P.S. I was recently interviewed on the wonderful I Like You podcast. Check it out if you want to hear me ramble about internet slaves, squatting, and the Vice Slutever show!

]]> http://slutever.com/selling-my-soul/feed/ 11 http://slutever.com/kitten-natividad/ http://slutever.com/kitten-natividad/#comments Sat, 12 May 2012 23:02:21 +0000 karleyslutever http://slutever.com/?p=2969 Continue reading →]]> Kitten Natividad has some of the most infamous boobs in the history of Hollywood. Perhaps best known for her 44-inch chest and her ability to cum while doing a striptease, Kitten is one of Russ Meyer’s legendary ultra-vixens and his former girlfriend. And for realzies, you know your tits are some of the best in the world if Meyer—the supreme auteur of sexploitation flicks—is your main squeeze for 15 years.

Kitten was born in 1948 in Juarez, Mexico. Following a sketchy Tijuana boob job at 21, she moved to LA and worked as a go-go dancer. Her career as a stripper led her to Meyer, who cast her in films such as Up! and Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens.

Kitten’s aggressive sexual prowess has cemented her reputation as one of the most influential women in cult erotica. Some of her many naked achievements include: stripping at Sean Penn’s bachelor party before his marriage to Madonna, becoming a queen of burlesque, acting in a bunch of (questionable) 80s porn movies, and starring in Eroticise—quite possibly the trashiest, most ridiculous workout video ever made. Sadly, in 1999 Kitten was diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent a double mastectomy. However, she has since gotten new boobs (again) and says, “Any guy who says he doesn’t like a pair of plastic tits can go fuck himself.” You said it, Kitten!

What was Hollywood like in the 70s? Watching films from that time make it seem like it was a totally different deal back then.
Kitten Natividad: It was fucking fabulous. Everybody did cocaine and lots of drugs—you’d go to a party and you could smell the amyl nitrite in the air like dirty socks. And lots of orgies. That was the time before AIDS, so it was very open.

How did you meet Russ Meyer?
I was introduced to him by my friend I stripped with, Shari Eubank. She was the star of his film Supervixens. Russ liked to use strippers in his movies because they don’t have issues with running around naked. When he’d get an actress she’d say, “Do I have to be naked? It might be bad for my career, blah blah blah.” And he’d be like, “Fuck this, I’m getting a stripper.”

What was it like working under him? And I mean that in terms of his directing.
It was great, but we fucked during all of our lunch breaks. He was a horny dude, a dirty old man.

Were you in an open relationship?
Oh God, no! He was very jealous—very possessive and controlling—which is why I never married him. He always wanted to be the director—where we ate, what we did, everything. I’d say, “I’m going to visit my mother,” and he’d say, “Why? You’ve got me, you don’t need a mother.”

I read somewhere that you introduced him to anal sex and he didn’t like it.
No, he didn’t, he found it weird. I think some guys get freaked out because they feel like they might be gay. I’d say to him, “Does it make you feel like you’re fucking a guy, is that what’s wrong?” He was pretty white-bread.

Have you boned any other interesting famous people?
I feel bad kissing and telling, although most of them are dead. Um… Tony Curtis, Tom Selleck, who was fabulous in bed, Don Adams… He had a big one.

Why did you get into porn in the 80s?
I got into alcohol, and I was just drunk and didn’t know any better. I needed the money, but I looked terrible. If I was going to do porn, I should have done it when I looked my best. I ruined that shit! But it was part of my journey, so I don’t have any regrets. I did what I did.

Did you enjoy doing it at the time?
It was such hard work! You know, for one hour of tape it takes eight hours of fucking. Who the fuck does that?! It’s painful, and you just want to get it over with, but then you have to get shots from behind and underneath and move the bed and move the camera—just fuck fuck fuck fuck. And by that time the money wasn’t that good and it wasn’t glamorized anymore, so it was just horrible.

After your double mastectomy, did it feel like you lost part of your identity?
Yes! It’s like a singer getting throat cancer—they were taking my moneymakers! The doctors told me, “Everything’s going to be OK—we have to remove them, but you can have reconstruction.” I said, “Then I don’t give a shit, just throw them out the window!”

So they just chucked them out and gave you new ones like a pair of socks or something?
Yes, but I had them made a little bit smaller, because when they get too big they become uncomfortable—like you roll over the wrong way and your elbows pinch them, or you’re walking around and they accidentally knock over a lamp. It’s a pain in the ass.

