Dial 1-800-Cell-Porn

Whenever you're out drinking with a friend, at some point during the night, there is guaranteed to be one long stretch that passes where neither person talks.

Sometimies it's 30 seconds. Sometimes a minute.

Whenever this silence occurs, I believe the next words to be spoken should be significant or hilarious.

Which is why I couldn’t stop laughing recently when a dude I was out with broke the ice with his line. He pulls out his cell phone and says this:

“Hey, do you want to see a video of my girlfriend sucking my dick?”

My kind of guy. When you’re out drinking and the conversation turns to pornography, it is always a good thing. I'm a huge fan of inappropriate subject matter.

It's a hell of lot more interesting than listening to Couple A ramble on about the intimate details of the installation of the new cabinets in their kitchen. Or listening to some married guy talk about the new major electronics purchase he has just made which, evidently, will distract him from how boring and routine his life is becoming.

That's boring shit. But porn is always fun. Especially when your friend has a 15-second video clip on his cell of his girlfriend going down on him. (No, he didn’t really show it to me. But a few more rounds and I likely would have watched it).

I thought this was fascinating, and culturally significant. Then I discovered that Cell Porn, as we’ll call it, is quite prevalent.

Several of my friends have revealed to me they have pictures/videos of them either fucking or getting blown. But they never show it to me.

One thing is always constant, however. The moment someone reveals they have Cell Porn always occurs at random times.

Say I'm talking to a friend about whether The Price Is Right adds the clicking sound made by the Plinko chips strictly for TV or if the clicking sounds are audible in the studio. At some random moment, just as The Price Is Right conversation fades, the cell phone will come out.

“Dude, do you want to see pictures of me fucking Kathryn?”

I love it. Not that I want to see it, but I am enamored by the fact this is actually occurring.

It’s to the point now, that my friends’ girlfriends are pulling the same stunt. I have actually been tricked into seeing some rather forgettable shit. Totally dooped.

Girlfriend A has her cell out. “Hey, check out this picture.”

I look. It’s a photo of my buddy on his bed with his erection shooting up inside his gym shorts (yes, his shorts were on, mercifully).

Oh, really. Thanks. You think that’s funny? Why don't you just point to my chest and say, "What's that," then when I look down hit me in the face with your hand.

I felt like the waiters in the movie "Waiting" who got goated.

So apparently it goes both ways. Maybe I find this fascinating because I have never recorded my sexual exploits with my cell phone. Actually, when I’m having sex it never occurs to me to get out my cell and turn my bedroom into a movie set.

I mean, I wouldn't even be able to find my cell phone while I'm having sex. It takes me five minutes to find my keys before I leave home everyday. I have no idea where my cell is unless it is ringing.

Do these guys have those cell-phone belt holders strapped to their body during sex and then just whip out the camera phone when they have a money shot? How does this work? I want to know.

My friend says “Dude, my cell was on the night stand.” That seems to make sense. I guess.

Regardless, we are all now porn stars. Our phones, the ones we use to conduct major business on, to talk to our mothers and fathers on, is now filled with some of our dirtiest and most forbidden acts.

Isn't technology great?