all the addresses of my customers without writing them down in my notepad. To this day, I have reoccurring nightmares I suddenly forgot all of the patrons that paid.

One day, doing my papers, I had very odd experience, also involving Iron Maiden. The day Powerslave came out, I went to the mall with my cousin and bought it. Something happened that afternoon, which was the first of a series of traumatic head injuries.

It took me about an hour to do my paper route, and I'd usually be home by 4 PM. Except for one day, I went out around 2 PM but have no idea what occurred until 7 PM, until my Mom returned home from work, to find me in the living room watching M*A*S*H with my head half bashed open. At the hospital, they said I had a severe concussion. My cousin came in to visit with the Powerslave album. To this day I have no clue what happened.


The picture with me and a cat on my back all fucked up on drugs

I said, “Oh man, you didn't have to buy that for me!”.

He reminded me, “You bought this yourself this afternoon when we when at the mall.” Uncasville Connecticut didn’t have exactly the highest crime rate. For all I know, I could’ve been kidnapped by aliens.


Who knows?


Around age 13, I saved enough paper route money to buy an ATC (it’s a 3-wheel ATV, no longer available because they are super dangerous). I'd ride it on the street behind my parents back when they weren’t home.

One summer afternoon, I was coming down a three-way intersection when I saw a cop passing in front of me. I turned around and blasted up the street. The police took the adjoining street; we were now careening directly for an unscheduled game of “chicken”. I flipped a bitch and kept my bike in the middle of the road. The cop couldn’t pass me on the right or left. I rounded a corner and sped up a road that ended in a path and raced into the woods. To my surprise, the cop car tried to chase me into the woods. The last thing I remember turning around to see him wrap his car around a tree. For the next two hours, I thought I was Rambo. Hiding my bike underneath branches, listening for helicopters. I waited till dusk to make an exit. When I got home, my brother informed me that the cops had already been by the house looking for me. The next day, they knocked on my door and handed my dad a warrant for my arrest. The laundry list of charges that included Destroying State Property, Resisting Arrest, Aggravated Mayhem, some accusations I’ve never heard of before (or since!). That incident alone put me on probation for the rest of my time in New England.


If A Cat Has 9 Live I've Lived 8


If cats have nine lives — I've surely been through eight. Not long after the newspaper folly, the day after Christmas, I wanted to be the cool kid bombing the steepest hill in the neighborhood on a skateboard the other children would only ride sitting down. I blasted it repeatedly while sucking on a mouth full of file fireball candies until a car pulled out of one of the driveways. I swerved to the side of the road (which were always salted to melt the ice). I wiped out, smashed my head onto the curb and started choking on the candy. My mom just happened to drive by to see the other kids performing the Heimlich maneuver on me with half of my brain hanging out.

jason quinlan 16

I was ridiculously shy. I would never hit on girls. I still don’t to this day. If I were to check out right now, one of my reservations wouldn't be not having got laid enough, despite having no “game” at all. Girls came to me. There was this Asian chick at my junior high, that was kind of hot, who had a major crush on me. She told me straight out I could have sex with her, which was a bold move in 1983.  I somehow declined her advances for months, because the other kids at school would call me “chink lover” and other random insults. That was until summer break. We randomly ran into each other at the school tennis court. She bent over, pulled down her shorts – I lost my virginity right there on the foul line. The next fall, when school got back, the “chink lover, Asian lover” increased exponentially from the other kids. For a while, it bothered me, until I reminded the little bastards, ”Motherfuckers, I may be “a chink fucker,” but you guys are a bunch mother fucking of virgins!”

To drown my social anxiety:

1. Drugs and Alcohol: My usually reclusive and shy suddenly become my alter-ego a boisterous joke-cracking, skirt-chasing, path of destruction. At the pivotal age of 13, I got into drinking, weed, and acid. I remember freezing my ass off in the wilderness in sub-zero temperatures at the “party spot” (dubbed “The Well Of Souls”) guzzling beers, getting high, and trying to get girls pants off in the freezing snow. That was when I made a life changing assessment: “This is what I want to do with my life!”

2. Heavy Metal Music (and music in general): The first album I bought with my own money was Deep Purple’s “Perfect Strangers,” then I discovered Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath, but, then I heard Iron Maiden – THEY WERE BADASS! I always wanted to hear something heavier, so I sought out underground stuff like early Metallica, Mercyful Fate, Slayer, and Venom. I still love those bands to this day.

