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Normally when you hear “camgirl” and “stroke” you think of masturbation. Unfortunately our online pal UndressJess experienced a different kind of stroke yesterday.

Some of us who follow her twitter account noticed a couple of really jumbled tweets from her, plus one saying she was on her way to the hospital. I finally got ahold of her on her cell phone this afternoon; she is in the hospital BECAUSE SHE HAD A STROKE.

Undress Jess

She was able to speak fairly coherently, though she stopped and apologized a couple of times because it’s hard for her to organize her thoughts. Apparently the main thing is that SHE CAN’T READ and is pretty worried wondering how she’ll be able to work on her site, camming, blogging, promoting herself, etc. when she totally can’t READ. It’s like weird instant dyslexia.

It’s really hard to imagine being so young, living alone and becoming disabled overnight. You never know how long (if ever) after a stroke you’ll regain the function(s) you lost, but if I heard her correctly the estimate is about a year for her to be able to read again. Apparently the only guess being made as to why this happened to her is from her birth control pills. Yes, fuckers, STROKE is one of the risks of being on hormonal birth control. So next time you hear a guy complain about using a fucking condom, pull out this little gem. Risk of stroke isn’t just a bunch of tiny words on a pill pack insert no one reads.

Rad Camgirl Undress Jess

Needless to say, she won’t be on cam or updating her site or doing daily shows the way she normally does so I hope her fans read this and try to be supportive. Her main site is UndressJess.com but she also has awesome booty-shaking vids on shakinit AND a clip site if you can only afford to purchase one or two videos. It’s hard to imagine what an extended hospital stay and disability can do to a single, independent camgirl/site owner financially.

Note: I’m not going to keep calling her while she’s in the hospital and if I do talk to her again anytime soon the conversations will no doubt be brief and about work stuff, so I can’t say that I’ll have updates for you or pass messages along to her, I just want people to be aware of her situation and do what they can to support her work online and be patient while she’s absent and struggling with what happened to her brain. If you have a blog, it would be great if you could repost this.

Last month when Delia was on her way to her laser appointment she encountered a road block situation by the Hood Canal Bridge: border patrol. We were mystified by it since THAT IS NOT THE BORDER and we’ve never seen anything like that before and I’ve lived in Washington state my whole entire life. So maybe there was a terrorist threat to smuggle weapons from Canada and blow up a submarine or something as it passed under the bridge? Far-fetched, but it was the only legit reason I could think of for the border patrol to be fucking around in these parts.

I know I’ll probably regret posting this because it’s loaded with keywords that might bring people from our town and sparsely-populated region to this blog; that’s why I haven’t linked to our local papers’ coverage of it, because I totally do NOT need a trail leading from my porn site to our local paper and back again. But here’s a story on what they’re doing and how totally fucked up it is. Because we live within 100 miles of the CANADIAN border, they’re using 9/11 to justify slowing everyone down to pick out and harass anyone who looks Latino in a line of cars. We don’t live by the Mexican border, and in my whole life here I’ve never heard of migrant farm workers committing acts of terrorism whether they were here legally or not. So WHAT THE FUCK?!?

I cannot believe this is fucking AMERICA in this new century. It’s almost like traveling in time and space to some hideous place where all black people have a curfew and are detained by the strong arm of the law to show their paperwork, etc. “What are you doing on the highway without your papers?” And then the border patrol brags in the paper about how they “netted” however-many “illegals” they caught in their shitty little traps. And the white folk in the line of cars gawk as the men with guns chase the brown-skinned people who leap from moving vehicles to RUN into the woods to try to get away.

Where the fuck am I living? What the fuck is going on? I seriously cannot believe this shit and the people who have the pink balls to defend it. And they gleefully tell us to expect MORE of it. They’re ramping up! Their funding has been increased!

It boggles my mind the way these fuckers act so proud of their horrid, invasive, pathetic jobs. The way they won’t acknowledge for a second that what they’re doing is a violation of civil liberties and pretty much defeats the purpose of living in what we like to call a “free” country. Nothing personal against those who are just following orders and need their crappy job with the border patrol, but it makes me mad when I as a whore am shamed and vilified for my job but these guys? Get to walk around with their chests puffed out for stopping people without cause and wreaking havoc on people’s lives. For reminding all of us how weak this country really is and scaring us all into seeing the horrifyingly distinct possibility that freedom is something that too many Americans are happy to see flushed down the shitter if it means maintaining some semblance of white supremacy.

