How to win the SeX-Factor

It doesn't matter how proficient we think we might be at bedroom gymnastics, no-one really wants to know the truth. We might occasionally ask "How was it for you?" but only because we know our sexual partner will soften the blow if we weren't quite up to scratch. So the idea of having a third party critiquing our talents is enough to kill wood quicker than a nasty dose of Dutch Elm.

That didn't seem to stop one overconfident couple approaching Simon Cowell in an LA restaurant with an indecent proposal of their own. Rather than whoring themselves out to the music mogul for a million dollars, they just wanted Mr. Nasty to sit in judgement as they demonstrated their best moves. And they were willing to pay him $150,000 for his input. Ever the gentleman, Cowell politely declined the offer, but happily related the story to a writer from the Wall Street Journal last week. It's clear that Simon doesn't get out of bed for that kind of paltry sum, so he's certainly not going to sit at the end of one for the same amount.

Catching an eyeful of Simon's furry chesticles mid-thrust, would ordinarily be enough to put even the most hardened porn star off their stroke. So I can only imagine that this outgoing twosome had done their homework, and knew how give it 110 per cent. Actually, if you've been watching the X-Factor, Britain's Got Talent or American Idol, you should already know how to get Cowell standing to attention at the end of your performance.

Make an entrance

Simon likes to enter with a burst of Carmina Burana. So if you really want to pop his shirt buttons, make sure that the moment of penetration comes with a melodramatic burst of O Fortuna. That's sure to get him Orff.

Bust a move

The best decision Simon ever made, was dumping Brian Friedman from the judging panel and appointing him as the X-Factor's creative director. Now, every performance is camper than Dale Winton in a nail bar - a multi-colour kaleidoscope of awkward choreography, laughable costumes and shoddily built sets. Cirque du Soleil, sponsored by Aldi. In order to catch Simon's eye, you'll need to be willing to move around and show him that you're the full package. And don't just settle for waving around your full package, feel free to accessorise with a few props.

Stand out from the crowd

Simon wants to see you making it your own, so repeated shouts of "who's your daddy?" will prove to him that you're fully in control. It's also important to think about what position you want to try out. Beware of anything too predictable - if you stick to the missionary or reverse cowgirl, he'll just yawn and tell you that he's seen it a million times before in hotels around the world.

But equally, don't go too far in the other direction. It's fine to demonstrate that you take your shenanigans seriously, but if you show off your enthusiasm for autopederasty (literally fucking yourself), he'll tell you you're being self-indulgent. And he'd have a point.

Be a team player

Simon enjoys nothing more than spontaneously creating bands from a bunch of underperforming individuals. So maybe start your session off with some half-hearted solo play, and when it looks as though you're losing his interest, bring in a third member and call yourselves a group.

Show some emotion

One of the worst things about porn is the dead-eyed stare on the faces of its stars. There's nothing erotic about watching someone getting stuffed every way to Sunday if it looks as if they're barely conscious. If you want to make it memorable you have to commit to the moment, and an emotional backstory is the easiest way to win Simon's favour. So don't be afraid to burst into tears as you're getting onto the vinegar strokes. Or you could take a tip from Katie Waissel and drop to your knees with a despairing "Oh sod it." Then, while you're down there...

Stretch it out

When it comes to over-extended running times, Simon is the king of filler. It should only take five minutes to deliver the bad news and announce who's going home, and yet the average Syco-produced results show stretches to about 90 minutes. If you're usually arguing over the wet patch less than quarter of an hour in, you really need to practice your breathing, or swot up on tantric techniques. Don't worry if there's only ten minutes of actual performance in a two-hour set - he's used to that.

Finish with a bang

Simon's a big fan of the explosive finish, having overseen more key changes than a chain of locksmiths. It's all about making those final thirty seconds count - when you feel your toes starting to curl, get into position to make sure that your partner gets drenched in a glittering shower. And don't worry if you're all out of silver ticker tape, I'm sure you'll come up with something appropriate.

