The Search for Faye's Boobies Continues Unabated.

April 8, 2002
Author: Tome
A rare glimpse into the once, uh, pure heart of the ecchi elite. ONE GIGABYTE OF PORN!

Over the past several months, I've been searching, SCOURING every last inch of the internet for hot, hot pixxx of the luscious Faye Valentine's tender, perfect boobies. Each attempt I make is met with dismal failure; hell, my love life seems to be more successful than my search for Fayetits, and I'm a large, smelly guy who spends his days looking for FUCKING ANIME CHARACTER BOOBIES!!! That's what I do. I used to hound porn. I'd download the crap by the megabyte. My \documents and settings\administrator\desktop\pr0n folder is approaching a fucking GIGABYTE. Not many people even ENCOUNTER that much porn in their lifetimes - though I know people that have one gig in their h-doujinshi folders alone, but I digress. My room used to, if you ever got into the “mythology” of the X-Files, look like Mulder's room - Packed to the roof with print-rag porno. I'd have upwards of twenty milk crates (convieniently “acquired”from behind a local grocery store, naturally) of back issues of Swank, Hawk, Fox, Kiss, Barely Legal, Hole, et al, ad nauseam. I was like the fucking American Masturbator over here, nothing in my life but hard-core porno.

Marry me, Miss Valentine, You won't have to change your initials.
But, that was two moves and one flood ago. Before I had the pleasure of the little adventure that I liked to call “Going To Fucking College.” Not that I went to Fucking College, which would have been cool. Go learn to fuck, not at all unlike those hooker universities in Thailand. But no, I packed my gear up into a '74 Beetle and beat... feet... on down to hot, humid, miserable Phoenix Arizona to pull my stint (yes, I know what it sounds like, and no, that's not a goddamned euphamism) in the Art Institute. Here's a tip, all you would-be artists out there. DON'T GO TO ART SCHOOL. There is nothing more conflicting and stifling than going to an Institution to learn to be an ARTIST.

This story WAS going somewhere... Where was it going again? Oh yes. When I moved to college, I was forced to leave all my precious jerkfodder at home, forcing me to scrounge for the tiniest scraps of anything to toss the old salad to. Naturally, most of the fodder was memories of asking this one hot hot brunette raver chick to jump rope for a project. Yes folks, I turned in five minutes of her tits bouncing underneath a tight, black sweater for my Introductory Video Technique class midterm project. I got plenty of high-fives, and was praised for being so “outside the box” and even “avant garde”, “ahead of the curve”, “visionary” et al, but only got a fucking C on the project, because it was comprised of ONE SHOT, nat light, nat sound... Fucking “standards”, I'm a goddamned ARTIST here. And yes folks, if that tape didn't get degaussed in “The Incident”, I'd be distributing it so everybody could jerk to it RIGHT NOW, people.

There I go again. I need to lay off the whisky/tequila twofers I do when I write these things. Or I could just drink watery, pissy American beer, if I really hated myself. Back on topic, when I needed to jerk, I'd resort to some of the shoddiest, quasi-tittilating trash known to man. I would resort to flipping through the pages of Wizard magazine, hoping that this issue had a full-page full-color Michael Turner or J. Scott Campbell drawing that I could try to jerk to. I even resorted to stealing a copy of Entertainment Fucking Weekly from school because it had this one incredibly hot spread of Jessica Alba, fresh off her appearance in the amusing Idle Hands. I say amusing because it had a fucking animated severed hand like in (the admittedly waaaaay better) Evil Dead 2 and Jessica Alba's big ol' jiggly boobers.

I was hard up for a hard-on, jerking it to the most personally humiliating non-porn imaginable. Now, this was a time when I A) Lived with five other guys, and B) Could only access the internet over my cruddy 14.4 connection for an hour a night, so my ability to assemble a encyclopedic porn collection was unfortunately limited. When I tracked down a good porn pic, I was ecstatic to be able to whack off over it. So, my friends, I've been in the fuckin' trenches of horrible paintbrush porn. This is some stuff that even I, back then, while bereft of anything to get my motor humming, would never, ever even DREAM of jerking off to.

As of late, I've been getting my porn from one little gallery listing called Pornno. Not to sound like a gibbering fanboy of a porno site, but that page deals me more than enough porn to last the day, even though a lot of the superhotties that were on the site earlier aren't around anymore (longtime pornno regulars will understand... that one blonde... that brunette.. oh god, why...), but their “Toon Porn” listing gets lamer and lamer as the months march on. God I can't stand paintbrush traceovers of real porn. And whomever is drawing the Erik Larsen-style shit, QUIT IT, you're not making me hard. And, believe you me, there is nothing LESS SEXY than cheesecake. Yeah, when I download my cartoon porn, I TOTALLY want to see fucking B17 nose art. Jesus, I'm a professional masturbator, not a sex-starving young man in the trenches of Galipoli, desperately missing his one true love back home! The “sex-starving” part is accurate, though.

And then we have Lion King porn.

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