In the Thick of Things:
My Night with Ron Jeremy
by Jeff Gerstmann
Ron Jeremy. The Hedgehog. "The guy that was in all of them porno tapes we rented when your old lady left town last year. No, the guy that looked like that guy from that Diamond Center place." No matter what name you know him by, there is no escaping this man, this giant, this legend of the porn industry. Yes, this high-school-teacher-turned-cock-for-hire has become a pop-culture icon over the course of his 20-year career...and I've met the man.
My Saturday night was going nowhere. It was around 9:30, and I was laying on my waterbed in Petaluma, CA, thinking about wandering over to the next room so I could check my e-mail again. That's when my phone rang. It was Brendan. Brendan was one of those guys that could talk anyone into anything. It got him into a lot of ladies' pants, and on occasion, a fair amount of trouble. I prepared myself for his latest scheme. This one seemed even more insane. It seems that Brendan received a call from Glenn. According to Glenn (a mutual friend, and maintainer of the quasi-official Ron Jeremy page), Ron was performing stand-up comedy at a club in Sacramento. Now, it wasn't exactly early, and Sacramento was at least an hour and a half away. The current plan was for Brendan and I to rendezvous with Glenn in Sac-Town at his girlfriend's house, and we would all proceed to the club to see Ron act crazy, and probably hang out with him afterwards. I balked. I was already pretty tired, and didn't feel like driving that far at this time of night. To make a long story short, Brendan outmatched my frazzled wits, and I was in his car and on the way to the state capital at about 10:00.
The meeting with Glenn and his overly hyper girl took place at around 11:45. The call the Glenn got from Ron was garbled, but it sounded like he would be going on at midnight. The four of us hopped into two cars, and made for the club. Brendan and I followed behind, our only knowledge of our destination being that it was called "Gold's Club." After a few U-turns and much cursing at the lead car, we finally found the place. It had a sign that read "Gold's Club - Centerfolds." This wasn't a comedy club...this was a fucking strip club.
Now, I have nothing but respect for strip clubs and the women that make a living at them. But, personally, I can't stand strip clubs. There's always some fucked up drunk guy sitting a little too close to you. Occasionally he'll lean over and scream over the music, "Now THAT is some TWAT, boy! Nice, clean TWAT! Woo!" These guys don't DESERVE to see crazy, naked, dancing chicks. They deserve a boot planted firmly in the back of their neck. And that's all I have to say about that.
I walked up to Glenn and told him that he was a complete and total fuck for not telling me that this was going down in a strip club. This wasn't going to be fucking stand-up comedy. The only reason I went along was because how often could Ron Jeremy POSSIBLY do stand-up? I mean, it sounded like a once-in-a- lifetime-type deal. Instead, he was simply coming out right the night's main attraction, a minor porn starlet named Danni something-or-other. The only reason I even remember her first name was because the retarded announced kept shouting out "On the count of three, everyone yell BLOW ME, DANNI! Woo!"
We entered the establishment, found a seemingly quiet corner of the club, and sat down. After about 30 minutes, we finally saw Ron, who came out to set up his merchandise. He had T-shirts, as well as copies of his rap tape "Freak of the Week." Glenn went over (having to re-introduce himself, even though the two had met several times in the past), and soon we were all on our way to the backstage area.
The backstage area of the place was pretty barren. Luckily, the couch was empty, so we piled onto it and prepared for Ron to drop knowledge. The main reason Ron had called was so Glenn could come and take notes to put on his web page. The first thing I noticed about Ron was that he looked like he was ready to pass out at any moment from exhaustion. But at the same time, he was talking at a mile a minute about all the mainstream places he had been popping up. Like how he consulted for the Marky Mark magnum opus, Boogie Nights. Or about how he had a bit part in the Chuck Sheen classic, The Chase. He even managed to tell the same story two or three times throughout the night. There were times when he appeared to be totally lost, with no idea as to where he was, who we were, or what the last sentence out of his mouth might have been.
After listening to Ron's droning self-affirmations, we made some small talk with the six or seven dancers in the back, including one that told us that she was doing a lot more lap dances lately since she looked like the girl from No Doubt. She didn't. We made our way back out to the club to catch Ron's "act." His act consisted mostly of really bad dick jokes, ranging from John Holmes to John Wayne Bobbit in topic. His material went from good, down to bad, and all the way around to good again. The uncultured crowd simply wanted to see more naked women, so Ron didn't exactly captivate them.
After Ron left the stage we said our goodbyes and took off. He was genuinely sad to see that we weren't sticking around. Will Ron Jeremy ever shed his adult film image and the underground pop-icon status that goes along with it? I don't know about that, but one thing is certain: Ron is easily the most prolific male adult film star around. Your friends know who he is. Your high-school P.E. teacher knows who he is. Hell, your mother would probably know that he was "one of them sex guys" if she saw a photo of him. Will his constant attempts at what he considers mainstream success finally pay off? Only time will tell.