A bird in the hand

When it comes to the complex world of human sexual expression I'm no Alfred Kinsey. But even I understand that one of the fundamental differences between men and women lies in their approach to maturbation. Whereas many men are so comfortable with their one-handed habit that they're happy to knock one out on the early bus to work, it seems that women attribute much more significance to the act. Some still take classes in it, squatting over hand mirrors to explore their inner-sanctum. OK, we can laugh at the earnestness of it all, but at least the homework's fun.

For some inexplicable reason, women who wank are still seen as taboo-worthy, at least where movies are concerned. Remember the great shuffle kerfuffle when Natalie Portman let her fingers do the walking in Black Swan? There was an awkward silence in the cinema where I saw Darren Aronofsky's ballet drama, not least in the seat next to me. Note to self - think twice before taking your mum to the pictures.

So here's hoping that Ana Catarian Bezerra becomes something of a folk-hero, for standing up her (self) love rights. The 36-year-old Brazilian suffers from a chemical imbalance that can trigger severe anxiety and hyper sexuality. As an OCD sufferer, I can fully empathise. But when my chemical imbalance kicks in, I spend twenty minutes making sure that the gas hob is switched off. Ana's manifests itself in frantic bouts of fingering.

Unfortunately, not everyone in Ana's accountancy firm was comfortable with her sticking her hand up her skirt every few minutes to relieve her anxiety. She told the press "I got so bad I would masturbate up to forty seven-times a day. That's when I asked for help, I knew it wasn't normal." Well, maybe if she was a fourteen-year-old boy.

As a result of her debilitating dexterity, Ana ended up in a legal battle and even had to go to court. I'm guessing no-one badgered the witness, since she was probably busy doing that herself. Now she's receiving professional medical help and has been prescribed with a 'cocktail' of tranquillisers. The good news is that she's now down to eighteen wanks a day, and has full legal protection every time she gets the tingle in the office. She's also allowed to watch porn on her work computer to help her along.

It'll be interesting to see whether the plight of this modern-day suffragette inspires a bunch of copycat cases. If so, we're looking at the biggest threat to workplace productivity since Facebook. And if someone in the cubicle next to you develops a similar condition that requires regular release, just remember Ana's struggles and try not to point the finger. Unless she asks nicely.

Would you da do Ron's ron?

Ron Jeremy is a legend. In his illustrious 33-year career he's appeared in over 2,000 porn films, earning the self-appointed title of 'The Hardest (Working) Man in Showbiz. And it's hard to argue, since the last three decades have seen him doing more ploughing than all the potato farmers in Norfolk.

That's some achievement, especially since he has what might charitably be described as less-than-conventional leading man looks. Some people's beauty lies below the surface, Ron's lies below the belt. He may have been at the back of the queue when God handed out beauty, but he pushed to the front like a German at Disneyland when it came to cock-size.

But Ron's no one-trick pony, even though that one trick involves similarly equine dimensions - he's also something of a Renaissance man. With two degrees and a host of non-porn media appearances to his name, Ron has the story-telling skills of Peter Ustinov, the bedroom prowess of Errol Flynn and the back-hair of Guy the Gorilla.

The key to Ron's success lies in his authenticity. Asked about his ordinary aesthetic, he once told a Salon interviewer "Guys relate to me. I'm Everyman, living out every man's fantasies." It's become something of a porn cliche - the sexually frustrated housewife spilling red wine on her clingy blouse, and forced to hand-wash it, just as a workman enters the kitchen all hot and bothered. At least Ron adds a touch of veracity to the concept, by looking like he might actually spend his nine-to-five installing aerials or unclogging U-bends.

He's also one of very few stars to successfully break out of the porn ghetto and take part in a bunch of mainstream projects. He's popped up in videos by everyone from Moby to Guns 'n' Roses, played characters in several video games, and even sang a duet with Mo Mowlam on the Frank Skinner show.

