Silly Little Show-Biz Book Club #15: You'll Never Suck Cock In This Town Again Too: The Cock-Re-Suckening

Sequels are generally inferior to the originals that spawned them, as Hamlet 2 recently reminded us. But when the original was no damned good in the first place, an inferior sequel can be brutal. That was certainly the case with two previous installments of Silly Little Show-Biz Book Club, The Vixen Diaries, Karrine "Superho" Steffans' wildly anti-climactic follow-up to her explosive celebrity cocksucking expose Confessions of a Video Vixen, and Driving Under The Affluence, Julia Phillips' mind-meltingly awful sequel to her infamous Hollywood tell-all You'll Never Eat Lunch In This Town Again.

Today's whoretastic entry in Silly Little Show-Biz Book Club, the hilariously, tellingly titled Hollywood hooker group memoir You'll Never Make Love In This Town Again Again, consequently fails to match even the low, low standards of its predecessor, You'll Never Make Love In This Town Again. For starters, it's unforgivably short on prostitution. Now at this point you might be thinking, "Gosh, Nathan, you seem to spend an awful lot of time reading and writing about hookers." Yes. Yes, I do.

Incidentally, I recently spent two and a half hours at the Pump Room drinking with one Tony Clifton and a good hour of that time was spent discussing prostitution. Apparently when Andy Kaufman died not a single Taxi cast-member showed up. But several of his most beloved whores paid their last respects. There was no joy in whoreville that day. Johns and hookers went about their dirty business with heavy hearts and dicks at half-mast.

You'll Never Make Love In This Town Again is like pop-culture crack. It kills brain cells. It's bad for you. It's completely lacking in value. You smoke it out of a aluminum can pipe. But it's so damned powerful and addictive that I can't stay away. Consequently I like to think of Silly Little Show-Biz Book Club as crack cut with snark. Yet Again Again is weak sauce. Criminy, half the women in the book aren't even whores. That shit makes Baby Jesus cry.

One of the lady-authors did nothing more unsavory than working as a porn publicist for several years. That's bullshit. When I go to a crackhouse (boy, am I ever belaboring this metaphor) I don't want the proprietor to say, "Golly, we're all out of crack but how about a nice Riesling? It won't get you high but if you drink a couple of bottles you might get a nice wine buzz going." When I read a

You'll Never Make Love book I want to read about Hollywood whores doing whorey things with famous people, not mildly amusing anecdotes about doing publicity for spank films.

The porn publicist in question devotes much of her section of the book to an endless story about flying down to the Video Music Awards to attend a party for Stuff magazine with a starlet named Anais. In a shocking turn of events, the porn star seemed more interested in having sex for money off screen than she was in promoting her work having sex for money onscreen. Can you believe it? After re-reading the chapter several times I still can't believe that a flighty twenty-year old porn star would behave in such a brazenly unprofessional manner. I was even more shocked to find out Anais may have worked as a prostitute. It's hard to believe that a young woman who has sex with strangers for money in front of a camera would also have sex with strangers for money without being filmed.

Again Again is essentially one big bait and switch: its title and pedigree promise an endless array of sleazy revelations and sordid star-studded sexscapades. Yet it delivers only warmed-over anecdotes concerning celebrities as famous for their whoremongering as their acting (Chalie Sheen, cough, cough). A prominent exception is the following passage:

I got a few calls one night and took one because it was close by. It was from a guy staying at Le Mondrian Hotel, a very trendy place to be at the time. He gave me his room number and told me to come right over.

A fairly young guy in his early thirties, nice-looking, answered the door. His face was vaguely familiar; I couldn't figure out who he was but I knew I had seen him somewhere before. I shrugged it off and we started partying. We did a lot of drinking; he was doing a lot of freebasing (smoking cocaine). We tried to fool around; I did my best but the drugs were catching up to him and he was unable to achieve penetration. Just too wasted. So he asked me to call someone else, another guy, and bring him to the party. He could at least watch us fool around. I called a male friend of mine who was happy to come over and join us. The three of us continued to drink heavily, and we all fooled around a little bit. Our client continued to freebase. He couldn't get enough. He had very dark circles under his eyes and looked like he had been up for days. The way he was hitting that pipe, I was sure he had been.

Our client enjoyed talking about all kinds of way-out-there sex fantasies all through the night. He was a big talker; we got a big three-way discussion going about all kinds of outrageous sex acts. My friend Tommy and I were coming up with all kinds of wild stories to keep him happy. He kept telling us, "This is how I relax".