I hate when that happens. So, the cancer was a result of your Tijuana boob job, right?
Yes they were loose, silicon injections. I didn’t get implants because I didn’t like the way implants looked–like toilet plungers. But I found out later that it was not industrial silicone. It was like gasoline or something, and it rotted my tits! A lot of my friends have gone through the same breast cancer as I have for that reason. But Russ was great and paid for my implants, and paid for me when I had my cancer. He was always there for me. And then when he became an old timer and got Alzheimer’s I took care of him. It was one of those relationships that lasted a lifetime.

Hey, I sold out and got an ad on my site. Now please click it and buy something. (No, seriously.) Maybe one day, if you guys buy enough see-through tank tops, I won’t have to refill soy sauce bottles for a living. And speaking of making money, yesterday some weirdo in Australia payed me $75 for a piece of paper with my spit and cum on it. Do you think if I sell enough spit paper I’ll be able to quit my day job? Hmm… Anyway, if you want some of my spit on a piece of paper please email me at karleyslutever@gmail.com. I also probably have some dirty tissues and a bunch of other random shit with my dead skin cells on it lying around if you want to pay me for any of that.

Obviously I get loads of emails and comments from my fans telling me how amazing and cool and smart I am. Recently I went through and picked out some of my favorite reader comments regarding the Vice Slutever series and did a dramatic reading of them around my apartment in multiple outfits. My friend Adri Murguia, who directs/produces the show, helped me make this important video. Also, episodes 5 and 6 of the series will be out in a couple weeks, so hold tight!

Tweet us! @adrimurgia @slutever

Don’t you hate it when you’re peeing into a guy’s mouth and he starts puking? GOD, fucking amateurs.

Yesterday Mistress Dee and I were peeing on a guy, as per usual. Dee has been giving golden showers for years now and is famous within the scene for being able to piss for over two minutes straight. (She can control it so it comes out at a steady, medium-to-light flow.) But yesterday she had to go really bad, so she asked me to time her on her iPhone while she pissed into the sub’s mouth, to see if she could break her record of 2 minutes and 20 seconds. So the guy laid on his back on the floor and Dee stood over his face and pissed for a solid (I kid you not) 2 minutes and 59 seconds. It was INSANE. And the guy drank nearly every drop of it. He just opened up his throat and was straight-up chugging her piss. It was pretty amazing to watch.

Then it was my turn. I knew my performance was going to pale in comparison to Mistress Dee’s, but by that time the guy was already burping up gross piss burps and complaining of being “full” (eww) so I figured it didn’t matter too much. Plus, I recently learned this new trick where I can keep one foot on the ground for balance, and put my other foot on the sub’s throat so that I can literally choke him while pissing into his face, so at least I had that little gem to offer. (That doesn’t sound like it would be hard but it actually is–you try pissing while balancing on one foot.) So anyway, I started doing my thing and a few seconds into it the guy started vomiting! Lying on his back, vomiting up mouthfuls of pee and then swallowing the regurgitated urine again because he didn’t want to waste any of it. I was like “Uggghghh dude, get yourself together actually.” It was kind of gross. Then I made a joke about how if he was too full to drink my pee now that I could bottle it up and he could have it as a snack later–maybe even mix it with a banana or something and have a pee smoothie. And then Mistress Dee shouted, “Oh my god, pee smoothie! That’s genius!” and I was like “What do you mean?” and she was like “We should make pee smoothies and sell them for $100,” and I was like “Wow, that is a great idea, you are so smart for thinking of that!” and she was like “Thanks, you are so smart too!” and then we laughed in slow motion.

So… this summer Dee and I will be selling smoothies with our combined urine and two fruits of your choice for $100. Order in advance and then come over and get a fresh glass! Email karleyslutever@gmail.com to order. No time wasters.

YUM!

Do you miss me when we’re not together?

Yeah.

No seriously, do you? Because I miss you all the time.

Yes.

Even if it’s just for one day?

I miss you when I’m not looking directly at you.

Come on, I’m being serious.

That’s why my eyes water in my sleep–I’m crying because I can’t see you.

I hate you, actually. I was trying to be serious, for once.

I am being serious.

Whatever, you’ve ruined the moment.

I didn’t realize this was a moment.

Well it is. All moments are potential “moments” and you’ve ruined this one.

Well, OK then.

Actually, it annoys me how much of a robot you are. You are an emotionless, condescending robot with no friends. People call you an awkward, arrogant asshole behind your back.

Well now you’re just being a bitch.