With everything else in his life already stretched to capacity, he's now looking to extend his brand, and has just launched an exclusive bottle of rum. Called 'Ron de Jeremy', it has "an inviting light amber color with very attractive copper hues... with a harmoniously balanced orchestra of oak, fruit and spices."

According to the extensive blurb on the website, Ron de Jeremy "opens up smoothly in the palate", much like its namesake, and promises a "long and elegant finish". But wait, there's more tortured copy, layered with double meanings - "Ron de Jeremy sips perfectly, naked or savored over the rocks, and mixes beautifully." Finbarr Saunders just had an aneurysm.

Still, if you're a fan of dark rum, and can handle the idea of swallowing a mouthful of Ron's finest, it's meant to be a pretty potent drop. Just remember to pace yourself - the last thing anyone wants to associate with Ron Jeremy is brewer's droop. 

The big teasy

Lock up your mothers and break out the Cava, Playgirl is coming to the UK. Finally, the women and gay men of Britain will be able to get their hands on the world's most famous porn title. But don't get your hopes (or anything else) up - a few 'tweaks' have been made to the format in its transition from across the pond.

Unlike its stateside counterpart, the UK edition will not be featuring any 'below-the-belt' nudity. Extensive research into the magazine's prospective readership has unearthed the shocking fact that women "do not want to see nudity and prefer to see a man’s eyes and chest". That explains the huge queues of horny women constantly bustling outside Specsavers.

Instead, Playgirl UK will only feature men topless from the waist-up. But we have that already - it's called Heat. Rather than providing sex-starved readers with handy fapping material, the magazine will offer entertainment news and columnists, beauty and fashion, and photography by Central St Martins graduates. Just like every other women's title then.

The original Playgirl was launched in 1973 as a 'feminist' response to the runaway success of Playboy magazine - implying that women are just as capable of objectifying the opposite sex as men. It's been a running joke for years that Playboy's readers only pick up the magazine for the 'articles' and not the fact that it's full of gravity-defying breasts and more fake blonde hair than Dolly Parton's wig room.

However, the publishers of Playgirl UK have decided that when women say they're only interested in the articles, they really mean it. The launch issue will be hitting magazine racks (not the top shelf, presumably) on March 10th in what's being aptly described as a 'soft launch'. Flaccid might be more appropriate.

Since conservative estimates suggest that 50% of Playgirl's readership is gay men, this new approach is unlikely to be a roaring success. Having endured the ridiculous 'Mull of Kintyre' rule for decades, we like our filth to be a little more, well, filthy. It's about as fulfilling as trying to build a music collection out of 30-second iTunes snippets.

His cup runneth over

With the exception of being spotted in Iceland, queuing to buy a Pot Noodle, I imagine there are few things more soul-chillingly embarrassing than being asked to "provide a sample" at a fertility clinic.

Childless couples are under enough pressure as it is, having tried unsuccessfully to reproduce the natural way. By the time you're standing in a crowded reception room as a harried nurse hands you a translucent cup and asks you to fill it, you'd be lucky if you could still spell your own name. Never mind having to shut yourself in an unwelcoming broom cupboard to knock one out, as the rest of the attending patients think to themselves "we know what you're doing..."

To help expedite the process, many NHS trusts provide specialist 'reading materials' - figuring that a little visual stimulus might make the onanism less onerous. But centre-right think tank 2012health is disgusted by this process, even getting Chief Executive Julia Manning to write a damning report about the practice.

As a well-known Tory advisor, we should hardly be surprised that Manning's paper makes repeated references to the cost to the tax-payer of this practice. Even though, as her own methodology reveals, the average annual cost per NHS trust was an astounding £21.32.

Rather than being horrified at the misappropriation of NHS funds, I'm more disgusted by what this means for the quality of pornography being offered. It's bad enough sitting in a dentist's waiting room, having to make do with a three-year old copy of Tatler, and a couple of dog-eared Beanos so old that they still show Dennis the Menace getting slippered. Now imagine a similar scenario, where you're being expected to bash out some baby gravy to a well-thumbed copy of Razzle that only opens on every other page.

