Unlike my Zombie Queen, I am no stranger to celebrity fuck videos. The Pamela Anderson / Tommy Lee tape is the barometer by which I judge the progress of my life. As I am not yet steering a boat with my impressive penis and fucking a beautiful megastar to whom I have nothing of substance to say, I can report that that progress is sadly lacking. Since its release in 1997, that film has haunted me.
The Screech video takes the formula that Pam and Tommy invented and kicks it up a notch. That formula involves compelling dialogue. What I loved most about the Anderson-Lee tape isn't so much the sex, which is only about 15% of the tape, but watching the two of them interact with one another. Hearing the awkward silence broken by repeated declarations of "I love you, lover," "I love
you, lover" was the first signal that this union was perhaps not built to last. As we all know, Tommy was not long afterward beating Pamela and going to jail for same. It was a modern tragedy, really.
For nearly a decade thereafter, there was no dearth of celebrity skin to amuse and entertain us all. However, none provided the
oomph of the Tommy and Pam debacle. Yes, we were already aware that Paris Hilton is a greedy little cockwhore, and that was only buffeted somewhat by the creative use of a night vision lens. While there is much to be said about watching a girl with disturbingly glowing eyes and a green hue to her form satisfy a man, this is neither the time nor the place to say it.
But
Dustin Diamond - known forever to one and all as Screech - changed things up, if only a little. However, a little goes a long way in these Dark Hours of the Bush presidency. This is an era shrouded in the dark stink of failure and international humiliation. It is as if all the world has become Quebec.
Screech, like Bill Clinton before him, feels our pain and wants to put a smile back on our faces as only a fallen child star or hillbilly president can. Like Clinton, Screech has a rather warped view of sex and a low regard for the women who strive to please him.
And like men everywhere, he has a less than modest nickname for his genitalia. He calls it "The Monster." The Starr Report did not reveal President Clinton’s nickname for his penis.
Dustin Diamond is a lot like what you'd expect
Caligula would be if he had been a sitcom actor rather than an emperor so depraved that he was assassinated by his own guards. And his tape is sad, twisted and wrong in ways that would prevent even
Judith Regan from going near it.
The video begins with Screech sharing some quality time in the bath with a woman I presume to be his wife, Jennifer or "JJ" as she is called in the footage. As JJ is operating the camera, we never see her, but we are allowed to revel in Screech's insipid banter and his dementedly juvenile sexuality.
At one point, Diamond inserts his foot into his beloved's lady oven as he talks about cheese. As someone a decade Screech's senior, I can only assume that I'm more of an old school gentleman than he. Where I come from, one does not discuss dairy products whilst inserting that particular appendage into his lover. Perhaps things have changed; it's hard for me to know as I don't get out often. But as we shall see later, foodstuffs and descriptions thereof, play a large role in Screech’s erotic couplings, far too large a role for my taste, but I'm only one man, and a rather old fashioned one at that.
As it happens, Mrs. Screech is camera shy and the scene changes before Diamond can be seen befouling her. One may assume that this is for the best. Knowing that women have sex with Screech is one thing, knowing that some are actually willing to join him in matrimony is quite another. The mark of an auteur is knowing what
not to show the audience.
When we are again greeted by Screech, we are told that he has just performed two of his "comedy" shows and has been invited to a bachelorette party in an unknown hotel. Most of the ladies in attendance had the good sense to flee once Screech's name was bandied about. The bride to be and one of her bridesmaids were too drunk, too inbred, or possessed of low enough morals to stay where they were and attempt to enjoy the ride.
I haven't been involved as a principal in matrimony, nor am I precisely sure what happens in a woman's final hours of freedom, but I was shocked to learn that Screech and The Monster play such a large role in it. Within minutes, the bride is introduced to The Monster and she promptly fellates it. And seems to enjoy it.
It is The Monster's first appearance that will be forever seared onto my consciousness. There are some things so truly horrifying that a man should never know them. Most prominent among these is the fact that Screech is bigger in the pants than you are. Not much bigger, mind you, but enough for you to notice right away. As I write this, mere hours after having viewed the video with Zombie, I still feel as a rape victim might - I know that the sobbing has to stop at some point, but I'm not sure when. Or that I want it to. Long story short, I could really use a hug.
We learn a few things about Screech's sluttish consorts, and the bride in particular, almost immediately. First, she gives a passable blowjob. Second, she seems to have prophylactic-related misadventures with some frequency. Third, she has the name "James" tattooed on her lower back. Fourth and finally, she seemingly has no moral issues about fucking around on a man she professes to love. I might know this woman better than I'd ever want to admit in public. But again, this is neither the time nor the place for that tale.
And to be fair, this is Screech. I’m sure James would understand.