I can’t even imagine how angry I would be if I were an American Indian stopped and harassed at one of these checkpoints. I think I would lose my fucking marbles at the sickness of it, the US border patrol trying to keep brown-skinned people OFF land they stole FROM brown-skinned people. Where do they fucking get off?

It’s time for me to brag about being in another book, so get a load of me in my sexy attire of choice before the boasting begins:

Here I am with the book, Best Sex Writing 2008:

The book isn’t full of erotic fiction, it’s an anthology of extremely provocative non-fiction pieces covering sex from challenging and unusual (but important and relevant) perspectives. Rachel Kramer Bussel edited the collection (and is looking for submissions for 2009).

Check out Audacia Ray’s video review of the book to get a better idea of my piece and the book. When she says “period porn” she is not talking about porn featuring people dressed up in anachronistic costumes; she’s talking about the the porn you find on BloodyTrixie and EroticRed.

For me, the best part of being included in this anthology is getting exposure to a topic that at first glance seems very “special interest” (the freedom to make and sell porn featuring menstruation) but really challenges people’s assumption that we live in a country where free speech is protected, women own their own bodies, and capitalism rules. We don’t. It’s exciting to know that more people are going to be exposed to the marginalized truth that fringe-dwelling pornographers like myself live every day.

The stand-out parts of the book in total are its depth of exploration and diversity of topics; a lot of mainstream media coverage of sex is so shallow, boring and repetitive. So much that we read and hear about sex is either a) entertainingly dismissive or b) hyper-judgmental fear-mongering. It’s usually some dumbed-down story to get ratings or clicks presented by people who really don’t know what they’re talking about. Sex is held at arm’s length and treated as something that doesn’t effect “real” life (except in a predatory way) or Matters of Serious Consequence.

I love the idea of people being shown by this book that THEY’VE BEEN MISSING OUT on fascinating, puzzling, and complex stories of personal and political import. This book is loaded with surprises and challenges while maintaining its readability. Each piece’s tone and subject is so different from the others that it makes me feel giddy hoping people will realize they’ve been gypped by not being told more stories like these before. The contents of Best Sex Writing 2008 show the field of sex journalism’s enormous scope in a way that makes it impossible to dismiss as fluff.

I’M HOLDING A DRAWING AT THE END OF MARCH TO WIN AUTOGRAPHED COPIES OF BEST SEX WRITING 2008:

Who can enter:
Anyone with an active membership to TastyTrixie.com, TrixiesHouseboy.com, DeliaCD.com or SpyOnUs.com during between today (February 28th) and March 31st is eligible.

How to enter:
Email me with your username and mailing address stating you want to be in the drawing. I don’t want to automatically enter everyone with a membership since some people may not even want the prize or may not have a safe address to receive parcels from webwhores.

How many:
If more than one hundred (100) members email me to be in the drawing, I will draw for a second book. If more than 200 members email, I’ll draw three (and so on). That way people will at least have a 1/100 chance (or better) of winning no matter how many new people join our sites.

Watch the drawing:
Tuesday, April 1st at 4 PM Pacific Time on our spycams and in our members-only chatroom.

Most people would say the small town where I grow up is one of those safe, cozy, little enclaves of cow pastured country-living. They would be surprised that six people could be murdered there day-before-yesterday on Christmas Eve.

I’m not surprised at all. I never felt like my town was safe, in fact I always felt LESS safe there than I have in any of the places I’ve lived since, including crime-riddled areas of Tacoma. I’ve no idea why people would imagine that a small town is somehow immune to this stuff, particularly when it’s family-style stuff. Why would a girl’s boyfriend be less likely to kill her whole family in a small town than in a big city? Somehow it seems MORE likely in a small town, but that’s just my own personal feeling about it.

The weird part of it is that when I look at those pictures in the slideshow accompanying the article on the murders, I actually feel homesick. Not in the sense that I wish I still lived there, but sick with recognition and the knowledge that no other landscape or location will ever feel or look or smell like home to me the way that does. I look at those pictures and know “that is where I am FROM”. My roots are literally two towns away from Twin Peaks.

It’s not that I was afraid of being randomly murdered there, it’s that there seemed to be a disproportionate amount of violence so that everyone seemed infected by it without acknowledging they were carriers. You know the faces of really mean people in a small town and you know that if one or two of them decide to hate you, you aren’t ever going to be able to hide or get lost in a crowd. On top of that, my entire childhood and teenage life was filled with current news of our famous neighbors, Ted Bundy and the Green River Killer; it’s like we were constantly driving through and swimming with their victims’ ghosts.