Obviously, no-one's going to start burning effigies of Sir David Nicholson over the NHS spending twenty quid in the local papershop. So Manning makes the central premise of her paper the fact that pornography is the universal degrader - offending anyone who makes it, reads it, or wipes it down every time a patient leaves the room.

She argues "It’s also worth considering what the NHS, by supplying porn, is effectively suggesting to a man that rather than thinking about his partner, he should sexually objectify an unknown woman while producing a specimen." Since he's going to draw on fantasies anyway, where's the harm in lending a hand (figuratively speaking of course)?

Interestingly, one of the few media channels that picked up this story was the Daily Star, which used traditional tabloid language to describe the fact that "Hospital bosses were slammed for supplying porn." Rather helpfully, they chose to illustrate the story with some sample pornography, in an image almost twice the size of the text written for the article.

Even more dubious is the fact that the pornography reproduced for illustrative purposes is produced and marketed by Richard Desmond who, coincidentally, also owns the Daily Star. As media blog Tabloid Watch rightly points out, this is just another example of deceitful and misleading tabloid cross-promotion.

Hopefully someone's going to end up with egg on their face over this. Or something that looks a lot like it.

Erogenous twilight zones

Reader beware - the links in this post will definitely be NSFW - by all means click on them, just not if your boss happens to be strolling nonchalantly past your desk. Some of the images will be difficult to explain away, especially in front of an industrial tribunal.

Pornography and popular culture have always had something of a quid-pro-quo relationship. In fact, you might even say it's all about give and take.

On the one hand (the one that's free anyway) pornography has exerted considerable influence over the music industry, contributing to what John Whitehead refers to as the "pornification of American culture". On the flipside (don't be disgusting), the porn industry has plundered popular movies for a series of often quite inspired pastiches - the best being 'Rears in Windows' and 'Wetness For The Prosecution'.

However, the sex industry is now reaching out with its well lubed extremities, and taking hold of other, more surprising, pop culture properties.

With depressing inevitability, the talent show format has made its way into the world of pornography, although I doubt you'll be seeing any footage on T4 on Sunday afternoons. Created by porn supremo Dominic Ford, "So You Think You Can Fuck" takes its profane inspiration from the similarly named dance show on TV.

Featuring a collection of 12 would-be stars, the website showcases the talents of 12 men hoping to be voted "America's Favourite porn-star". They're even divided into 'tops' and 'bottoms' to facilitate the decision-making process. After almost a decade of tragic stories about contestants' tough upbringings, a profile that features the quote "I’ve been lactated on, but I won’t go into that…" seems fairly innocuous.

But it's not just reality TV shows that have generated an enthusiastic following, science fiction also has a solid gay fanbase. Even so, it's a little weird to see the work of horror and science fiction author H.P. Lovecraft brought to life in an erogenous sense.

The next time you're in an adult novelty store, browsing the 'batteries not included' aisle, perhaps you'll notice a curiously crafted artefact - one that looks as though it should be used to animate the aggressive nature of tooth decay bacteria. If you do, you'll have discovered the Mythos Art Dildo.

Based on Lovecraft's horrific writing, the demonic marital aid has been designed to represent his Cthulhu mythology. In a way, it's probably mildly appropriate - a creature from the shadowy netherworlds, repurposed as a dildo that's destined to be stuck where the sun most definitely doesn't shine.

When Lady Gaga sang "That boy is a monster..." I'm sure this isn't what she had in mind...

Another one bites the pillow

Well, it looks like the PR has paid off for Kendra Wilkinson, as her sex tape has become a smash hit before it's even released. When it was first announced that Vivid Entertainment was planning to release 'Kendra Exposed', Wilkinson went public to try and block its distribution.

