Fishman here. Many of you know that I’m a porn aficionado, but I’m not insane. The following weird story is mostly fake, although I do think Cameron Cruise is hot. The story is basically a satire about a Google search that took me a long time, and I realized afterwards that it is pathetic searching for a single porn star for that long. In a display of self-mockery, I turned that experience into a long, overblown saga. If you think the story is too weird, don’t worry – it’s supposed to be very odd. Also, if talk about pornography offends you, you shouldn’t leave. You should stop being a fucking wuss and read. “Gee Fishman,” you might say, “ are you trying to be a bad boy? If so, you aren’t the first, and you have a lot of homework to do.” My teacher once told me that, after giving me a low grade on a project I worked hard on. That had nothing to do with anything. It just really bothers me and I hate that asshole. Maybe I’ll write about him next time.

I have a thing for females with short hair. I believe the fetish stems from a girl that I used to play with, during my younger and more innocent days. Her name was Lily, and she had short hair. Oh, how the other children teased her! I can honestly say that she was my first love. During a cool autumn morning, she confessed her love for me. Before I could respond, a giant bird took a shit on her. She cried, and I realized that I didn’t want to have a relationship with such a fucking crybaby. I think my mom later told me that she died of typhoid or something, but by then it was 1993, and I was too busy playing Star Fox to really pay attention. Nonetheless, Lily’s short hair had a permanent place in my soul.

Many months ago, during one of my numerous searches for porn, I came across a porn star named Cameron Cruise. I fell in love. This woman had it all - natural breasts, an alluring face, an incredible figure, and above all else, short hair. Anyway, the pictures I found of her were always of her stripping, but never any hardcore stuff. As a 22-year old, I demand my porn stars to be having sex. So, I began my search for Cameron Cruise with Google.

For the first time, Google failed me. There was virtually no information on this woman. I didn't understand it - she was featured on a prominent porno site, so she had to have information somewhere right? The few links Google gave me were the same galleries I had already seen. Cameron slipped further through my fingers when I discovered that she shared the same name with a gay porno star. Nothing is worse than clicking on a site, expecting a woman, then seeing the cover of a video called “Dad’s Best Friend.”

Now things were getting difficult. Not only did I have few links to gather more clues, but also half of those links that looked like female porn sites were really gay porn sites. It wasn’t like the gay sites had names like “manonman.com” – they were disguised, so hapless idiots like myself would click and visit. Since I’m on a 56k modem, I had to train myself to recognize if a site was gay before it fully loaded. Before a picture loaded, I would look for a long list of porn star names. If they were all male, I quickly closed those sites, but I wasted precious time: Cameron was out there somewhere.

Many weeks passed, and I gave up my search. I moved to Belgium, and lived a modest life as a shoemaker. I soon began a torrid love affair with the daughter of a local horse breeder. I don’t recall her name, mostly due to the fact that she was a mute. During a night of passionate love making, I shouted “Cameron!” at the height of climax, since I assumed that the girl was also deaf. I was sorely mistaken. She stormed out of the house, and rounded up a posse of angry friends and family to drive me out of town with pitchforks. I sailed back to America in disgrace, and realized that Cameron Cruise was still a part of my life.

The discovery of a lame lesbian gallery revealed new information: Cameron had an alias. She was also known as Szilvia Loressi. Faster than words can describe, I typed that name into Google. Several galleries were given to me, but they were the same things: Cameron was masturbating with a banana. Masturbating with a banana? What kind of shit is that? That’s not cool. She looked fine in the gallery, but I firmly stand against the vaginal insertion of bananas. They’re only ripe for a couple of days, and during that precious time, they should be consumed. There were many banana sites: “Szilvia gets friendly with a banana,” “Watch Szilvia Loressi fuck the shit out of fruit,” or “Hot euro babe Szilvia shoves a banana up her pussy.” I decided to never search for that name again, and make sure to tell every banana that I came across that they are special. I also learned she is also called Mona Lisa, or Mona Liza, but those searches were a dead end.