We moved on to the show–me having sex with Tommy as our client sat in a chair freebasing and watching us. Tommy swings both ways, so he was happy to oblige. Specifically, our client wanted to watch me give Tommy a blowjob. So I did. As we rolled around on the floor, my friend whispered in my ear, "You know who this is, right? Matt LeBlanc from Friends?" Oh yeah, right!

The only thing that could make that story better would be if LeBlanc elaborated on the whole "This is how I relax" by adding, "well, this and macramé". Yet all the cocaine in the world won't make LeBlanc forget that he starred in Ed. Rumor has it that it was Ed's baseball-playing ape that turned him onto blow.

You'll Never Make Love In This Town Again was full of anecdotes like that. Here, it sticks out as a glorious oasis of grade A sleaze in a vast desert of tedium. In lieu of similarly scintillating tidbits about the rich and shameless, Again Again casually tosses out "rumors" that Michelle Pfeiffer and Naomi Campbell toiled in the world's oldest profession before they hit it big and includes perversely uninteresting accounts of romps, paid and otherwise, with Arnold Schwarzenegger, Kevin Costner, Brad Pitt, George Lucas (but why would a man with his looks, charisma and social skills have to pay for sex? It just doesn't make sense) and Joe Pesci.

If Again Again isn't particularly fun or entertaining it's at least informative. I learned, for example, that most high-priced Hollywood hookers have at least the following in common:

1. They started out as prototypical Actress, Singer, Whatevers
2. A friend eased them into the business by promising thousands to spend time with billionaire Adnan Khashoggi, who couldn't have been kinder or more gentlemanly.
3. They're nostalgic for the eighties and nineties, which apparently was a golden age for Hollywood hooking
4. They had sex with Charlie Sheen and Jack Nicholson.
5. Nicholson was crazy, charismatic and coked-up.
6. Sheen was a real sweetheart. He bought them expensive gifts and proposed at least once (according to Again Again Sheen proposed to literally dozens of call girls)
7. They fooled around with other women professionally but don't think of themselves as gay, even if they occasionally sleep with women in a non-professional context
8. They did way too much drinking and cocaine
9. They sometimes take a long, hard look in the mirror and ponder if their lives would be different if they'd eschewed hooking for, I dunno, getting a massage license
10. They all appeared in a mid-nineties comedy about a baseball-playing primate

In You'll Never Make Love In This Town Again, the women blurred into one big ball of hookerdom but Again Again at least deserves points for featuring prostitutes with antithetical stories and philosophies. The first is a typical party girl, a sexy looker who blew all the money she made blowing dudes on cocaine, clothes and other assorted nonsense and ended up on welfare. The other is a drug-free uber-professional who squirreled away millions of dollars and plans to retire at forty-two, rich, happy and regret-free. Yet they're both equally boring.

The fourth of the book's trollops and its second non-professional is Jennifer Young, the daughter of Oscar-winner Gig. Gig Young led an almost comically tragic life, even before killing himself just after murdering his last wife. Young was originally cast in

Blazing Saddles but was replaced by Gene Wilder after suffering from Delirum Tremens on the set. He was later cast as Charlie in Charlie's Angels but was fired when he showed up too drunk to even record his lines. Even more tragically, he was crowned "Mr. Drunk America" in 1977 but lost his crown after pageant officials decided he was too inebriated to perform his official duties which, ironically enough, mostly involved staggering around and slurring his words.

Young loses points for not being a prostitute (boo! boo!) but gains them for being Heidi Fleiss' longtime roommate and best friend (yay!) but loses points for not having anything interesting to say about Fleiss (boo!) and pimping her singing career shamelessly. Here's a typically subtle plug:

I'm very talented–I'm a great producer, I'm a great writer, I'm a great singer. And I'm so happy to be healthy again that I feel like I can conquer the world. I find that I look and feel my best when I'm on the Zone-la.com diet–which is really necessary these days because I'm so busy. After everything I've been through I'm feeling more optimistic than ever about the future.

Sadly, that passage ends both the book and one of the greatest literary franchises ever created out of sordid anecdotes from high-class knob-gobblers and sword-swallowers. The book's dearth of juicy celebrity sexcapades is even more bewildering considering you can't spit in L.A without hitting a prostitute only too happy to spill the beans about her famous lovers. You'll Never Make Love In This Town Again Again gives prostitutes a bad name. Writing this entry has left me exhausted. I really need to relax. I guess I can always call my good buddy Matt LeBlanc. He's always down to blow off some steam with a joint macramé session.