Outraged by this invasion of her privacy, Kendra did her best to prevent its release. Which is funny, since she's apparently made a number of similar movies, including one girl-on-girl epic. And this one was filmed in a room at the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas during the annual porn industry awards. Oh, and she spent a while sharing a mailbox with six or seven other Playboy bunnies at Hugh Hefner's mansion. But perhaps this was just one exposure too many for the platinum-haired pin-up.

Not so much, it turns out. Since this isn't so much an invasion as an open house. Shortly after she filed her lawsuit, it emerged that Kendra was behind the film's release, and stands to pocket $680,000, plus 50% of the profits for her efforts. Still, nothing sells like controversy, and Kendra's home movie is now set to beat even Pamela Anderson's best-selling grumble-flick.

These days, anyone who's anyone has their name on a grainy, poorly filmed porn film. Onanists around the world seem to be spending most of their hard-earned money on films that look like the Blair Witch Project with extra genitals.

Thankfully, there's one 'unauthorised' DIY grotbuster that we've been spared, featuring a most unlikely star. According to a story in the Washington Post, those sly spooks at the CIA planned to discredit none other than Saddam Hussein by staging a fake sex tape.

During the planning stages of the Iraq invasion, "the CIA's Iraq Operations Group kicked around a number of ideas for discrediting Saddam Hussein in the eyes of his people. One was to create a video purporting to show the Iraqi dictator having sex with a teenage boy."

The idea was to manipulate perceived Muslim bias against homosexuality to turn Saddam's people against him. "It would look like it was taken by a hidden camera. Very grainy, like it was a secret videotaping of a sex session." And you thought Ron Jeremy was an unlikely porn star.

The Post's source also claims that the reason the idea was jettisoned was because "Saddam playing with boys would have no resonance in the Middle East - nobody cares. Trying to mount such a campaign would show a total misunderstanding of the target. We always mistake our own taboos as universal when, in fact, they are just our taboos."

Presumably, genocide, torture and military invasion weren't considered 'taboo' enough.

They work hard for the money

Historically, the porn industry has always been keen to try new things, and I don't just mean docking or DVDA. Streaming content, direct downloads, even 3D movies, have all benefited from those industrious pornographers willing to explore new technology before it hits the mainstream.

Strangely though, there's one aspect of digital technology where the porn industry is lagging behind, and that's in protecting its assets. According to various reports, the proliferation of piracy is really hurting the porn producers' bottom line - which is kind of ironic given how many bottoms they've hurt over the decades.

The Adult Entertainment Trade Association believes that sales are down by about 30 percent, and so they've commandeered some of the industry's brightest/dirtiest stars to encourage fans to pay for their porn. Rather than downloading dodgy copies, they want viewers to put some cash in their wank banks.

The advent of online porn 'tube' sites and file sharing networks has caused revenue to drop faster than a pair of crotchless panties. And that means that sideline businesses, such as make-up artists, set-designers and fluffers, are feeling the squeeze too.

The AETA has shot a new film using a host of big industry names (mostly made-up ones, unless people really do call their kids Sinnamon Love) to encourage viewers to do the right thing. You know, before they start doing the wrong thing.

You may be able to take the girl out of porn, but it seems that it's much more difficult to take the porn out of the girl. The dialogue is littered with innuendo and double meaning, as the performers talk about "making a living selling something", "making it harder for performers" and "activity that could be potentially criminal".

One starlet even remembers to sensuously remove her glasses and shake out her hair, although thankfully the video cuts away before her top gets unbuttoned. And despite the fact that the video has been posted to YouTube, the final performer reminds viewers that "We made it just for you." Of course they did.

As Julie Meadows points out - "We pay taxes and contribute to local economies." She's right. Without the unstinting support and investment of the pornographers, the baby oil, leather harness and plumbing supplies industries would be in a very different position. Reverse cowgirl perhaps?

McCready, willing and able

It's not easy being a celebrity. There's the constant pressure to look your best, a hungry fanbase demanding access to every aspect of your life, and unscrupulous paparazzi always on the lookout for unflattering shots.