The bridesmaid is slightly more demure than the bride, at least at first. As the bride is in the ladies room getting properly whored up, Screech implores the brunette bridesmaid to show him her breast. The bridesmaid is shocked by this and refuses, saying that she doesn't even
know Screech. But Screech reminds her that she grew up with him on television and she relents. Who among us can argue with such logic? And to be fair, this is Screech. And who am I to argue? After all, I did the same thing for Bob Denver once.
This brings me to a larger point. There was a time when you had to be accomplished at something to attain multiple, nameless sex partners. At a minimum, you had to be able to
do something, like paint or play the guitar. Christ, even cutting off your own ear worked in a pinch.
No longer. We live in an age where O.J Simpson gets more pussy than any one man can be expected to responsibly handle. And all he did was ran really far and murder two people. I think I can speak for us all when I say that I'm thankful that Adolf Hitler is no longer with us, lest he be banging
America's Next Top Model. And the runner-up. And Tyra Banks, besides. Also, no reasonable man wants to know that he's smaller than Hitler. Knowing that you’re smaller than Screech is quite enough, thank you very much. A life without the Hitler fucktape might be the smallest mercy of all, but it might be the only one left to me, and it's one I gladly accept.
But I digress. I do that sometimes.
The bridesmaid's demure act does not long last. First, she joins her slutty bride friend in performing fellatio on Screech. Then, despite protestations that she is "straight," performs cunnilingus on the bride. And by all appearances, she does it well. I suppose this can be chalked up to beginner's luck, because I refuse to believe that Screech would share his bed with anyone who is less than fully honest. Sure, he'll fuck a woman as she prepares to marry another man, but that's different and decidedly beside the point.
And to be fair, this is Screech.
It isn't enough that I'm confronted by the image of the blonde bride and her horrifying "James" tattoo being despoiled on her wedding night. Oh no! Screech begins a monologue about food. Specifically, Arby's. As he admires the blonde’s formerly most private of places, Screech muses that he would enjoy a Beef 'n Cheddar from Arby's.
Now, I'll admit that I'm not possessed of the most cosmopolitan of culinary tastes, so I asked Zombie if the Arby's Beef ‘n Cheddar should be added into my romantic repertoire.
skippystalin (07/12/2006 1:49:10 PM): And I would talk about Arby's, because you broads seem to like that.
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:49:59 PM): Yeah, no.
skippystalin (07/12/2006 1:50:07 PM): No?
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:50:17 PM): Have you ever had a Beef 'n Cheddar?
skippystalin (07/12/2006 1:50:29 PM): Never been to Arby's, no.
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:50:34 PM): They're disgusting.
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:50:46 PM): It's like thinly sliced fake roast beef, with this oozy fake cheese sauce.
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:50:56 PM): On soggy, greasy hamburger buns.
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:50:59 PM): It's disgusting.
skippystalin (07/12/2006 1:51:27 PM): Nice! So, I take it that this was a less than flattering comparison.
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:51:37 PM): Yeah, just slightly.
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:51:45 PM): If I heard that, even if I was completely drunk, I'd be ANGRY.
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:51:49 PM): But they didn't appear to even notice.
skippystalin (07/12/2006 1:52:06 PM): Well, they're drunk and stupid
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:52:06 PM): And he said it several times, so it's not like they didn't hear it.
Zombie (07/12/2006 1:52:21 PM): Beef 'n Cheddars are barely edible. I can't even look at one, and I'll eat damned near anything.
But to be fair, this is Screech. He can get away with things ordinary mortals can't. Just not with Zombie. Not for her unflattering comparisons between her most delicate bits of loveliness and "thinly sliced fake roast beef, with this oozy fake cheese sauce." Although such a comparison would hardly be fair or accurate. I imagine Zombie's little slice of heaven to be the most beautiful in all of Christendom -- and far tastier than anything on the Arby’s menu. And I’m something of a connoisseur of such things, so I know of what I speak.
Screech, in one of the most understandable features of the film, barely hides his glee at having a bride so soon before her nuptials. I can relate to this because fucking married women is exciting. You either know that or you don't. It’s a lot like kids and cookie jars. They know they aren’t supposed to have their hands in them, but that fact only makes the cookies taste better. Married sluts, like cookie jars, are like the fountain of youth. No matter how old you are, they bring out the big kid inside of everyone.
As James' towheaded slut of a fiancee sword-swallows Screech, he hums "Here Comes the Bride" in a tone that can only be described as "unrestrained joy." He refers to her as "bride" or "wife" no fewer than a dozen times in twenty minutes. This after comparing her goodies to gooey sliced ham. And she seems to love the attention. It turns out that it takes much less than an airplane to unleash a woman's inner cheating cumwhore. Who knew?
