Ron Fucking Jeremy - The Hardest (working) Man In Showbiz

April 8, 2008 by Sexy Fitsum  Send to a Friend

Mr. Jeremy was still at the hotel, I heard. So I passed the time watching Kansas go from something like six points down, to pulling a huge overtime miracle. I represent Real Madrid, and after last season, I know a thing or two about scratching and willing your way to comebacks after comebacks. Agnostic as I was about some NCAA Bball labberish, the night was starting off pretty well.

When I got off the elevator at Steve’s Barroom, it was about 11 and the house was packed and buzzing. DJ E-Boogie, who I remember from Daedalus back in the day, was controlling the background while Steve himself was on the wireless mic routing people to the back lounge where Ron was signing copies of his new book “The Hardest (Working) Man In Showbiz“. With a title like that, i figured at least one of my assumptions about tonight would come true for sure. Just a week or so ago I was watching the AVN Awards on Showtime, and Mr. Jeremy broke into a brief bit of stand-up while co-presenting an award with Belladonna and some other chick. As if seeing cartoon-chested women get all teary eyed and sentimental over awards for shit like Most Awesomely Unchokable Blowjobber! Ever! So Far! wasn’t surreal enough, I was watching Ron Motherfuckin Jeremy pop mad corn — and spending just a weeee bit too long doing it — in a way that sort of makes you forgivingly go, “Weeeeell …. but it’s Ron Muhfuckin Jeremy though”. But he brought no jokes with, thank Yeshua.

I also assumed that Mr. Jeremy would march through Steve’s with an armada of glistening hot porno honeybuns, walking hand it lovely hand, the way that elephants amble trunk to tail. But, no porno babies. Nor did he whip it out and sportfuck a volunteer. It was just Ron Jeremy, a humble quiet dude, with a giant, overexposed shnoggus, meeting a few adoring fans and signing copies of his book, and in one case, a bossom. I asked him “So how’s your book doing?” He picked up a copy and slid his finger across the top of the cover, under the words “New York Times Bestseller” like he was underlining them. When this girl who probably wasn’t born a girl (one of at least two that night. who knows how many more. sneaky fuckers) leaned in to talk to him, he turned and gave me this look like “Are you kidding me?” I can laugh for days off that one. Classic.

There was serious, genuine love in the room for Ron. Men and women alike got their chance to sit next to him and pose for photos, smilng like wee toddlers and gushing for days over how awesome he was. One dude was like, “I got my stroke from you, dog!” Ron’s manager, Michael Esterman was in the cut working two phones and his nuclear earpiece like what; one eye on the keeping Mr. Jeremy safe and happy, and the other on making sure the photo ops kept flowing smoothly. Speaking of smooth, that fucker had me taking his next set of headshot photos without me even knowing it. Niiiiice.

The frenzy lasted for all of an hour, tops. On next looks, Ron was gone; probably back at the hotel to sleep it off and get ready for the next day and the next stop. For me, and most of everyone else, it was back to the main room where E-Boogie was playing stuff I can barely remember, before I took my tired old ass home.

» More photos here.

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