A mole tells me of this cameraman who was recently contracted to film his first adult movie at a boarding and lodging room now converted into a studio above some shops along a seedier part of Nairobi’s Luthuli Avenue. The guy got carried away when the action got too steamy, he just dropped his camera and proceeded to relieve his tension just as the cast were on the verge of the grand finale. The video camera lens was generously spluttered with his dna (jism and spunk are so 1970’s darlings). Some ‘swimmers’ even reached our hapless cameraman’s hairy chest and not only was he ejected from the set but he also had some explaining to do later that evening when his wife discovered dried and crusty remnants. Anyway she happily swallowed the old porridge-on-the-chest line.
Irony of it all, I’m told, is the cameraman’s solo performance (faster than Bolt doing 100 meters on Red Bull) was better that the actors’ jaded fakery but no one recorded it. I managed to acquire the off-camera sounds of a very authentic ‘aaaargh aaaargh aargh aargh’ which George now has as his phone ringtone.
Coming when you are called…..