These days, you can't even film a couple of hours of homemade filth without it falling into the hands of a ruthless video producer who wants to make a buck out of your pornographic professionalism.

It's a lesson that's been learned the hard way by Mindy McCready. Originally billed as 'Country Spice' when she burst onto the music scene back in 1996, Mindy chalked up an impressive run of hit singles on the Billboard country chart, until a series of troublesome relationships and an addiction to 'hillbilly heroin' managed to derail her career.

Now she's battling to prevent the release of an amateur porn film involving her and an ex-boyfriend identified only as 'Peter'. Mindy claimed that she couldn't even be sure that it was her in the video, even though she spends much of its running time discussing her famous exes, baseball player Roger Clemens, actor Dean Cain and country singer Alan Jackson.

Speaking to the press, Mindy said “It has nothing to do with me. I had nothing to do with this tape. And whoever releases it is going to get sued.” I'm not sure what the protocol is for suing yourself, but you can bet that Mindy's legal team are working on it.

Because it turns out that the distribution company releasing the video is also in possession of a notarised consent form signed by "Malinda G. McCready". That's Mindy's real name, by the way.

If the idea of seeing a washed-up country star "eating dinner, relaxing and having sex" sounds like a fun time, you're not alone. Vivid Video boss Steven Hirsch was just as excited by the prospect of this latest celebrity scoop: "It was a very appealing package to us because not only is the footage exciting with very hot sex, all of the paperwork was in order." Mmmm, paperwork.

The idea of Mindy instigating the release of her own sex video is depressing enough. But when the 'as seen on TV' flash on the DVD cover reads "Now on Celebrity Rehab Season 3", you know you've really hit rock bottom.

Then again, needs must. And as Mindy once sang, 'A Girl's Gotta Do What A Girl's Gotta Do'.

Your secret's out

This has not been a good week for celebrities indulging in a little extra-curricular activity. Sam and Kate's relationship hit an iceberg when it emerged that he's been getting 'close' to actress Rebecca Hall.

Just days later it was Sandra Bullock and Jesse James taking their turn in the limelight. The tabloids loved the idea that whilst Sandra was busy earning her Oscar on the set of The Blind Side, her rough-around-the-edges hubby was dipping his tattoo needle in some seriously grotty ink. Michelle 'Bombshell' McGee may have grown up Amish, but she made up for lost time by transforming herself into a human park bench - covered in graffiti and offering tramps a bed for the night.

We were even treated to an update on Tiger's ongoing trauma, as porn star Joslyn James launched a website dedicated to the texts Tiger sent her - from one pro to another. The golfing God has always seemed like the strong but silent type, which is just as well, considering the quality of his chat-up lines - "I would love to have the ability to make you sore." Hope she stocked up on Canesten first.

But my favourite celebrity sex revelation of the week was Karl Lagerfeld's announcement that he likes to pay for his boy-toys. The desiccated designer believes that sex in a relationship never lasts, so he prefers to leave his money on the dresser.

For someone known for his plain-speaking opinions, it's a little surprising that Karl opts for the age-old euphemism 'high-class escort' rather than 'rent boy'. For the record, 'high-class escort' is an oxymoron. If they give you a blow-job and change, class doesn't come into it. Chances are, it just means that you're paying over the odds.

Kind-hearted Karl also pointed out that, although prostitutes are a viable option for the rich, for everyone else there's always porn. And he has a lot of respect for the performers who work hard for the money in films like 'Harry Squatter' and 'Dawson's Crack'.

As Karl says, "I also think it’s much more difficult to perform in porn than to fake some emotion on the face as an actor." He's right, you can't fake most of the things that end up on a porn actor's face.

Since Karl doesn't believe in gay marriage (he thinks it's all rather bourgeois, and he prefers to be 'different'), it looks as though Karl will have to keep paying for it. Which is just as well, since I can't imagine that looking like the Crypt Keeper gets Karl too many offers.

