Seymoure Butts’ Mother Ruined My Sex Life

Family Business – B- Story

Seymour Butts, born Adam Glasser, was a nice Jewish boy from the Bronx who had two things going for him— a nice ass and a business acumen. When he put these two attributes together, he became a star.

Seymour was an instant success, but he went onto even greater heights—he went semi-legit. He convinced the cable company, Showtime, to do a reality show about his career, his love life, his illegitimate son, his brushes with the law, and his burgeoning business—which was run by his family. His mother was an office manager and his cousin Stevie, a total fuck up, was the head of production…and that’s where I came in. I got the part of Stevie’s best friend on the show but it didn’t stop there. If at all possible, Mother Butts, it was hoped, would fall in love with me and provide the show which was called, “Family Business,” with a B story line. It was my chance at stardom. I’d been a writer and producer in television for more years than I care to remember, but having a healthy ego, I always wanted to be in front of the camera. This was my shot.

“Family Business” was an unscripted reality show, but there were certain guidelines. I would have to meet Mother Butts on a legit blind date and convince her we should be life partners. I got a haircut and wore my best Polo jacket for our first meeting, which took place in a coffee shop on the Westside. I arrived on time, reeking of Patchouli.  Hidden cameras were everywhere as I waited. Mrs. Butts was half an hour late and as soon as I saw her, I was sure our romance would never get off the ground. The former Mrs. Glaser, now Butts, was a severe looking lady and my immediate thought was that she’d been laid once in her life—and that union had produced the famed Seymour.

In spite of Mrs. Butts being as sexy as a postage stamp, I longed for stardom so I was going to give it my best shot. To do that, I made myself an object of pity. I knew something about pity; I knew it engendered sympathy and sympathy is often wired into the female DNA, and once you get sympathy, you’re on your way. So on the off chance that I might be on my way with Glasser-Butts, I gave myself a harrowing childhood. I told my date that I was abandoned as a tot and then repeatedly abused by a series of twisted, horrible foster parents. All this tumult had led to psychological problems, but there was one good thing, my unhappy past spurred me on in a never ending search for love. I intimated that as soon as I laid eyes on Butts-Glasser, I had a premonition the search which had consumed my life, might far be over.

Mrs. Butts looked at me like I was crazy, so I went to plan B. Everybody liked to talk about themselves, therefore I inquired about Glasser-Butt’s past and her son, and I opined how much fun it must be as the office manager of a house. I asked if she had any other children, about her youth, and where she presently lived. I even asked everything in a syrupy voice, but I really didn’t give a shit about her answers. All I wanted was for her to like me—or at least show some warmth so I could get in front of the camera next week. It didn’t work. Mrs. B kept looking at me like I was nuts.

I’m a dogged kind of a guy and at the end of our rendezvous, I gave myself one more shot. I asked Mrs. Butts for her phone number.  She told me she would like to think about it. I started to kiss her wrinkled cheek, even though it was the kiss of death, but she pulled away. I was furious and never bothered to watch “Family Business,” but a year later, I was involved in a proper film in Brazil. I won’t go into the inordinate beauty of Brazilian women. Everyone’s seen pictures of the Copacabana beach in Rio. The women in that great country are pretty much gorgeous and I hooked up with a beauty who was one of the reigning queens of the telenovelas, or soap operas, which are very popular there.

One morning while my soap queen and I were making love, we had the TV on. You never know the power of American television, but suddenly  there I was on my futile blind date on “Family Business.”  The show had gone into syndication and I was on the tube speaking Portuguese to Mrs. Butts. The scene enfolding in front of my eyes was ruining my day. I was distracted and was no longer making love to a gorgeous Brasilana. I was glaring at the tube and pounding Mrs. Butts with a ferocity I had rarely known. I even called out the wrong name at exactly the wrong time. That most wonderful moment in life when two people climax together!  ”Take that Mrs. Butts,” I screamed at the television “And that and that and that!“

Unfortunately my Brazilian beauty knew English. She untangled herself from my embrace, donned her clothes, and over my protestations of love, left in a South American huff. I was never able to convince her to come back. Mrs. Butts had her revenge, she had driven me psychotic. I still see her on those occasions when I make love now. Of course this is deeply troubling and I’ve been to psychiatrists, psychologists, life counselors, shamans, yogis, sex therapists, and self help groups. Nothing helps. One of my shrinks is currently writing a report of my condition which he will present at the next American Psychiatrist Meeting. My case may be picked up the newspapers, and I might even make Maury Povich; perhaps Jerry Springer. And I’m a cinch for spots on TMZ  (they cover practically anything). Thus my dream will be realized, and it’s a dream of most of my countrymen. I’LL BE ON TELEVSION!  And just like a lot of my countrymen, I’ll be on it for all the wrong reasons.

How To Make A Porno For Dummies

When I wrote my porno, I was an average TV writer, living with an average girlfriend in an average neighborhood. Next door to us in an average house lived America’s most successful pornographer, “The King of Smut,” as he was known, had been arrested numerous times. But that didn’t stop him. He considered that as a citizen of The United States of America, he had certain inalienable rights, with the main one being the right to film people when they fucked.

I admired him a lot.