3. The Guitar: Milner had an electric guitar and took a few lessons. He could play “Procreation Of The Wicked” by Celtic Frost. He showed me. It was easy. I didn’t think about guitar again until I heard “For Whom The Bell Tolls” by Metallica. I loved that massive that descending riff. I had to make that sound. I bought my first guitar, an Aria Pro when I was 14 from my friend Joe. He taught me “Paranoid” by Black Sabbath. Once I got playing, I would come home from school every day and practice for at least three hours with a stopwatch. I have a good my ear for music and could listen to something and usually be playing a rough version of it within a few minutes.

Within six months of playing, I was better than the older kids that had been playing for years. To this day, I consider myself a guitar player above anything else.

Jason Coleman and father
At 13, I first discovered acid. I was on a snow day from school at my grandfather’s house. I had three hits I bought at school for 10$. I dropped all 3; I probably should've stuck with just one! Donald Sutherland’s “Invasion Of The Body Snatchers” got extraordinarily intense! My grandfather called my brother and me for dinner. I watched the spaghetti’s spin around on the plate in a psychedelic swirl and barfed all over the table. In my room, the demons on my Slayer “Hell Awaits” came to life from the infernal depths: “Join us, join unsub zero I began to question my atheism. Lucifer was in my Bathory album, and if there was a God, please spare me from the eternal fire!

That was until the acid wore off and I regained my sanity.

Despite how unpleasant this may have sounded, LSD is my drug-of-choice, even to this day. It turns you into a drooling blob of hallucinatory mush for 6 to 8 hours, followed my 2 hours of introspection you can’t get anywhere else, leaving you with an “outside the box” perspective on the world. When Steve Jobs said, “Using LSD was one of the three most important things he’d ever done this life.” That came as no surprise to me.

I’m not encouraging kids to get into hard drugs, that’s just my take on it.

By eighth grade, I had got into so much trouble the schools were considering sending me to “reform school” with the “bad kids.”

My parents enrolled me in St. Bernard’s Catholic High School instead. The Catholic School Kids behaved worse than their public school counterparts, but dressed better and had shorter hair. While my public school colleagues were squeezing the last hit off a roach; I was smoking hydroponic herb, dropping tabs, and partaking in “the devil’s dandruff” by 16.

As a bonus, the girls in Catholic school were a bit sluttier. It bummed me out the girls couldn't wear tight jeans, but they continue to hem their skirts to shorter and shorter lengths. I used to fuck girls in the school’s church confessional booth at lunch break and later confess my sexual encounters to the priests. I thought that was hilarious. I would inform them that they were probably sitting in my man-spackle right at this very moment. Not that a 14-year-old boy's semen is anything that new to a Catholic priest. If there was a God, he had to forgive me for it! That is what confession is for, right?

Around 14, I had my first experience with heartbreak. Much to the dismay of all the jocks, I was briefly dating the “hottest chick at school”. The jocks couldn't understand why such a fine piece-of-ass was hanging around with an introverted heavy metal nerd?

We dated for three months, and one day after school she arbitrarily decided to dump me. There was only one way to suppress these new feelings: Self-medicate!

My parents weren't drinkers. We never had booze at the house aside from a couple of bottles of liquor in the basement, so I took a little bit out of each bottle so they wouldn't notice. I'd mixed gin, amaretto, scotch, cream-de-mint and vodka to drown my sorrow. All mixed the liquor turned blue, which I would later term the “Blue Meanie“. I chugged it, ate some fruit roll-ups, went to my room, opened my window, and heaved red vomit all over the front of our newly painted “battleship gray” house and passed out. I was awakened by my mom opening the door telling me she had something she needed to say me and it was important, so I should get up.

Painting The House With Bile

The open window in the sub zero temperature, coupled with the newly decorated house should have been a clue something was rotten in Denmark. I was so wasted; I thought it was the next morning and started getting dressed for school. I was hammered when I sat down at the dinner table. My Mom told me my grandmother had just passed away that afternoon.

I was “chipmunking” for my next round of projectile puke, when my mom said, “If I didn't know better, I would swear that you are on drugs. To which I replied, “No mom, I'm just upset” and then went back to my room and shellacked the fresh paint with the second sortie of fruit roll ups.

It's not like I make money writing this. Donations are always appreciated! 🙂

jason quinlan paypalDonations are appreciated 🙂

Next up: RUMBLE PIG!