Images of Cameron, bananas, and Starman from that Nintendo game Pro Wrestling haunted my dreams. I woke up one night in a cold sweat, which in turn awoke my lovely new bride, Caramel. Caramel, a native of Haiti, was an obese dancer at a local strip club. She was ugly as sin, but dammit, her name started with a C, so that was good enough for me. As she held my hand, I told her the marriage was over. She knew it was coming to that. Over the days we had been married, she noticed that I vomited whenever she had gotten nude. She also noticed that I cried after sex, and that I cursed whenever she caught me about to head out the front door with a suitcase filled with all of my belongings. She wished me luck, but handed me a small piece of paper with only one word: “Cruz.”

I typed in Cameron Cruz into Google, and more sites popped up. At this point of my addiction, I was desperate for anything new. If it was softcore, I didn’t care – I needed more. Then when I got it, I wanted another dose of Cameron just to get me through the night. The new galleries of Cameron Cruise were under high security pay sites. I tried everything to search for free galleries that perhaps stole her pictures. I wandered through the seediest of sites. My typing became incoherent. I offered to give cyber sex for just a taste of a new Cameron Cruise picture. News about Cameron Crowe or Tom Cruise got me excited. I was eventually taken into custody after posting “WHOZ GOT NEKKID P1CS OF CAMERON CRUISE???!!!?!?!1111” on the message board of a Mormon church website. This was my lowest point. My family soon sent me to a Pornography Rehabilitation Center. I met other poor souls like me. Most were the usual overdoses of Jenna Jameson, Gauge, Sylvia Saint, and other porn stars a kid can get from any website. This one guy, Ted, had a thing for Heather Hunter, and her lack of pictures since she retired put him into a painful withdrawal. Another guy, Jackie, had a thing for Peter North, so we all stayed the hell away from him. In retrospect, it would have made more sense to just pay the $4.50 a month that the pay sites asked, but come on - I’m not made of money.

I was eventually let out, and Cameron Cruise was in the past. I sat at my computer, opened up Google, and typed in “Cameron Cruise.” What the hell was I doing? I was fooling myself! I was never over her! I needed another hit, and I had just gotten out of treatment. Suddenly, a miracle occurred. I found a website with a list of her movies, and links of sites she posed for. She was in Real Female Masturbation 15 with Randy West, and Porn O’Plenty 13 with Ed Powers. I learned that Cameron just does solo and lesbian stuff, but she was slowly getting into the good stuff. Lesbian is good too, but Cameron’s lesbian galleries were not interesting.

Then one day, I found it. A blowjob gallery with Cameron Cruise. She stared at me through the computer, as she sucked some disgusting slob off. I reached down into my pants and began jerking off, when my secretary walked in. She screamed in horror, and before I knew it, the press was all over me. My face was all over the newspapers. The asshole right-wing New York Post tore me a new asshole. I was forced to step down from my position in the Senate in complete disgrace. Over the weeks, the paparazzi moved on to the new flavor of the week. I walked down the street, head hung low, when I bumped into a woman.

“Excuse me,” she said. I looked up. It was her.

“Oh my God,” I gasped. “You’re Cameron Cruise!” She smiled and nodded, blushing just a little. I can’t even remember what she was wearing.

“You’re a fan?”

“I’m your biggest fan, although I’m sure you hear that all the time.”

“No, not really. Not many recognize me.”

“Are you doing any new projects?”

“I just finished a scene for ‘Anal Annies 3,’ and I’m shooting ‘Euro Trash 9’ tomorrow.”

“Wow! ‘Anal Annies 3!’ I was hoping that they would complete the trilogy!” A brief silence came between us, interrupted only by a car honking in the distance.

“Well,” she said. “I have to go.” She turned around and walked across the street. Cameron walked with a bit of limp, which I gathered was from the aftermath of the anal scene that she just shot.

“WAIT!” I shouted. Cameron turned around, a look of utter confusion on her face.

“Will I ever see you again?” She shouted something back at me, but a truck drove by. The loud roar of its engines blocked out what she said, and when the dust cleared, Cameron was gone.

I am now living the clean life. I live in Japan, and make a decent career teaching American History to any who will stop by my cardboard box to listen. My obsession with Cameron Cruise, or Cameron Cruz, or Szilvia Loressi, or Mona Lisa, or Mona Liza, was over. There are many reasons that I dare not to reveal, but the main one is that I saw a gallery of her taking a piss and getting pissed on, and that totally turned me off.