Photo by Gustavo Arellano”But in truth, this object of near-universal derision performs a valuable service for the overwhelming plain portion of the male population that follows porn: he makes them feel better about themselves. To see someone as ugly, as unpleasant, as buffoonish as the Troglodyte humping a dripping retinue of prime poon—and in front of a camera, for all to see, yet!—bestows that most tender of mercies upon your typical smuthound loser: hope.”
—David Aaron Clark,Adam Film World, 1995
Ron Jeremy is ugly. God, is he ugly. Troll-under-a-footbridge ugly.
Five-one. Shoulder-length curls failing to compensate for the spreading bald spot on his head. A wardrobe picked to hide his impressive girth (and we're not talking about his auto-fellatable penis). Jeremy is hideous.
And Jeremy is an adult-film Adonis. He has appeared in more pornos than anyone in history, with such features as Terms of Endowment, Mutiny on the Booty and the seminal Sgt. Pecker's Lonely Hearts Club Gang Bang among the 1,700 films on his résumé. More important, Hedgehog (a nickname bestowed upon Jeremy because of the obvious resemblance) belongs to that select stratum of adult stars who've crossed over, gone mainstream—immortalized in Sublime's “Caress Me Down,” playing bit roles in such films as Orgazmo and George Wallace.
“He's every Joe's hero,” enthuses Jason Money, regional director for Déjà Vu, the strip club chain. “A regular feller who gets any woman he wants. Plus, no other porno actor tells jokes as he does.”
For this reason, Money paid the Hairy Prince an unspecified amount to host the Miss Nude Orange County pageant held on July 17 at Déjà Vu's Westminster branch.
Judging the competition were various people associated with The Business who shared with me their criteria for assessing the eight contestants.
“They need to have the freak inside of them,” says 20-year-old adult-film actor David Layz before the contest. “You want a girl that can hide her nasty side, to dance well with the music and have a good personality.”
“And nice tits!” chimed in Layz's amply endowed female friend.
To chants of “Ron! Ron! Ron!” Jeremy finally climbed onto the neon-lit stage. “He set the standard for us when we were kids to aspire to,” an awestruck Layz sputtered. “He's the Danny Ainge of porn.”
Jeremy immediately begins his trademark self-reflexive depreciation shtick. “I'm living proof that anyone can get laid, bastards,” Hedgehog tells the adoring 300-plus nearly all-male audience. “Let's get one thing straight: if it wasn't for porn, I wouldn't get dick. Or pussy.”
Bah-dum-bum!
He then excused himself for being an hour tardy. “I apologize for being late. I was being blown backstage.”
Bah-dum-bum!
Jeremy continued his bawdy Borscht Belt routine between the contestants' writhings. The girls each had three songs during which to impress, trotting out the standard male-fantasy motifs (little girl with teddy, repressed secretary, burlesque) and the not (a Sarah Jessica Parker look-alike who had a strawberry Band-Aid on her butt, a woman who feigned urinating with Frank Sinatra blaring over the speakers). Staring in rapt attention, the five judges pointed out from time to time what worked and what didn't. “She has that undercover nastiness!” Layz told me excitedly as a Bettie Page clone named Mickey took off her top about seven feet up one of the three 10-foot poles. “You know it when you see it!”
“Did you see her climb that pole?” Jeremy says after Mickey's set. “She could climb mine backstage.”
Bah-dum-bum!
The winner was a 30-year-old native of France named Ms. Behavin' (rim shot!) who wowed the distinguished panel with her Cyd Charisse moves and qualified for the following day's Miss Nude California competition. “I finally have my 15 minutes of fame after dancing for so many years,” she told me rather defensively. “This is my vindication. I reached perfection [she received 50 out of 50 possible points]. Thank you so much for covering this. Thank you!”
I had an interview scheduled with Jeremy after the contest, but he disappeared. Half an hour later, he emerged with the runner-up in tow and proceeded to spend the next half-hour hawking products ($20 T-shirts emblazoned with his face, $5 fans with his face, $3 cigarette paper with his face) to the adoring males who formed a Matterhorn-esque line to approach their anal avatar.
Finally, he sat down for an interview, but not before he signed a fan's breasts, kissed her neck and said, “You want to take a nasty picture with me?” She declined; she has a boyfriend.
“It's important for any performer to connect with his audience,” he said with something like solemn glee. “Without them, the performer is worthless.”
We spent the next 10 minutes talking about his fame (“Everyone wants me to host their things; nobody wants Peter North”), is disappointed when I express disbelief at his mainstream aspirations (“It's not that I'm leaving porno. I'm just moving on to better things”), and makes his case that he's America's role model (“I'm totally drug-free, take pride in my work, save my money, got a master's in college. Plus, I fuck like crazy”). The interview suddenly stopped: he took my pen and spent the next five minutes on the phone writing directions. It appeared two willing lasses were waiting for him somewhere in Huntington Beach.
“Where's Valley View Boulevard?” Jeremy asked. I gave him directions. Content, he thanked me for the interview and turned to Déjà Vu's owner.
“Want to do two girls right now?” Jeremy asks.
“I think I can take two girls,” the owner replied.
Ron returned the pen and we shake. I make sure to wash my hands; the pen I'll sell on eBay.
