Last night was the Corruption premiere party, and I have to say, as much as I was dreading it, we had a great time. It was terrific. Jeff Mullen and his team did an admirable job of turning out a sizable cross-section of the porn industry and press, chose a great venue, and made the whole thing feel like a real event. A lot of people who probably couldn’t pick me out of a lineup on a regular evening made a point of telling me how great they thought the movie was, and even though I know the vast majority of them haven’t seen the movie (nor are they ever likely to), I thought the gesture was kind.

A lot of girls I find extremely attractive flirted with me (Adrianna Nicole, Tricia Devereaux, our friend Jenn O Cide, to name three), and despite being pathologically incapable of taking a compliment, I tried to be gracious. Often I failed, but points for effort, right? As our date, Kylie & I took the delicious and delightful Trina Michaels, who looked stunning in her short black dress, endured merciless black patent leather boots in the cause of sexiness, and, best of all, wore no panties.

Overall, the entire evening was a great success. There was only one turd floating in the punchbowl. A cancerous, bleeding hemorrhoid named Luke Ford.

Those of you living in the real world, i.e. not intimate with the tiny little community of porn, will have never heard of Luke. He fancies himself the “Matt Drudge of Porn,” but Luke is far, far less; he is a pale, dim reflection of Drudge who is himself a pale, dim reflection of a genuine journalist. Where Drudge is, at the very least, inflammatory, sensationalistic and shameless, Luke Ford is, at best, unsrcupulous, and more often, simply lazy and ineffectual. He is a pathetic, anemic analog to a gossip columnist whose grist is provided through no effort of his own, and whose mill consists solely of cutting and pasting “controversial” e-mails from anonymous “sources” or malcontents with an axe to grind, but only after judicious editing to ensure the content is as libelous and destructive as possible.

I had asked that Luke not be invited to the party. Not because I loathe him; I do, but that’s immaterial. An adult party is neutral ground, and even though there were several people there that I dislike — and even more who dislike me — we all had the good manners to simply pretend we didn’t see each other. I didn’t begrudge their presence, and apparently, they didn’t begrudge SexZ Picture’s prexy Bo Kenney’s free booze. This is how it’s done.

But I object to Luke. I object to his abject lack of talent; his bland, uninteresting prose, his artless photography, his patently absurd — and now abandoned — claims to some form of journalistic integrity. I object to his arrogant and ridiculous posturing as the sole occupant of some moral high-ground. I object to his constant whining and public wallowing in manufactured self-pity to engender the false support of others. But most of all I object to his self-appointment as arbiter of the ethical constraints under which he feels the adult industry should be forced to exist. I object to the laughable charade of this self-hating Jew who externalizes his self-loathing as scorn, derision and disapproval of the entire adult industry, all the while making his living from it.

In a universe of irony, Luke Ford stands alone as a paragon of the ridiculous. Here, for our amusement, is a boy in a man’s body whose aimless and dysfunctional adolescence led him to convert to Judaism, a religion whose more conservative, orthodox tenets he attempts to follow with comical, fastidious resolve. And all the while Luke endeavors in the furtherance of his service to God, he sits in judgement over all of us filthy pornographers in his bet din of one, a failed Rabbi of little learning and no wisdom, a son of the commandments who won’t print “fuck” or “God” in the text on his website which subsists on the money from — and co-exists with — banner ads for Rodney Moore’s MILF line, three different porn rental and VOD sites, and the “Booble” search engine. This while he laments that the tiny differences between the various evangelical Christian groups doing outreach to porn stars (gee, that couldn’t be a stunt to get media attention, could it?) have become insurmountable rifts.

That’s comedy. It’s obvious that Luke’s search for meaning hasn’t enlightened the dark corners of his muddled mind that led him to the synagogue in the first place. His orthodox stricture is his version of the Borgias buying Papal indulgences to excuse their own heinous deeds. He hates and disapproves of porn but scrapes along running a porn site, taking porn money, feeding off porn scraps, hanging with porn people, and hosting a forum for the scum he despises to take cheap, largely illiterate potshots at each other. Clearly this man needs a large refund from his psychiatrist because therapy ain’t helping, and neither is the church. My own suggstion would be an enormous overdose of Lithium followed by self-immolation, but I suppose that’s uncharitable. And were it not for my history with Luke, I imagine I could find it in my heart to simply pity him, like most porn folks do.

