she’d put that used manhood of his down the garbage disposal unit.

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“Shit,” she mumbled. “Why in hell I ever come to this creep dive I don’t know. What do you know about anything anyway? You sit there with them big black cigars, lettin’ the ashes go down between your boobs, and you swig this rot gut all day, and you don’t never get out of that chair. What in hell do you know what’s going on outside them swinging doors? You ain’t seen the street out there since it was a dirt path.”

“I don’t get out much no more, now that’s a fact. But I got a regular telegraph system that sends me everything of interest that goes on around this town. And not only this town, but everyplace else. Like I know Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday are making the scene too. Now there’s a couple I’d damn well pay plenty to see in action. I seen them in a gunfight once. But I’d sure like to see how they get each other’s gun off.” She laughed her loud hacking laugh until the entire place shook. “That’s the only two men I ever think I’d like to see doin’ it… since I ain’t partial to anything a man’s got, ‘ceptin’ his gold.”

There are certain films we just can't stop talking about

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Bizarre as this may sound, there was once a fad for what was called "petticoat punishment" – humiliating unruly boys, and teaching them refinement, by dressing them in girl's clothing until they mended their ways.  This seems to have occurred principally in England and Europe during the nineteenth century, but was never widely practiced in the U.S. Eddie gave friends a dramatic account: "My mother was punishing me.  She didn't know what the hell she was doing to me." Young Eddie's desire to dress as a woman went far deeper than masturbatory fantasy.  Like many men and women in what is currently known as the transgendered community, young Eddie had a strong need to dress as, and be accepted as, a member of the opposite sex.  (Many artists and performers have shared similar impulses – among them the macho Ernest Hemingway with his predilection for donning frilly garments and then playing the passive role in bed.) In Eddie, this impulse was so strong that by the time he turned twelve, he was already sneaking into his mother's room, "borrowing" her clothes (particularly her underwear) and trying them on. Having discovered proof at an early age that he would have made a beautiful girl, Eddie began to fantasize about what his life would have been like if he had actually had the good luck to be born female.  As with others in the same situation, young Eddie's need to let his (or her) female self out was so overwhelming, s/he began to look for opportunities to publicly dress as a girl safely and without anyone suspecting his/her actual motives.  First, s/he started joking about it with the neighborhood kids.  If a girl took off her shoes or a sweater, Eddie might swipe them and put them on.  The stratagem appears to have worked.  Most friends of the time recalled young Eddie's clowning around as "strictly for laughs," "a lark," "tongue-in-cheek," and "camp."  Almost no one, at least during his/her childhood and teen years, seems to have suspected anything more.

a newlywed's inexplicable attraction to angora and gorillas

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ED WOOD , JR. (1924-1978): Having no training, but boundless energy and enthusiasm, Wood wrote, directed, and acted in some of the most hilariously inept movies ever made. Born in Poughkeepsie, he was a World War II Marine veteran who had worn women's lingerie under his uniform. Wood arrived in Hollywood in 1948, and began his career in film aided by the "Wood Stock Company," which consisted of drinking buddies and cronies. He sadly drifted into the world of pornography, and died watching a football game on TV, shortly before the renewal of interest in his films. The popularity of Ed Wood's work today is due to the availability of obscure movies on video, "Bad Film " festivals, disclosure of his transvestite habits, and awards lauding him as the "worst director of all time."

the Great Wall of China could not hold back the Incredible Future!

 

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I predict that America's foremost Rock-Folk Singer will commit suicide during Easter Week, 1969 … I predict an outburst of Cannibalism that will terrorize the population of one of the industrial cities in the state of Pennsylvania - - Pittsburgh! … I predict that many innocent men will be accused of cannibalism and dragged away by angry mobs and put to death … I predict that perversion will flood the land beginning in 1970. I predict a series of homosexual cities will soon be blatantly advertised and exist from coast to coast … I predict that Rhode Island will be the center of a new movement of the youth of the nation which will make the "hippie movement" look very normal. The next movement will be youth's rebellion through nudism …  And remember, it will be in your lifetime, when you walk down the street, you will shop, you will attend the theatre, in the nude. And, perhaps sooner than you think! … Every tick of the clock brings us nearer and nearer to this destiny.

“Only the infinity of the depths of a man’s mind can really tell the story.”

 

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The film opens with Janet having sex with her boyfriend. As she pleasures him orally, the audience is treated to the best Woodian dialogue in the film — ”You suck a good cock. Remind me to buy you that horse!” During this little bout of lovemaking, the doorbell rings. When Janet goes to the door, she finds her friend Peggy in tears. Peggy, it seems, has left her husband and children behind. “I had to get out of the whole mess,” she explains. “It’s hard for me to realize that things are real anymore.”

how sex leads to dope and how dope leads to smut films

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Most of these films may be cleaning up at the box office, but are not cleaning up anyone's mind or morals. These particular films have no purpose beyond titillating with sex and the naked female and it wouldn't be difficult to determine what kind of person is buying a ticket. There are perverts in all walks of life who can find something in these films. Of course, there are the "sleazy producers" who put out pure, unadulterated crap strictly for this type of demented individual. These films are usually made in some garage with no production cost outside the film itself. The so-called actors and actresses might demand ten dollars for their services!