But there's another filthy little slut in this picture - one without James' name embedded in her flesh - and she doesn't cotton to being left out of any picture with Screech in it. Would you? So, she does what women everywhere do when they’re feeling ignored, she ratchets things up a notch.
She begins by receiving a languid, if amatuerish rimjob from the blushing bride, and then takes a rather large double dong in the rectum. The dong, previously described in loving detail by Screech, now causes him a measure of concern. He asks the bride to take it easy as he worries that the rough treatment might "destroy" the bridesmaid anally. This only proves that Screech is a novice when it comes to anal adventures. The prospect of some rectal destruction is what makes that form of intercourse a truly thrilling experience. It's much like the fascination with rollercoasters. True, you probably won't fall out and plunge to your death, but the fact that you
might makes you want to climb aboard again and again. The bridesmaid understands this as well as I do and demanded an even harder rogering.
But to be fair, this is Screech. He can hardly be expected to know everything, can he?
Screech then fucks them both and things go quickly downhill from there. As a means from recovering from their rather vigorous coupling with Screech, his brain-damaged tarts take a bath. The bride tells the world that she prefers The Monster" to her finance’s suddenly sad schvantz, an observation that will be lovingly remembered at family reunions for decades to come. Then one urinates in the tub and swims about it in it. The scene is almost child-like in its monsterous stupidity.
At that point, I was thinking back to a more innocent time when drunk, stupid and slutty didn't seem like such a …. negative quality in a woman. And that time was only a half-hour prior to seeing the tape. Even after my own regrettable experience with same, these were qualities I continued to encourage in others. It had finally occurred to me that Screech had even managed to cheapen
me with his tawdry adventures. To say that I was horrified by this understates things more than you can know.
Not that I could stop watching, though. I still hadn't seen the blood in the motor oil. Thankfully, I wouldn’t have to wait long.
As the bride continued to frolic in her urine-infested bath, the brunette began to towel off. Screech took the opportunity to further admire her ass. Then, without warning, he thrust his index finger into it, eliciting an expression of shock and horror known everywhere as
"the fish eye."
However, even this unfortunate turn of events didn’t dampen the festive spirit of the evening. What was to follow would. Screech then proceeded to engage the bride. He smeared the finger just used to forage the bridesmaid’s digestive track across her upper lip. Yes, the dreaded
Dirty Sanchez. For nearly half an hour I had wondered how low everyone - those on tape, and Zombie and I at home - could sink. I now knew. And I felt dirty for everyone involved.
If I could describe myself as an expert on anything, it is the ways of love. Yes, I have devoted decades to the study of
l'amour with varying degrees of success. And like Screech after me, I learned they went much more smoothly in the absence of anyone named James.
There are a number of things I've learned over the years, chief among them that the Dirty Sanchez is a romantic manoeuvre best left to a committed relationship and not a videotaped one-night stand. Even then, it is only attempted after the equally famous
Donkey Punch. Y'know, to soften her up some. This works roughly the same way flowers do. Instead, Screech turned something beautiful into a cheap, tawdry and ugly for everyone. Indeed, you can see the hurt and painful realization of betrayal on the bride's face. It wasn't for
this that she so callously cuckolded James, was it?
One of the most beautiful and celebrated things in American culture - starfucking - had been befouled and made into something grotesque and there was an uncomfortable sense of shock in the air before the tape suddenly ends. It isn’t going too far to suggest that even The Monster was ashamed of Screech at that point.
Zombie and I had seen something savage and terrible. Two lost, drunken whores degrading themselves for a glimpse of the empty and highly suspect glamour of Screech's broken life. One would feel almost sorry for these twisted tarts but for the awful knowledge that they had done this before and would almost certainly do it again. Screech has no pity for those around him, so feeling anything approaching compassion for him is a dark exercise in stupidity.
I felt an overwhelmingly human need to feel bad for someone. I considered
Elizabeth Berkley for a moment, but then realized that her career as the fourth female lead in snuff films still puts her two steps ahead of Screech.
It was then that a revelatory flash burst before me. In a world where a has-been who begs for mortgage money can still have a threesome with two passably attractive whores; sympathy might be an outdated and redundant emotion. The human condition had been brought so low that one could cheer for the destruction of the underdog without even the mildest of bad tastes in one's mouth. Certainly, Screech didn't create these circumstances, but he does embody them. Maybe Screech didn't kill human compassion, but he did deliver the eulogy.
I learned that if the Screech fucktape is a metaphor for the world around us, everyone else – you, me, and yes, even Zombie – is James. No one is saved by the bell. Not in this life, my friends. While I feel sullied by the sad and unnatural acts that I witnessed this afternoon, I feel richer for having seen them and the lesson I learned from them.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Your Cheatin' Heart By: Hank Williams
From: Hank Williams (Box Set) CD #8: The Nashville DemosPermalink 
