Chupate esa mandarina !: Roberta Findlay

Over the past year I have been educated by Vinegar Syndrome. These fellas have put out some Class A smut which doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s high quality in every cinematic sense. I suppose to be considered A Number One smut you have to embody what it means to be filthy and rotten and sleazy.

Maybe it’s best to rate films of this type on a descending scale, falling further into the circles of Hell and trailing off into the abyss like some sort of one-handed ejaculator looking for a helping mit with a napkin. So the education continues, and I grow another year old and hornier and Vinegar Syndrome just keeps wetting my palette and leaving my manliness stuck to my trousers.

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I suppose you might say that our next focus “ain’t your daddy’s porno”, but that isn’t quite fair; they were released in the 70’s and most likely could have been the inspiration for a wee bit of ejaculate to find it’s way north side of your mama’s vagina to conceive you in a shit hall theater with stickier floors and stickier hands.

So these aren’t the naughties that I grew up with. I grew up with movies featuring Tracie Lords and Ginger Lynn, but one shining star does emerge from this delicious pairing… Jamie Gillis… the Captain! The stuff I grew upon was high brow shit really.