How Hoarder Adult Films Are Made

Director: In this scene, Tom, you’re the UPS driver, delivering another shipment of pet food for Agnes’ 500 plus cats. You exit your truck, crawl over the abandoned car and broken lawn mower, and press the doorbell. When you realize it doesn’t work, you knock a few times.

Agnes, you scream “Wait a minute” as you navigate through your  living room around stacks of old newspapers, piles of Jell-O boxes and five broken carousel horses. You finally open the door and see the hot, young stud, Tom.

Agnes, your heart immediately pounds, shaking off days of old corn flakes from your stained terry cloth robe. This is the first time a man has made it to your door since 2003. Your crooked-tooth smile clearly says “I want this guy” as you suggestively allow your robe to slide off your shoulder sending more cornflakes into the air and an old TV remote to the floor.

Tom, as you try desperately not to breathe through your nose, you nervously grown, “I have a shipment of cat food for you” as twenty or thirty felines luxuriously rub up against your legs.

Agnes, you beckon Tom in, almost moaning, “Just climb over that pile of Family Circle magazines and bring the food in here.”

Tom, after you finally reach the other side of the pile, you say, “I’ve really worked up a sweat. Mind if I take off my shirt and put it somewhere the cats won’t pee?”

Agnes, your smile clearly implies “Be my guest” as you heave last year’s dirty laundry off the couch and make some space. You lie luxuriously on it and seductively whisper, “You look tired. Sit down next to me and take a load off” while suggestively sweeping some kitty litter off the cushions.

Tom, here’s where you make your move. As you go in for your kiss, you spot a half-used can of Lysol. You grab it and passionately spray Agnes. Agnes, you gasp, choke and whisper, “I’ve been waiting years for a real man to do that.”

Tom, you quickly fashion a discarded clear, plastic dry cleaning wrapper into a body condom, hop in and ravage her as the camera zooms in on stale Fruit Loops stuck to your heaving bodies.

If there are no questions, let’s begin: Scene one, take one, and action!

Ben Alper writes for late night talk show hosts, comedians and others. He is the author of “Thank You for Not Talking: A Laughable Look at Introverts.”

First Instincts Begging for a Second

We’re often told: “trust your instincts” or “trust your gut.”

That may be true some or most of the time. But all of the time? Here are ten instinctive moves that should’ve waited for a second.

  • What if it’s just a cold sore? Tongue, prepare to launch. I’m going in for a big smooch.
  • Do you believe every “Danger: Shallow Water” sign you read? Watch me do a reverse flip dive.
  • Yes, my entrée looks like it’s breathing, but our waitress did say it was an optical illusion.
  • His Linkedin profile name is Hannibal Lector Jr., but he’s got lots of coding experience.
  • Something tells me a flame-eating, eunuch stripper is just the thing that could help our women’s church group bond.
  • It may be the tequilas talking, but I gotta have that Elizabeth Warren tramp stamp.
  • I normally don’t give my social security and credit card numbers to strangers, but I normally don’t have the honor of meeting Nigerian royalty.
  • Trust me, if the salesman says it was owned by a little old lady who only drove it on Sundays, believe him.
  • Yes, I realize we just met, but I have a hunch you’re going to love firewalking.
  • I’ve never hired a lawyer who lives in his car, but I like your gumption.

Ben Alper writes for late night talk show hosts, comedians and others. He is the author of “Thank You for Not Talking: A Laughable Look at Introverts.”