I'm sure he'd be the first to admit that true love is priceless. And for everything else, there's Mastercard.

You're not going out looking like that

Liz Jones needs to watch a good porno. Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting that the permanently pissy pundit is sexually frustrated - I'm sure she's found countless ways of fruitfully filling her days on the farm in Somerset. But if she's going to accuse every female pop star of turning their videos into pornography, she really needs to jog her memory about what it's supposed to look like.

It might also help, if she's going to position herself as a champion of women, that she take a slightly more positive view of her own sex. Because, on the strength of her latest article in the Mail, they're all a bunch of weak-willed, underdressed whores who spend their whole time looking to be violated.

Liz's problems (well, the ones I'm going to address today at least) began when the not-exactly-dowdy psychologist Dr Linda Papadopoulos submitted a report to the Home Office on violence against women. In her report, she argued that provocative pop videos shown before the watershed are exacerbating the problem: 'Children and young people today are not only exposed to increasing amounts of hypersexualised images, they are also sold the idea that they have to look "sexy" and "hot".'

Sniffing out the chance to bash a few women in the name of 'sisterhood' Liz picked up this story and ran with it. Unfortunately, along the way, she forgot to visit anywhere even remotely close to coherence.

Whereas some women like to work through their issues with a vigorous kickboxing class, Liz is more than happy sticking the knife into everyone from Madonna (like shooting a fishwife in a barrel) and Beyonce to Shakira and Girls Aloud.

Take Rihanna for example. The Barbados beauty's last album yielded a remarkable eight hit singles, including Umbrella which managed to top the UK charts for ten weeks. And yet Liz charitably describes her as "an American pop star most famous for having been beaten up by her boyfriend." In an critique so surreal that David Lynch would have trouble following its logic, Liz shares her disdain for Rihanna's new video because she dresses "in leather bondage gear... writhes on a floor [and]...sits astride a zebra." Maybe Liz's taste in porn is a little more underground than we gave her credit for.

As if further evidence of that were needed, consider the fact that when Liz sees a women lying prone it can mean only one thing - they "look as though they have been or are about to be raped."

It's all getting a bit much for the poor, demented soul. In the name of research she bravely spent 24 hours watching MTV to make sure she didn't sound out of touch (I think we can consider that a fail on all counts), commenting "My eyes hurt. My brain has lapsed into a confused coma. I felt nauseated one moment, bored out of my skull the next." Which is strange, because she could have been describing how I felt by the time I got to the end of her article.

But before pop music gets consigned to the graveyard shift, alongside the infomercials for Nads hair removal, perhaps we should consider the role of parents in all this. Sorry - there's no point. David Cameron can't even stop his "very young daughter listening to Lily Allen's music" so what hope do the rest of us have? Well, the rest of us might retain control of our iTunes account, or observe the 'parental advisory' sticker on the CD before we bought it.

Of course, it's not just the music videos that have got Liz seething with puritanical rage. MTV's other output also has a lot to answer for. There are 'reality' shows featuring "hysterical, tanned, fake-breasted imbeciles with names like Brittany" and "hip-hop's answer to Whose Line Is It Anyway?, in which a half-naked girl is leered at by sportswear-clad men who have nothing witty whatsoever to say to her". Imagine that - girls called Brittany, and young men clad in sportwear. It's like the tenth circle of hell has been discovered in Liz Jones' Freeview box.

That's why she's so busy lamenting the female stars of yesteryear: "Where are the Carole Kings, the Tracy Chapmans, even the Bjorks of today?" she asks plaintively. Perhaps if she'd spent more time researching her favourite artists and less time watching Tila Tequila's bisexual dating show, she might have noticed that Carole King recently toured Japan with major R&B stars Mary J. Blige and Fergie.

Ultimately, Liz is concerned that girls and young women are having their self-image destroyed by a barrage of negative images. This lack of positive role models is giving them an unrealistic perspective on what it takes to be successful.