But I can’t. Many people, particularly performers, don’t remember Luke Ford from his heyday. Once upon a time, Luke fancied himself a David set to slay the Goliaths of the industry. Towards that end, and fueled largely by the encouragement of another gossip columnist (who played the endlessly naive Ford like Yo-Yo Ma plays the cello) that this crusade would lead to popularity, fame, fortune and the felling of a giant — namely AVN — Luke embarked on a smear campaign that lasted the better part of a year. During the course of this amateurish internet Bataan death march, Luke printed anything he, or anyone else, could think of about myself and a number of my friends in a concerted effort to “wreck our lives.”

The final effect of all this, was, of course, nothing of consequence. AVN is just fine, my life went on without a blip, my friends who were also attacked have the lives they’ve built for themselves rather than the lives Luke hoped to impose, and porn seems largely to have forgotten the event. For Luke and his co-conspirators, things didn’t go quite so well; Luke was forced to sell his own website and flee the industry for a time, one of his cronies lost his job as the company supporting him collapsed underneath him when Goliath turned His gaze upon them, and the last time I saw the third yobbo, he was running Gadget’s Go-Coaster in Disneyland Toon Town, where he tried to shake my hand.

Which I didn’t. Because some things I simply don’t — nor will I ever — forget, or forgive. I seem to have fallen into a tacit detente with the aspiring cellist who played Luke so well those years ago. We simply ignore each other when we meet, he is civil when he posts press releases about my projects, and I avoid mention of him out of the same courtesy. He had the good manners not to come to the party, knowing he wasn’t welcome.

But not Luke. No, of course, not Luke. Like irritable bowel syndrome, he is both unwelcome and an ever-present danger. It’s unfortunate that, contrary to my request, Jeff invited Luke anyway, apparently admonishing him to make himself scarce when I arrived. Naturally, Luke couldn’t keep this in confidence, nor could he avoid taking a few shots across my bow. And, of course, a friend e-mailed to tell me “Luke is going after you again.”

Sigh. Must we?

“He writes a good blog, as far as porn blogs go,” says Luke of me. Damned by faint praise indeed, particularly coming from a writer whose own feeble prose and incessant wheedling have all the entertainment value of a Ron Popeil info-mercial. He goes on to write, in his well-researched, detail oriented style (the hopeless retard can’t even spell my fucking name the same way twice in consecutive sentences), that I threatened to “make a big scene and leave” if he showed. What I actually said was that I would bodily remove him if he showed. And I would have so hatedhaving to do that.

“He has a huge temper and uses it to get what he wants in life.” Yep, that’s me. Raving maniac. I can’t understand why the same people have worked with me over and over again for years.

“I didn’t realize I had unfinished business with Bryn.” I suppose this might be Luke’s idea of sarcasm. There’s so little style to his writing, it’s hard to tell. If it isn’t, it’s a sign of a man who lives in a fully delusional reality. Tell me, Luke… in what way have you paid penance for your laughable, but entirely vindictive attempts to destroy my life and career?

It should be easy for me to dismiss Luke’s existence. His presence, such as it is in the modern porn landscape, is entirely ancillary and ineffectual. He is no better at gleaning the facts of what he prints now than he was a decade ago, and the vast majority of the blather on his site is either apocryphal, or patently untrue. He is, in every way, his own worst enemy; years ago, when he came after me, he posted lengthy inventories of my foibles, failings, crimes and weaknesses. I have a surplus of these to be sure, and my life and my misanthropy should have made for good hunting. The problem was everything he posted was either completely manufactured, or so far from the actual truth as to be weightless. Even when enacting a cause of great concern, he can’t be bothered to check his facts, do his homework, or — god forbid — actually investigate.

That being said, Luke is dangerous. Given the opportunity, he will absolve himself of his amoral complicity with our business in the most destructive way possible. I imagine he fantasizes about the day when his “friends in the Department of Justice” of which he has none, will eventually call him to testify against one of the gullible untouchables who have foolishly taken this viper to their bosom, and into their confidence. And given the chance, rest assured, he would. Luke Ford is notyour friend. He is not your ally. He is not the “harmless crank” most pornographers view him as. He is an impotent wolf in the fold waiting for his chance to rend a neck, tear at a “friend’s” flesh, in order to feel virile… important… powerful.

If porn were a Warsaw ghetto in 1939, Luke would be the kind of Jew who conspired with the Nazis to buy himself a few months away from the camps. Oh, that one may smile and smile and be a villain.

I don’t think much of Luke. In fact, under normal circumstances, I don’t think of him at all. But he is not forgotten. He is not forgiven. And he is not — now, nor ever — welcome.

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