Who cares, you’re mean to me all the time.

When am I mean to you?

You were mean to me this morning, you told me that I don’t know anything about anything.

Well it’s not my fault that I can’t reference anything about the current state of the world without you having no idea what I’m talking about. It’s like you live under a rock. You didn’t know about the oil spill until two weeks after it happened. I don’t even know how that’s humanly possible.

OK, I admit not knowing about that oil spill thing was bad, but that was a weird period for me. I wasn’t leaving the house much.

Wasn’t leaving the house? It’s called the internet. It’s called being curious about the world around you and having an interest in things other than your own vagina.

God, you’re such a self righteous prick, I can’t stand to be around you. Just looking at you makes me want to die.

Well that’s unfortunate because I find you so pleasant.

(…)

(…)

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. What I said was horrible.

I accept your apology.

Aren’t you going to say you’re sorry too?

For what?

For being an asshole to me! For talking down to me, like you always do.

I did not talk down to you. You wish I did. You are just foaming at the mouth, waiting for me to say something mean to you so that you can be offended and become hysterical.

That’s not true. I find arguing very emotionally draining, actually.

It would seem that you thrive on it.

Well I take back my apology, I’m not sorry.

So that’s why you were apologizing? Just to get me to apologize?

No, I meant it, in that moment. But I expected you to be nice to me in return. That’s normally how arguments work: one person takes the high road and says they’re sorry, and then the other person follows suit.

Well I’m sorry if you, in being overly sensitive, were offended by what I said. But I am not sorry for what I said.

OK well I stand by everything that I said, too–I think you are a condescending robot–however I’m sorry that I said it out loud. That was rude of me.

I’m fine with that.

Behind the scenes of the life of a reality TV starlet.

P.S. Can you spot Tavi??

The fashionable new book that I’m sporting in the above pic is The Milan Review of the Universe, and was published by Mr. Small through his independent publishing house, The Milan Review. The book is full of wonderful and funny short stories and handmade artworks, and includes a short story by my new love, Clancy Martin. Upcoming publications from The Milan Review include a novella by Clancy Martin, an Italian translation of Johnny Ryan’s comic masterpiece Prison Pit and of CF’s Powr Mastrs, as well as art books, fiction, non-fiction, and lots of other fun stuff. I recently nerded-out with Tim about books, Donald Barthelme, intolerable musicians, peeing, and a bunch of other nonsense. Read away!

Karley: Do you read a lot of modern fiction?
Tim: I try to. I read a bit of everything. I feel the same way about writing as I do about women, or food, ya know? I like burgers as much as I like risotto with artichokes; there are extremely sexy larger women with beautiful curves, and there are extremely sexy waifs. I’m not the kind of guy who has “a type”. I like variety. I get bored quickly.

The main issue I have with new fiction is, I’m always worried it will be a waste of my time. Because there are so many great books that I haven’t read yet, so I think to myself, Why waste time with, say, The Flame Alphabet–some trendy novel written by a guy who looks like an asshole in his dust jacket photo–when I could be reading a classic?
Everyone looks like an asshole in their dust jacket photo.

Well, I guess that’s true.
But yes, that’s the constant struggle for anyone who is into reading: why read this when I could be reading something else? At times I’m paralyzed because I don’t know what to read. Literally paralyzed. But since starting The Milan Review a year ago I can no longer read for pleasure, because reading has become my job. The problem is that once I start reading a book I’m immediately analyzing it, and then once I feel like I’ve “gotten it” and know what the writer is doing, I feel like I should move on. So now I have all these book that I’ve read halfway through.

Life is hard.
It’s horrible. See, I have a system in my house: I have one bookshelf where I put the books that I’ve read, and another for the to-reads. But now I don’t know where to put all these half-read books, and it drives me crazy.

Do you ever re-read books?
Sometimes. Short stories more often. There are stories by Donald Barthelme that I’ve read like forty times. I love that feeling you get when you finish a story–like a punch to the back of your head. If you read the same story again and that still happens, then you know it’s a great story.

What are some of your favorite Barthelme stories?
The classics, like “The School”, “The Balloon”, “Some of Us Had Been Threatening Our Friend Colby”, “I Bought a Little City”, “The Indian Uprising”. The legend goes that “The Balloon” is the story that turned David Foster Wallace on to writing.

