corvette

WEG Cory - $250

It is 10:30am when I open the door to my hotel room. I am flanked by a bell boy that just one year ago, wanted me to set up a sex scene between him and the infamous Extreme Holly.

“There is a fucking tree blocking the courtyard. Can they move the fucking tree? I don’t have time to move rooms. I am on a schedule.”

I had requested a courtyard view. My view was blocked by a big fucking tree. I wanted to saw the branches off. But I knew that would not be appropriate and well, I do care about the environment.

Whatever.

“You want your bags in the corner?”
The bell boy asked, hoping to avoid my tree dilemma.

I couldn’t get my mind off that fucking tree. Even when I looked away from it, I felt branches taunting me. I love having a view of the courtyard so I know who is at breakfast.

10:45am.
As I am unpacking my suitcase, it becomes apparent that a shoe crisis was in full swing. It was like the movie outbreak, all the shoes were suddenly infected with my disdain. I carry a lot of clothes when I travel because I need options.

The phone rings. I answer.

“Cory? This is Mark Johnson again. Johnny Cash has requested a hotel room for the night.”
“Since when did Johnny Cash become a diva? This is like 2 days from the big event? I will call you back.”
I replied, hanging up the phone in true Hollywood Agent style.

My level of aggravation was now at an unprecedented high for just before 11am. I changed the diva alert system to code red.

We were only two days way from what would soon be known as the infamous Sagauro Soirre. Wegcash and Paycom had collaborated financing, creativity and staffing in an effort to put on one of the more unique events in the history of the adult industry. The past week had been spent dealing with celebrity impersonators that were aimed at “shocking” our guest, Andy Kaufman style. Hence, the Johnny Cash phone call.

“Johnny wants a hotel room for the night”
I said when Paycom Rand picked up the phone. I never thought I would ever be having such a ridiculous conversation, then again, I never knew a window with a big fucking tree in it was considered a courtyard view.

“Is he even worth that much? Don’t we have Nicholson?”

“No. Yes. Goodbye.”
I hang up.

Redial.

“No on Cash. I am not a concierge.”

“You got it.”
Mark said while hanging up.

Redial.

“Do you consider a window with a tree in it a courtyard view?”

“Would you like to move rooms sir?”

“No. I guess not.”

The next morning, I awoke around 9:30am. One of the tree’s branches had cast a long shadow across the room’s floor. But that didn’t discourage me. In fact, I was excited. When I opened the window, I could hear the sound of new Phoenix Forum arrivals as they wheeled luggage across the courtyard, mingled, laughed, and checked in with Phoenix Forum staff. I was quickly reminded what a great show this is.

Every year, the Phoenix Forum serves as the pinnacle for success of all shows. It is the in demand. The must be seen at show. The one trip you take. The big deal you make. The meeting you can’t miss. The seminar that you don’t sleep through. The show with velvet ropes.

And behind that big tree, I could hear the sound of the 2006 Phoenix Forum as it was beginning in the Hotel’s courtyard. I really couldn’t see who was down there, but it sounded like people I knew.

Another reason for my excitement about the day involved a big basketball game that we planned out months in advance. A group of us intended to head down to a local basketball court and play some ball.

I love basketball. If I hadn’t become a webmaster, I would probably be a point guard in some youth Chinese league. Seriously.

So, just shortly after 1:00pm, the congregation of webmasters sporting bad athletic fashion wear slowly started to fill the Hotel lobby like avian flu at a Vietnamese airpot terminal. Once the first case was confirmed, you suddenly had 12 other cases before you even had a second to work on the first case.

But that was neither here nor there; the important thing was that the ball would soon be in play. On the car ride over, I began to think about how flabbergasted the webmaster community would be when I unveiled my infamous swoop move. Basically, when I take the ball to the hole, I suddenly morph into a combination of Allen Iverson, Kobe Bryant and Leonardo DiCaprio (in a rainstorm, of course). The move has stunned opponents from Venice Beach to Newport Beach for years. They moved to ban the move at the Y years ago.

After several hours of figuring out who had the ball, why some people couldn’t find the court, who was on whose team, which basket each team was using, what points we play to, which ball was the best ball, which ball was too bouncy, which team was unfair, which goal had too much “lean,” and whether or not the earth’s rotation would effect 3 point shots, the game started.

