Intro

Hi.

Last month, Cybersocket wrote an article on blogs.

Paul Morris’s blog was listed as “One of the 20 Sexiest Blogs in Cyberspace”. We here at Treasure Island Media were shocked. Me more than anyone else- I’ve been trying to get Paul to start blogging along, but to no avail. Every time I think I’m close- I once basically held his hand as I explained the process to him- he either comes up with a minor detail that he absolutely has to research before he starts writing, or he very conveniently forgets that he was supposed to keep up a blog. This means, essentially, that we received recognition for something that we didn’t have.

What we did have was a page where Paul would sometimes, when the moon was a very particular shade of blue, post stories from his life, or excerpts from a journal that once belonged to Christopher Rage and is now one of Paul’s prize possessions. It’s more a repository of erotic confessions than jaunty biographical reporting, though, and hardly fit for the consumption of the sweaty masses. I personally feel that it’s more intimidating than it is intimate, and it paints a picture of Paul that is at something of a right angle with reality. The reality being a man who is obsessed with Invader Zim, lets me get away with trying to get our office drunk during work hours, punctuates statements with a whoopee cushion, and keeps a number of giant inflatable monkeys (and one inflatable cactus) in his office.

I think the story of how I got hired here is pretty illustrative of how Paul, and the Treasure Island office in general, works: I wrote a poem. I had just gotten canned as a waiter at a swishy San Francisco restaurant for having a personality that “isn’t really suited for fine dining,” and I was doing what everyone in San Francisco does when they’re either unemployed or horny: I was surfing Craigslist. I came across this headline: “Nasty and growing all-male porn company needs PR rep.”

This looked, to me, like the written version of a siren song. But the body of the ad was even better:

“Part-time, hourly, dirt-wages to start but will grow into piles of gold and jewels if you know how to wrangle and ride a sure thing. Please be disillusioned, loyal, conniving, aggressive, intelligent, creative and reliable and know how to spell. Send brief self-description, a pic (doesn't have to be nude) and a brief poem on why you'd be great.Check out the evil webpage at: http://www.treasureislandmedia.com/”

I sent in a poem, which, by the way, smacked of genius, and I got hired. It was basically between me and some guy who claimed to have a degree from Yale, but who refused to deign to write a poem. They gave the job to the art-school dropout ex-waiter who wrote a poem. Me. Suddenly I’m a publicist.

Treasure Island thrives on spontaneity, risk, and an underlying but pervasive sense of humor. This, if you believe the women’s magazines, is precisely what women are looking for in a man. Somehow, those ingredients turn into the hardest-core man-fuck bareback-orgy cum-sloppy pornography on the market. Go figure. Who knew that that was what women wanted?

So this is the beginnings of the Treasure Island Media blog. I’m writing it, because that guarantees that it will get written, and it’ll probably incite Paul to pop in and make a comment or three. While you’re waiting for that guest appearance, I’ll be writing about what goes on around here.

For instance, right now, the sounds coming out of Paul’s office are the moans of men fucking each other (rough edits of future films), and Damon Dogg playing with a whoopee cushion. I guess we might not be precisely what women are looking for. But you boys certainly found us, didn’t you?

I’m glad you did.

~Saul Austin