Long story short? Violent crime doesn’t surprise me; it’s too much a part of the local lore I grew up on. Woods were never just woods to me, they were always potential dumping grounds and they were EVERYWHERE.

If you’re wondering whether or not I knew the victims, the answer is “no”. No doubt I’d recognize the post office lady (and I’m sure my mom does know her) but none of them are family friends or anything.

Thanks for the heads-up on this story, Birdman.

Update: Here’s another clue as to why I don’t think small-town life is safe; in this more-recent article (or maybe they just updated the old one since it’s the same link I posted before) that describes more of the possible motive we also find out that the cops were too unconcerned to bother with the locked gate after a 911 call:

A 911 call was actually placed from the house at about 5:15 p.m. Monday, around the time of the killing. But responding deputies investigating the hang-up call apparently turned back after finding the gate at the home locked, according to Sheriff’s Office reports . . . . The emergency operator who took the call heard yelling in the background, but no voices.

“Heard a lot of yelling in the background,” wrote the call taker in a note to a dispatcher. “Sounded more like party noise than angry heated arguing.”

The first two patrol cars available were dispatched to the property minutes later, and the operator made two calls to the residence but the phone went to voice mail each time, Urquhart said. Both responding deputies arrived at the scene at about 5:45 p.m. only to find that a locked gate prevented them from accessing the property.

What the fuck? It wasn’t an armed fortress with a motherfucking moat. Having had our own experiences with lackadaisical cops I have to say that I don’t have the utmost faith in their ability to save the day. What the fuck more do you need to have than a 911 call during the holidays to get your ass out of your patrol car and walk onto the property? I guess it wouldn’t have changed a whole lot in this case, but whatever. It’s not the kind of action that breeds a strong sense of security in a community. On top of it taking a long time for the county cops to get to places outside city limits you have to wonder what they’ll do once they finally arrive.

“BUT WHO LET THIS HAPPEN??!!”

This is SO sad:

Despondent Fort Lewis GI fell through system’s cracks to his death

The thing that mystifies me, though, is this bizarre train of thought asking “who could have let this happen??” instead of even acknowledging for one fucking MOMENT *why* the guy wanted to blow his fucking brains out. He’s DEPRESSED BECAUSE HE IS/WAS IN A FUCKING WAR ZONE AND SEEING BLOWN UP CHILDREN. Where’s the mystery? What is there to be confused about?

I don’t understand how you can responsibly cover that story without providing even one morsel of a statistic on, you know, depression among soldiers. Before you go blaming the people who supposedly failed out of carelessness or some deference to (what everyone likes to consider) those PESKY privacy laws, try blaming the people who keep these guys over there. The people who THREW the country into civil war. TRY THAT.

It boggles my mind how willfully we refuse to look at REAL issues. Fell through system’s cracks to his death. Yeah, because if the “system” would have caught him his whole life after this traumatic ordeal would have been so perfect! A regular bed of fucking roses.

I’m sure the pro-war folks PREFER for these folks to wait at least a few months or years before they off themselves. And notice how you’ll never see a mainstream newspaper run a story entitled, “GI fell through system’s cracks into homelessness and mental illness”. Bwahahaha!!! It goes without saying, right? Errrr, no . . . that’s not the SYSTEM’S fault. I forgot. That’s just something much easier to ignore, when someone kills himself with a bottle or freezes to death or is lit on fire by some punk teenagers while he’s trying to sleep on a park bench. I’m not making this up — you might be surprised how many homeless people are beaten and/or SET AFIRE and it’s never reported in the papers, but you know FLAG BURNING — there’s an issue that deserves some attention, right?

The “news” most people read/hear/watch is just a bunch of diversions. I’m not trying to insult the intelligence of those of you who already know this. I just never stop being mortified by it.

I’m not sure I ever knew that Herve Villechaize killed himself. As a little girl I loved watching Fantasy Island; it was sexy, sinister, and of course totally fantastic. I got to watch all kinds of television shows as a kid at my grandparent’s house that my mom would never have permitted me to watch at home; we had a tv in our bedroom there and I was a little night owl even then, so I’d stay up all night to see if any boobs would be on public television and to watch seventies horror flicks. One of my favorite movies was Asylum.

Why does it seem like the seventies and eighties embraced the forlorn, the melancholy, and the macabre so much more than the nineties and the present suck-ass century full of silicone-bloat, young-country “music”, and criminally-insane levels of “Christianity” and “patriotism”?

If I remember correctly, there were a lot more scary clowns and freaky ventriloquist dummies back in the seventies and eighties. My first erotic dreams were about me and a grown-up man clown.

More information on Herve’s suicide.