Rather than tuning into MTV, perhaps impressionable young women should pick up a good magazine and embrace the unattainable world of high fashion instead. It worked for Liz - although she did famously boast that she blew half a million pounds on her shopping addiction whilst working as the Fashion Editor of Marie Claire. And all in the pursuit of looking 'sexy' and 'hot'. Dr Linda would be so disappointed.

Coming at you

The impact of Avatar continues to be felt across Hollywood. Some people are wondering whether movies will become more politically daring when addressing modern imperialism, some are questioning the growing prevalence of 'synthespians', and some are wondering how to apply James Cameron's 3D technology in building a better bongo flick.

The porn industry has always attracted early adopters (as well as premature finishers). In fact, home video, satellite broadcasting, DVD and the internet all owe as much of their success to innovative grot-merchants as Kleenex or Atrixo.

So it's not exactly shocking to discover that pornographers are keen to embrace the third dimension in giving their films a little extra depth. Actually, this isn't the first time that adult movies have delved into 3D - 1969's 'The Stewardess' managed to rake in almost $30 million thanks to its jiggling extra-dimensional boobs.

Sadly, anyone hoping to immerse themselves in a world of bored housewives, tumescent plumbers and disobedient schoolgirls will have to wait a while until full penetration is achieved - the TV technology is still in its infancy. Rob Smith, a director of Hustler Video Group, said "I'm hoping by the fourth quarter of this year it will be at the point where we can justify doing a 3D product."

The other problem is those pesky glasses - according to Ali Joone, founder of Digital Playground, "3D glasses are also an issue because people don't want to be encumbered by eyewear when viewing a film." I would have thought that, as long as their hands were free, this wouldn't be an issue.

The directors have their own challenges too. Aside from budgetary restrictions, there's the issue of image cropping. "We noticed when we were watching the footage later that you have to frame things differently for 3D. When part of an arm or leg is cut out of a shot in a 2D movie it looks okay, he said, but in 3D it looks kind of strange."

I think someone needs to point out to him that it's not the limbs that viewers will be focusing on. They'll be too busy ducking, fearful that they're about to have an eye poked out.

Call me a cynic, but I think 3D will be another temporary trend. After all, what's the point of aiming 3D technology at an audience that's in danger of going blind anyway?

Jenna shows us how it's done

If you're easily offended, look away now. Still here? Good.

In case you don't recognise her, this is Jenna Jameson. She's something of a legend in the world of grumbleflicks, having starred in over 100 specialist titles, including 'Deep Inside Celeste', 'Where The Boys Aren't' and the spectacularly titled 'Jennatilia'.

So the news that Jenna was 'blessed with an easy birth' last month when she delivered twins came as less than a surprise, given that the foxy star's pelvic floor must be sprung like a gymnasium's. But when I looked into Jenna's backstory, easy jokes about the heavy traffic that must have passed through her Blackwall tunnel suddenly seemed a little harder to come by. Because Jenna has always called the (pop) shots, and been very clear about what she would and wouldn't do.

Jenna's actually a pretty interesting character. Her early life reads like a rather predictable cautionary tale, peppered with tragedy and hardship, including an eating disorder, drug use and violent sexual assaults. But somehow, Jenna managed to turn things around, starting by earning $2,000 a night as a stripper before she even finished high school. From there she moved into porn, largely as an act of revenge directed at a cheating ex.

Six years of 'hard' work later, Jenna was earning $60,000 for a day and half's work, and more importantly, had set up her own company called ClubJenna. She gradually stepped back from performing and turned her hand to production and other business affairs, including the acquisition of a cabaret club and the creation Club Thrust, an online gay grotshop. In 2006 Jenna and her husband sold ClubJenna for an undisclosed sum. Now Jenna can count successful author, mainstream actress and mother amongst her accomplishments.

So to anyone who dismisses pornography as a misogynistic, oppressive and exploitative industry should look at Jenna's biography. She might never be a guest on The Apprentice: You're Fired!, but she's an inspiring businesswoman nonetheless.