Sooner of later you will meet Mr. Sleazy—probably sooner! He's got a fast line to convince you and an even faster technique to get your clothes off and get you onto his casting couch. Strange as it may seem, a few of these characters will let you just stay on your back, nude, while they try on your clothes. Your panties, warm with the heat of your body, your sweater of an expensive and, usually, a furry nature are hot items to these characters. You could end up doubling, even tripling, your ten-dollar offer if you'll give them the desired articles. However, be prepared to watch as the producer practices weird rituals of self- gratification.

a non-stop barrage of sex and violence

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"grade-Z" movies: films produced so incompetently, or on such impoverished budgets, that they have no chance of being released through even the sleaziest of regular distribution channels. "Well, sometimes they open on 42nd street for a couple of days," Weldon said," but they close right away, never to be seen in a theater again. The rest of them never make it to theaters at all. To earn back at least some of their money the producers are forced to sell their product directly to TV. As a result, there's almost no information available about these films." Except, of course, for that which Weldon has culled from poring through thousands of outdated "fanzines" and promotion pieces - and, not surprisingly, from countless all-night marathons in front of the TV screen.

It was the little deviations which made it all so worthwhile

 

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"Don't take any chances with the girls either. They're as bad as most of the boys. And a hell of a lot of the time you'll find the girls are in reality boys. They put on the capris, and the fuzzy sweaters, and with the long hair - who can tell? You'd even have a hell of a time getting them for masquerading. They don't wear falsies, or if they do they get rid of them before being searched. And they don't wear panties. They don't wear nothing. That goes for the real girls. They get flying high and don't even want to take time in lowering their panties. They lift their skirts behind one of those saloons and have at it standing up. These days you can't tell one from the other. It's their constitutional right to dress just about as they damned well please. The only way you're going to tag anything on them and make it stick is if they're disturbing the peace."

He tore pages from the Holy Bible to wipe his rectum

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I find myself re-reading one of my favorite showbiz memoirs, a book that got almost no attention here in New York when it was published back in '97 (I assume it must have made a stink in L.A. because when I was there in '97 living at the Chateau Marmont just a mention of Gilmore's name would send folks into seismic frenzies of denial), but I assure you this is a book you want to read: Laid Bare by John Gilmore. Gilmore's clear eyed, lucid prose captures Janis Joplin years before fame as a down and out North Beach tramp ("She fucks like a truck," he said. "She wants to get on top and jam up and down. She practically busted my rib cage.'') , Hank Williams at the Opry on the verge of superstardom and then pissing his pants months before his death, the only account of James Dean I've ever read that made him seem like a real person, scathing looks at Steve McQueen ("I'd see him stealing tips from bars and from tables in coffeehouses."), Dennis Hopper, the underbelly of Hollywood - the Black Dahlia, Manson, Mickey Cohen, and wait, a side trip to Tucson to cover the trial of Charles Schmidt, the Pied Piper Of Tucson, sleaze galore from Barbara Payton and Franchot Tone, sad sack Tom Neal, the sadly forgotten John Hodiak, Brigitte Bardot in Paris, Jane Seberg, Lenny Bruce, Vampira, every page of this book is fascinating. I can't remember who turned me onto it, I've given away a dozen copies over the years and have read every other book Gilmore's written, but Laid Bare is something truly special, a tell all that tells the truth, and it is written so well it sparkles like jewels on the page. I'm going back to my sick bed for a few days, I suggest you hunt down a copy of Laid Bare for yourself.- The Hound.

Burroughs knew where to find the best absinthe in a section of Paris he called "the sewer," and I went with him and another poet named Frank Milne, from Hoboken, who wore some sort of turban on his head with a bunch of fake jewels stitched to the front above the eyes. Burroughs kept staring at my crotch and almost obscenely licking his lips, or making strange remarks about "a penis colony in the desert." He drank quickly, painfully, and at one point began sweating and shaking. His eyes rolled up like an epileptic's, and he seemed to go into a kind of fit. I got up and away from him when he started frothing at the mouth and shitting his pants.

motor cycle mayhem, nude beach parties, lsd orgies

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Juvenile delinquency was not an exclusively male phenomenon and the 50s saw a wave of films that featured 'bad girls'. These depicted the usual mix of teen rebellion, lawlessness and sex, but with reckless females as the protagonists. From the 'shock by shock' confessions of the Sorority Girl to the 'jailbait' Runaway Daughters, the exploitation industry emphasized the perils of letting bad girls out on the loose. Hugo Haas (1901 - 1968) was the acknowledged master of bad 'bad girl' flicks. His sensationalist bad girl flicks followed the typical 'B' movie model. All his plots unfolded with the same general storyline: a lonely, middle-aged man is seduced by a sexy blonde with a bad reputation.

She may do exciting things to you in bed, but be careful. She's a real nut.

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Hopped up and strung out, pumped full of hate and sticky with delinquent desires, they cruise the red-light gutters of Nowheresville, USA in a desperate search for KICKS - the slash of the switchblade - the prick of the needle - sick sex orgies - neon lit joyrides down the Highway to Hell. Juvenile junkies...hot rod tramps...teenage killers with the morals of sewer rats..in the sordid and depraved world of the Devil Girls the law is for squares and decency the only obscenity.

                                                                                  

He stood there in his red panties, drank his whiskey

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Donning dapper menswear or slipping into stilettos and angora sweaters, Glen/Glenda falls in with hopped-up carnies, slinky prostitutes, and local-yokel sheriffs. But little does Glenda know that a red-haired dressed-to-killer - with lips and nails to match - is tracking her. The mob figures it takes one to know one. Killer in Drag is a recitation of blood, sex, and scandal.

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