Within only two minutes of play, disaster struck. Somehow, my knee snapped out of place and I collapsed on the ground. Not only was I laying on the pavement facing north, knee facing southwest, but I was also at the mercy of a herd of webmasters. And I was in agonizing pain. The circle of webmasters formed quickly around me, sympathy poured out, but really no solutions existed. The knee was locked out of place. One webmaster remarked that he was going to vomit.

It was what you call a real shitty situation.

Soon though, Poppy from Jupiter Hosting came over. I looked at him, he looked at me, I said,

“Do it.”

And SNAP.

The knee was back in. However, it was still painful and I now had to figure out how I was going to walk on it at the big show event the next night. The ACL was completely torn and my knee was the size of a softball.

The next morning when I awoke, I had a sense of energy surrounding me that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. I couldn’t walk and soon realized I was trapped in my bed staring at that damn tree. The pain meds were helping. I was just sort of dazed.

“Hey man, open up. I need to talk to you.”

I heard the wall say. Fuck, why was the wall talking to me?

Not good at all.

“Hey man, come here.”

Jesus.

I walked closely towards the wall.

KNOCK KNOCK

Oh my god I thought. It wasn’t the wall at all, it was the connecting door. And while I wasn’t much less hesitant, I did go ahead and open it to find Ynot Bob and Moxxx in mid lock pick. I thought at first that Bob was Jesus and Moxxx was a profit.

“I can barely walk.”
I said, and they offered me a place to lay, leg elevated, still hanging on to a vicodin dream.

“We have been trying o pick your lock all morning. We felt a bad vibe coming from your room.”
Bob said as he adjusted his boxers.

To be honest, I really wasn’t sure what was happening. I started to think I was a part of a man orgy. I asked Moxxx for some water and I quickly swallowed another vicodin. I really didn’t want to be conscious for the orgy.

“It’s the tree.”
I replied.

“What tree?”
Bob replied.

“Go look.”

Bob walked through the connecting door that he had been chiseling at for the past three hours.

“Holy shit man.”
Bob cried from the other room. I could only imagine his expression.

“What are you going to do?”
He continued.

“I can’t do anything about it.”
I said, vicodin surging through my temples.

“Dude, you can’t see the courtyard!”
Bob said as he and Moxxx began to laugh loudly.

“No shit? I get that.”
I said, picking my leg up from the bed and hobbling back over to my room.

I was damaged goods. I couldn’t see the courtyard. Johnny Cash was being a fucking prick and I was out of vicodin.

Talk about being down and out in Phoenix. I felt as though I needed a miracle.

2 hours later

8:30pm.
“Nicholson is groping me.”
Hot model spouts.

“I will talk to him.”
I replied.

“Where is Rand?”
I continued.

“Cory, I am here. Jack is drunk and groping people, did you hear? I am going to talk to him about it.”
Rand said, popping up through the Velvet rope, sporting a true paparazzi outfit.

Why the fuck is Nicholson groping the girls, I thought?
I said under my breath.

“Because you said I could asshole.”
Jack said with flare.

“I never said such a thing!”
I said, hoping my inflection would ensure the masses of females in the vicinity that I didn’t tell Jack Nicholson to put his hand down anyone’s blouse.

“You said it. You did.”
Jack said once again.

And with that the Saguaro Soirre was underway. It was a spectacular event. There were stars. There were big lights. There were lots of cameras. And most of all, with every industry person that flaunted their outfits on our red carpet, a new star was born. The intention to make everyone feel like a huge success had been achieved. Rand and I were ecstatic.

Happiness was in the air.

“Rand! Cory! Fucking Nicholson is hogging the mic!”
The Churchlady screamed.

Happiness was almost in the air.

It was at that point that I realized that a miracle had happened. No, my knee still fucking hurt. Yes, the tree was still blocking my view of the courtyard. But I had nothing to complain about that night. Not a thing. : )

I didn't need Jesus or his profit.

Phoenix Forum: Saugaro Soirree, 2006. Thanks Rand and Paycom.

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