One day my friendly neighborhood pornographer asked me if I wanted to write a porno for him. I leaped at the chance! I was between assignments, a position I frequently found myself in, and I grabbed an old Kojak script and morphed the formidable, homicide detective into a horny, old goat who had Priapism. Priapism is a debilitating disease in which the sufferer sports a constant hard-on. Because of this ailment, Kojak demanded all kinds of sexual favors from everyone he busted. But after he finally achieved orgasm—which always took extensive foreplay—he was a good guy and let the person go.

Over all, I was pleased with my work.

And my pornographer neighbor was ecstatic about it; but asked for a change. He wanted me to add a break in the action exactly two minutes before the end of the picture. When I asked why, he said it was so the audience could zip up.

After I handed in the script with the “zip up” break, everything fell apart. The pornographer neighbor told me there had been a change in plans and that he was no longer going to make my movie! I was crestfallen, but reasoning was he had just gotten the receipts from his latest venture and it was breaking records! The King of Smut said his picture, TABOO, would soon out gross Deep Throat! The year was 1982 and people were flocking to pussy cat theatres and he needed a sequel to fill the seats. So instead of Kojak Visits A Whore House, I began writing TABOO the sequel.

Before I started, I screened the first TABOO. It was immediately apparent that the pornographer had ripped off the classic Greek tragedy, Oedipus Rex. But instead of a mother inadvertently making love to her son and then plucking out her eyes in horror, the mother in the TABOO 2 was well aware of who she fucked. Moreover, she kept her eyes wide open during the process so she could see her son’s eleven inch dick. Then, after exhausting every possible sexual act with the kid, she batted her deep brown orbs and went after the rest of the family.

Over all, I thought it was a pretty good script.

And the pornographer neighbor loved my work, but there was a problem.

“What?” I said. “I put in the zip up break where it should be.”

“You did great.” He answered, “But I need a location. I haven’t had time to scout for one. How about we use your house?”

“My house! My girlfriend’s got two teen-aged kids livin’ there.”

“It’s spring break, I’ll send them to Palm Springs . . . on me.”

“I dunno. I’ll ask my girlfriend.”

“There’s an extra two grand if we can use your house.”

I repeated that I’d ask my girlfriend.

Luckily my average looking girlfriend had a more than average sex drive. She was also very curious and on top of that, she was overjoyed to get rid of the kids for a week. A deal was struck. I made my porno. It was a while ago but the rules are the same. Here they are:

Rule #1: Give your porno a professional look. Scratchy iPhone shots of your girlfriend getting hammered by a police dog are a thing of the past. They are now shooting porn in 3D and Cinerama is on the way. So when you shoot your porno use the latest techniques.

Incidentally when I did mine, though it was years ago, it was state of the art. TABOO 2 had the same production values as anything shot at a network, and that’s as it should be because my crew came from Little House on The Prairie.

So put a good crew together. During these uncertain economic times everybody’s moonlighting.

Rule #2: Stagger the start times. Women in high heels with pierced nipples, guys in tight jeans showing their pack, and strings of honey wagons being pulled up to your door; have a way of attracting attention. Always schedule production people first, then cast and make sure that both groups park down the street.

Rule #3: Have moisturizers handy. Male stars have to be ready at a moment’s notice. On TABOO 2, there was always a gaggle of guys playing with themselves while they waited to go on. Of course some dudes use fluffers, but for the most part, keeping dicks stiff was a personal affair. Incidentally, the favorite emolument was Nivea cream, it was best for the glide.— as one of the male porno stars informed me. So, to avoid halting production, be equipped with a lot of the stuff.

Rule #4: No amateurs. Though you have buddies who want to be in the movie, DON’T DO IT! Being a porno star is a calling, a knack, a God given talent. Amateurs come too soon, or don’t come enough or are unable to come at all. Using your friends is a waste of time, money, and your female stars’ patience.

Rule #5: Use very little dialogue. The average porno star can’t handle it. They’re ok at grunts and groans but anything more than “Fuck me in the ass!” is beyond them.

Rule #6: If you have young daughters, don’t film in their rooms. When I made TABOO 2, we shot scenes in my girlfriend’s daughters’ bedrooms and they were horrified when they saw what was performed there. Especially because it all happened under The Osmond Brothers, whose poster was hung over their beds.

Rule #7: Don’t fuck the porno stars. I made that mistake. A buxom brunette seemed to like me—especially after I took the time to coach her through two and a half lines of monosyllabic dialogue. When she finally got the lines straight, she blew me out of gratitude.

Unfortunately, my girlfriend caught us and she raised holy hell and shut the production down. “The King of Smut” was beside himself and never spoke to me again. But worse, he refused to pay me. But he finished the project someplace else and when I got around to watching it, I noted with dismay that he listed my name in the credits. It came up right after the zip up break! And it was s full screen!

The King of Smut had gotten his revenge.

Rule # 8: Don’t use your real name in the credits. You may go on to great things in life. You could solve the debt crisis, come up with the cure for cancer or bring peace to the Middle East—But if your name is associated with a porno you won’t be the person who brought prosperity to America, cured cancer or brokered a peace deal. Instead you’ll be known as the slime ball who made Butt Plug Afternoons or April’s Golden Showers.

Of course if you’re the kind of person who wants to see his name in lights no matter what—make sure your name is at the end of the picture. The audience is more attentive then….they’ll be zipped up.

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