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It's Easier Than You Think to Accidentally Audition For Porn

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Ali Lohan, sister to actress-turned-trainwreck Lindsay, auditioned for a movie where a porn producer just happened to be present, and everyone's absolutely losing their shit over it. Responsible parents everywhere are directing their collective shit-less anger at Ali's horse-faced mom/manager Dina. The general consensus, it would seem, is that everyone is
outraged by the fact that Dina would allow her precious, jailbait-lawsuit-waiting-to-happen daughter to be in the same room as a porn producer, ("pornducer"), let alone audition for him. Dina, just as outraged, is practically braying with rage and embarrassment. She assures everyone that neither she nor Ali knew that they happened to be auditioning in the presence of the visionary director behind Breast Wishes 14 and Bun Busters 12, (widely accepted as the Citizen Kane of ass-to-mouth). The argument is that Ali was merely auditioning for a non-porn movie and, as such, assumed there would be no need for the involvement of anyone associated in the porn industry. It is nothing but a total freak coincidence that puts them in the same room together. (While Dina happened to be filming her TV show for the E! Network.) The public, naturally, is finding this "accident" story a little hard to swallow, but I can tell you, from firsthand experience, that accidentally auditioning for pornography is incredibly easy to do. So, I'm here to clear Ali and Dina's name, (and to, perhaps, coerce Dina into letting me enter her in next year's Kentucky Derby). I don't care how hard you think it is to swallow, America. Open up, because you're gonna swallow all of it. The whole thing.


***

I remember it well. I was 16 at the time, hoping to get my first job waiting tables.
"Good luck, Honey. Come home a working man," I remember Mamma O'Brien saying the day I left. There were tears of joy in her eyes as she wished her youngest son luck in his job-getting adventures. Somehow we both knew that, even though I'd always be her son, now that I was entering the work force, I was becoming a man. Things would never be the same. I knew there was a Macaroni Grill within walking distance of my house, so the night before, I searched online to see if they were looking for any extra help. Now, you've got to remember, this was years ago: The internet wasn't as finely tuned and organized as it is today. When I was 16, a Google search of Macaroni+Grill+Job could lead you to Macaroni Grill's website, but it could just as easily lead you to directions and information regarding
Macocroni Grill, a completely different affair. Did you notice how there's a subtle, "coc" (short for "cock") thrown in the middle of the word "Macaroni?"

Well, Google didn't notice the trademark porn wordplay, and I didn't either, so I downloaded the application and made an appointment for Macocroni Grill, sincerely believing that I was on my way to my first table-waiting job.
I really should have noticed something was wrong early on, to be honest. I mean, I was confused when I was instructed to meet in a smelly, poorly-lit basement for my interview instead of, say, a Macaroni Grill, but I didn't want to question the decisions of the men I
hoped would be my new bosses. And, yes, perhaps I should have been suspicious when they didn't ask for references or prior work experience, but we can chalk that one up to youthful ignorance. Also the application should've been a dead giveaway.

But what did I know? I was just a kid who wanted a job, so I didn't say anything about the incredibly personal, oddly-obsessed-with-my-genitals application. And I didn't even ask questions when our topic of conversation veered away from pasta pretty abruptly. Like, almost immediately. I believe our exact conversation went something like this:
DOB: Hey, thanks for seeing me, I won't let you down. I hope I can pasta test. Get it? Pasta? Like "pass the"? Did you catch that? It's a play on-
Director: Take your pants off.
DOB: Oh, okay, yes sir.
This was another one of those times when a warning flag should've shot right up but, time makes fools of us all, right? The interview got stranger and stranger and several hours later, when I found myself neck-deep in asses and Alfredo sauce, it became clear that this was not Macaroni Grill, but instead
Macocroni Grill, an adult film about a well-endowed pasta chef whose restaurant is in danger of being shut down and... Well, the details are sketchy, but the punch line is that he bones his way to economic stability. There's also a pretty juicy subplot about the chef's generously proportioned busboy, "Rigatoni 'Tony' Meatballs," involving a health inspector and some durable cleaning supplies. (I don't want to give anything away, but Tony porks the health inspector in the supply closet.)
Long and sweaty story short, I don't blame Dina or Ali Lohan for accidentally auditioning in front of a porn director and you shouldn't either. You have no idea just how easy it is to stumble into the audition room of an adult film. One minute, you're trying hard to memorize the ingredients to Carmela's Chicken Rigatoni, and the next minute you're wearing a false moustache and assuring your stone cold fox of a health inspector that you'd do anything to convince her not to shut down your boss's restaurant, and you mean anything.

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