By Kenton Blare
Special to YNOT

SYRACUSE, N.Y. – I guess I must not be famous enough, because I swear to god I’m the only person who has been humiliated on the internet in a porn-related story gone viral to whom nobody in the adult entertainment industry has subsequently offered a job working in porn.

I just don’t get it. I’m a great looking guy, I’ve got tattoos, I can make ugly faces and horrible grunting noises when I cum. Hell, I even kept one of my old Syracuse police uniforms to be able to supply my own wardrobe for “men in uniform” shoots.

All I can think is you people have blacklisted me based on a pack of lies told by my ex-pornstar ex-girlfriend, Nadine Westin-Marriot, who these days goes by the name Diamond Bissette and masquerades as a preacher, after marrying some douchebag pastor from up the road in Cicero.

Nadine likes to go around telling people I used to hit her and demean her and make her dress up like a prostitute, so I could pretend to arrest her, then pretend to take sexual favors as bribes to let her go without booking her. Such a statement is at least 84-percent false. I never hit the bitch, as I recently proved in court.

Anyway, I’m suing Nadine for a lot of money because she’s trying to ruin my life, including by taking measures to make sure nobody in the porn industry offers me a job. I can’t prove she’s doing this, but what other explanation could there be for the fact I haven’t received even a single lousy open letter from Matt Culolik or Estebe Harsch from GARISH?

The way I see it, I don’t just “deserve” a job in porn; the porn industry owes me one.

Look, the porn industry essentially made Nadine, who has in turn made my life hell. Shit, now that she has gone out of her way to make me look bad, including by repeatedly ramming her hard, unforgiving face into my tender, helpless fists, I think giving me a job is the least the porn industry can do to compensate me for my pain, suffering, mental anguish and badly cracked class ring.

It’s not just about what Nadine did to me, though. I’m qualified in every way to be a porn performer, from my rugged good looks and natural tendency to dominate others to my total comfort ingesting whatever substances it takes to get the job done — even if I have to inject them straight into my dick with a caulking gun.

I guess what really pisses me off here is I already have a connection to the porn industry (albeit one I’m currently suing for a million bucks and accusing of defamation, slander, libel and malicious prosecution) while a dickhead like the owner of Gawker gets a porn job offer when all he’s done is lose a lawsuit to some pro wrestler named after a comic book character.

What’s it going to take, porn industry? Do I have to be accused of murdering Nadine in order to make the cut? If that’s the case, just tell me — because I can make that shit happen and totally get away with it. After almost 20 years on the job, I know lots of ex-cons who will do just about anything for a few hundred bucks. Hell, they might even lower the price if I promise to let them visit the set of my first porn shoot.

The point here is I’m not giving up on my dream of performing in porn, no matter what, even if I have to produce my debut porn videos myself. Once I’ve been fully vindicated and made whole by winning my lawsuit against Nadine, I should have plenty of money to bankroll at least a gonzo scene or two.

The problem is, I deserve more than just a couple of scenes in a mundane, plot-less fuck flick. I should be one of the main characters in a superhero porn parody, or even play myself in a smutty biopic covering my life as a heroic police officer. We could call it Righteous Thrill or Hung Lieutenant or maybe Stop! Or I’ll Shoot On Your Mom.

I have so much to offer the world of porn. Does the world of porn really have no job to offer me in return?

Kenton Blare is a former sergeant with the Syracuse Police Department. His former hobbies included weightlifting, stalking women, admiring himself in the mirror and pulling people over, breaking their tail lights with his nightstick, then writing them fix-it tickets for their broken tail lights.