“…if you find us guilty we’re going to keep giving you the finger.”

pdf (221 pages / 6MB), with thanks to the original sharer

This was the world Al immersed himself in, a shadowy realm dealt with in the most mysterious and ominous fashion in movies like Midnight Cowboy, Taxi Driver, Hardcore and countless others. These films did much to shape the popular perception that these clubs and twenty-four-hour theaters were dens of degenerate filth, and that the people who ran them were murderous psychotics. It was an urban mythology that middle America bought into with great enthusiasm. Bullshit, one can almost hear Al say in his slightly lispy Brooklyn accent. Of course there were plenty of bad guys involved, that’s because the consumer had no power in this game and there was no regulation of the trade and no pride in delivering goods and services. These were things he was trying to change. This idea that the sex trade was by nature inherently morally evil was the biggest con in his book, a misconception nurtured by politicians and special interest groups on the right who sought to keep a hold over their constituents through the power of fear.

it was criticized viciously as "sex-loaded" and "in bad taste"

pdf scan (204 pages / 150MB)

Realism only comes to the screen when the film jams in the projector and the image begins to bubble. An instinctual fear of the dark manifests when the projection light fails ... heightened by the little, furry things with long tails that scamper beneath the seats. The electrical nature of sex becomes apparent as the hair on your neck bristles when that pervert to your left makes knee contact. In these moments of truth, cinema reveals her face of realism. But, she is a twofaced creature, the other countenance being a rainbow palette of dyed coiffures, pancake make-up and pancake bloated guts crammed into costumes designed by cock -eyed midgets. Superstars who beat their children with wire coat hangers and then peddle soft drinks potent enough to rot their dentures. Aging women taking endless enemas so as not to wind up in horror films. Virile he-men doomed to an excruciating regimen of exercises to keep their sodomized posteriors picture-perfect. EST trained actresses showing the world what it is like to be liberated and free of cellulite. Alcoholic celebrities who barf up their past in book form so that all can marvel at the hideous mess that has been cleaned up by a Christian re-birth. Harpies with herpes who rip apart, in print, plump fornicators whose every performance they slander with typeset Ju-Ju curses. Innocent children who sing and dance down the yellow brick road to drug addiction and toxic box office poisoning. This is the other face of cinema …