Fayner Posts: Was thinking today about how much trouble TR used to get into back when we first started hanging out up until the time she moved away from my building. Is it a coincidence that she got her shit together exactly at the moment she relocated miles away from me? Probably, but I won’t plummet into a guilt-ridden depression over it. Instead, I choose to celebrate the many past jaunts a young TR had with the local authories


taylor rain runs from johnny law

Jump back, what’s that sound ? 
Here she comes, full blast and top down. 
Hot shoe, burnin’ down the avenue. 
Model citizen zero discipline 
Don’t you know she’s coming home with me? 
You’ll lose her in the turn. 
I’ll get her! 


Fayner Posts: I admit this site has become The Taylor Rain Show since my dick began making chronic visits into her supped-up body, but I won’t say I’m sorry. It’s just that the girl is a monsoon of usable content for me to unshackle upon you and your hankering for things to read so that you have something to do at work besides work.

Like tonight, for instance, we were coming back from the Hustler Casino. Too many cocktails in her system, Ms. Rain needed to take a wizz. Badly. Badly enough that the exit ramp off the 101 seemed a good a place as any to relieve herself.

"I’m just gonna piss here, Dog!" she screamed as we pulled up to the traffic light, a light that always seems to be red for minutes at a time.

"Don’t do it! Were right around the corner from my place. Just wait."

Taylor didn’t jump out to pee. Instead, she decided to disregard the law by taking a left at the stop light.

Pulling out swiftly, she barely sidestepped the oncoming of two cars. One of them was a cop car. She didn’t notice until I told her so.

"You’re getting pulled over!" I shouted.

"Fuck that!" she roared, making it so clear at that moment that she wasn’t planning on stopping for the officer, who had slowed down and was attempting to spin around and bust the young slut.

Taylor sped around a knot of stopped cars and bolted to the right and across the street into a mini mall parking lot, then jumped the curb and shrieked down my alley before turning into a dark spot and shutting off the lights.

"Let’s go!" she hollered, ditching the car and fleeing up my stairs. "Hurry Up!" was repeated the whole time, then again many times as I bunglingly searched for my keys.

Safe inside from being snatched by Johnny Law, and her adrenaline whizzing quicker than Larry Flynt on a porn company shopping binge, the anal star began hootin’ and hollerin’ like she had just pulled the most death-defying illegality ever known to man and sidestepped being hauled into face the long arm of the law.

Although I believe she did an amazing job at chucking the law off her sexy trail, I fail to see how she could deem this a triumph considering she neglected to snatch her bag of weed from the car in our hasty eloping from the pigs.

It’s akin to the Duke Boys fleeing Roscoe P. Coltrain through the air on The Dukes Of Hazzard without screaming "Yee Haw!" as the dust flies and Flash the basset hound snoozes lazily in the shotgun position.

Sure, they got away, but it’s not the same. Something was missing from their achievement. The perfect game.

Taylor would have pitched the perfect game had she remembered to grab the pot from the car. Instead, she had to schlep down to her ride and retrieve it.

I wouldn’t have misfired the salient duty of grabbing the drugs if I’d have been behind the wheel. Probably because I would have pissed in my pants while waiting at the red light.



I’m waiting in my cold cell when the bell begins to chime
Reflecting on my past life and it doesn’t have much time
Cos at 5 o’clock they take me to the Gallows Pole
The sands of time for me are running low

Iron Maiden classic "Hallowed Be Thy Name"

Fayner Posts: Like I said before many times, T.R. is a goldmine of scandalous and hilarious content for me to absorb and pass on to you, the consumer. I’m not riding her coattails, as some of you believe. I’m not pussywhipped either. I’m just a guy in love with a chick who happens to be a magnet for trouble. So I write about her. A lot. She’s my Neil Cassidey, my Brown Buffalo, my devil in a red thong. Everyone’s got their muse. Taylor’s mine. Deal with it or hit the showers. I hear TheRealLukeFord’s got some interesting piece on Acacia for you to salivate to if you’re that against the human soap opera that is my Taylor Rain.

So last night we scooted out to the valley so she could pick up her much needed weed. On the way back we needed to pick up a check I had coming to me in North Hollywood. Did I mention T.R. was a bit tipsy, a bit stoned, a wee bit heavy on the gas pedal?

She drives fast and reckless, all the time and always at full-tilt. I tell her she needs a driver to take her places ’cause she shouldn’t ever be behind the wheel of an automobile that’s in motion.

Cruising down Victory, from behind the shadows comes a CHIPS copper and his siren is a wailin’! Today, it seemed yesterday, is not her day. And here she was still glowing after her amazing getaway from the pigs last week. Her luck had run out. I grabbed the 1/2 oz of grass and shoved it in my sock. T.R. yelled for me to put it back in the center console. I did.