I love his story “The First Thing The Baby Did Wrong”, about the baby who tears pages out of books.
Right, and the dad locks her in her bedroom as punishment–the more pages torn the more hours inside–but it doesn’t work. And so the dad gives up and turns around completely. And it ends with this amazing line where he says, “The baby and I sit happily on the floor, side by side, tearing pages out of books, and sometimes, just for fun, we go out on the street and smash a windshield together”. I’m a big last line person.

First lines are important too. If I’m not instantly intrigued, I’ll often give up.
That’s true. There’s a story by Robert Lopez in The Milan Review of the Universe called “This Morning I Played Guitar Until I Bled”, and it has a great first line. It opens with: “The one thing I know about people is they don’t want you to bleed all over their things.”

How true.
Followed by, “I learned this from my mother.”

I was surprised to see that The Milan Review of the Universe has a lot of art in it. I thought it would be mainly fiction.
Yeah. Something I want The Milan Review to signify–if I’m not being too arrogant–is that if you’re interested in culture, then you shouldn’t just be interested in one ghetto of culture and exclude everything else. Trying to specialize and really understand one thing is great, but why close doors? And I think that’s a problem within the fiction world: it doesn’t communicate with other worlds as well as it should, or as well as it did in the past. In the pre-war and post-war eras, experimental fiction–or underground fiction or whatever you want to call it–went hand in hand with art. Writers, painters, poets and musicians all hung out. Now there’s these cliques–musicians hang with musicians, writers hang with writers, illustrators hang with illustrates–and they end up smelling their own farts.

Writers don’t hang with musicians because 90% of musicians are intolerable.
Well of course, no one would want to hang out with musicians. I don’t.

If I have to listen one more musician tell me about what model synth they own I’m going to puke. Sorry… I’m being a bitch, some of my best friends are musicians. I just think I’m jaded from years of interviewing bands.
I know, I’ve done a some music journalism of my own and it’s very tiring. Liam Gallagher wanted to punch me.

It’s just that in my experience musicians often don’t have many interesting things to say. Whereas when you talk to writers, actors or artists they can at least–
Actors, not so much.

LOL.
See, actors and musicians lie, because often the reasons they do what they do is because they want to be the center of attention, which is fair enough, but I’d rather someone tell me, “Hey, check out this thing I wrote! It’s good!” rather than, “Hey, I made this movie because I’m really interested in the Sudan.” It’s like, no, actually, that’s a lie.

Is there someone you are the most proud to have in the Milan Review?
Well, Clancy Martin is one of my favorite writers in the world, and he’s written for both issues and I’m extremely proud of that. Actually the next issue is going to be a novella by him, which is out in December. I’m super excited about that.

I just read his novel How to Sell on your recommendation. It kind of changed my life. What do you love about him?
He’s a great writer, almost transparent, bright and funny, and he’s lived an interesting life. He’s had more than one wife, a few kids, a few careers, addiction problems, he’s a philosophy professor, he’s a big Nietzsche guy, he was a jeweler in Texas in the 80s. And, you know, that kind of stuff really helps if you’re a writer. But at the same time there are people like Leopardi, who’s this poet from a few centuries ago in Italy, and he was a hunchback who never left his apartment, who died a virgin in the same house he was born in, and he was an amazing writer. So there are always examples to disprove any theory.

My dad was always adamant that I couldn’t be a writer unless I went to college to learn how to write first. He was like, “How will you know how to form a sentence unless you study writing?” and I was always making the “Experience is more valuable than education” argument. Really I just wanted to live in a squat, take drugs and have sex with underage boys.
What does your dad do?

He works at IBM. It’s this computer–
Duh, I know what IBM is. We have computers in Italy too, you know.

No way.
Yes way. I have a MacBook that I bought in Milan. We also have BMWs and running water. It’s crazy as fuck.

Yeah, but sometimes you have to pee into those holes in the floor.
Yes but those are called Turkish Toilets. They are supposed to be more sanitary because you don’t sit in someone else’s piss.

Yeah, but let’s be honest, a seat is better.
Says the girl with the dirty toilet.

Is my toilet dirty?
Yeah.

Well, I don’t clean very often. My sheets have period stains on them from four months ago.
My sheets have periods stains on them from dozens of different girls over the past four months.

Eww.
I’m kidding! So wait, how is this interview going? Is it too boring? Too cerebral?

No, I think it’s good. I’m going to put a long, unrated version on my blog.
Wow! Unrated? Does that mean I have to send you nude pictures of me?  

Hmm…
Or maybe you could take nude pictures of yourself holding the book.

Sounds good.

Twitter = @TheMilanReview