Officer asked her to step outside, where he administered some drunk tests on her. Then some more. Then some more chopper coppers hit the scene, gave her more tests. I sat in the T-Bird stoned with my dog Rhi smoking Marlboro after Marlboro, hoping to God they’d find it in their crooked hearts to set the hot gal free. No such luck. When a cruiser drove up I knew my baby was headed for jail. I sunk lower in the bucket seat and wished for a do-over. What’s that Zeppelin lyric? Cryin’ won’t help you, prayin’ won’t do you no good. Yeah, that’s the ticket. No free ride, no collecting $200. You’re going to jail baby, and I’m certain you’re not stoned enough to make it out alive.

Rhi keeps growling at the fuzz who keep lurking around the car with their flashlights and cheap cologne. I’m asked to step out, which I do.

"Where’s the dog’s leash?" one asks me.

"Not here," I tell him.

"Why not?"

"We’re in the car. I don’t need one."

"Well, you can pick it up at the Van Nuys pound," says his partner.

"I don’t think so," I inform them. "She’s coming with me. I’m free to go, right? Right?"

"You can go."

But to where? I don’t have a clue where I am, sure as shit none of my druggie friends could come and get me in the next three hours. I made one call to R. She’s not polluted on narcotics, I’m positive. Thanks to this goddess from above I made it home within 20 minutes.

Hit the sheets, kept my phone on my chest to alert me of T.R.’s call from Jail.

Got it around 3 in the morning, 3-way with a bail bondsman.

"Shit Dog!" she barked, "You didn’t take the weed! What’s wrong with you? I have nothing to smoke when I get out! Sheeeettttt!"

"Let’s deal with that later," I said, thinking the bondsman doesn’t need to hear this when he’s putting up $5,000 on her.

I met the bondsman around four with five hundred bucks cash in hand, literally every penny I had in my wallet. The things we do for love.

Released some time later, I fed T.R. a candy bar and cigarette, then took her back to my place, where she scraped every pipe in the joint until she was properly stoned. I thought about trying to fuck her but scratched that idea. Although banging her silly with the stench of incarceration still lurking on her was getting me horny, I nixed the idea and fell into slumber, my cute little jailbird nestled in my manly arms.

And to think, all she wanted to do last night was smoke weed and watch Lord Of The Rings The Two Towers. Almost found herself in the dark belly of the Twin Towers downtown jail instead.

And we’ll have fun fun fun til the police man takes the T-Bird away.



Fayner Posts: TR went snowboarding last night and today at Big Bear. I know this because we’re still friends. But this afternoon as I dozed hard watching Se7en, she called me up all torqued up ’cause she almost got thrown in jail while riding the mountain.

When she came home, I got the skinny. Apparently it was quite hot out there, and she was in a wife beater. Her buddy John suggested she take her top off. Anyone who knows her knows she took it right off. I kinda got confused in the  middle of her tale, but I am sure that she got her lift ticket cut, and some worker even read her her rights. I believe she told him to lick her tit.

But I’m looking right now at her citation for indecent exposure, which she has to appear in court for next month.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Taylor Rain is one of a kind.

"I hate Pigs!!!!" says Taylor.

Oh yeah, it appears I haven’t stopped writing about TR. I think I may never cease doing it.


taylor rain’s weekly run-in with johnny law

Says Fayner: I knew with all my damaged heart that TR getting a Pocket bike was a bad idea. Many reasons aided in my belief…her shitty automobile driving skills, her atrocious moped operating abilities last summer in Nantucket and the fact that she’s just plum insane.

Pocket Bikes are tiny and fast. Loud too. Kinda like TR.

Off she went down the street on her illegal little motorcycle. I went inside my apt to grab my keys and prepare for our rush hour trip to the emergency room.

My neighbor came outside, said, "she’s gonna kill herself on that thing."

Phone rang, like expected was from TR.

"Did you crash? How much blood?"

"The cops stopped me on Lankershim," she said, "told me they’re taking it from me if I didn’t turn it off and walk it home."

"So you complied with them, yes?"

"Fuck that, Dog! I told them I can’t turn it off or it won’t start up again"

"You don’t say "can’t" to a cop, especially when you’re driving an non street-legal motorcycle at rush hour."

"They said that if they saw me again today on this bike they’d take it away and I’d be fucked."

45 minutes later, we sat around getting stoned.

"I’m taking another spin on my bike!"

"Didn’t the warning by the cops register at all?" I asked.


Tomorrow this will all happen again. I’ll be sure to have a video camera handy to capture her run-in with the pigs.

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