It's the price of pornstar fame: The stalker. Some dangerous, some not. Some just want a few pictures with their favorite girls, and others lay awake at night thinking of ways into their target's personal life, dreaming up idealized scenarios of spending time with them, and imagining the sweet relief of wrapping a lamp cord around the girl's neck in the event she laughed off his advances one too many times.
Which category does Chris Connor, aka "Sports Swami" fall into? You guessed it. Doesn't look dangerous, but he is. A quick glance at this sack of gelatin's
myspace page and it doesn't take a criminologist to see the scam:
Uses the voice recorder gimmick to stretch what would otherwise be a fifteen second fanboy-pornstar encounter into a fifteen minute mock "interview" that no one but himself will ever hear played back.
Uses a two dollar microphone plugged into a laptop with internet as the excuse to tell girls he's a "radio show host" and will promote them if they give him their personal information. Nevermind he streams his "show" from a free site, with a URL a mile long.
Constantly refers to himself in the third person, a red flag since stalkers are among other traits known to have a narcissistic personality disorder, whereby low self esteem rebounds in stalker mode by suddenly making them feel like
the most important person in the world.
Thousands of "myspace friend" pornstars that he's promised god knows what- "hey come on my radio show and I'll promote you - what's your number". EDIT: Apparently he has a history of harrassing female talent with awkward gifts, and phonecalls late at night.
If you're a female in the adult entertainment industry, DO NOT give this jellyfish any personal information. Don't waste time on any "interview" for his "radio show". Politely tell him to off himself full metal jacket style, with chocolate covered bullets if he prefers. Never agree to any time with him behind closed doors or away from people. Do not end up a statistic with a skull indendation.
Look how he has her her undivided attention, in the midst of his "stalker high", thanks to the voice recorder gimmick. For fifteen minutes, he basks in the glow of what it would feel like to be a man she's attracted to. A man he knows he'll never be.
God forbid this slug goes anywhere without the baby bottle reassurance of a sandwich always within arm's reach.
Pornstars get hot when asked "so, what are your turn-ons" by a guy with multiple chins like two eyes looking over a pile of pancakes.
What's wrong with this picture? Like passengers on public transportation in eastern europe, he's not smiling. In fact he never smiles when he poses with his objects of his desire. Why? Low self esteem reminding him he's infinitely small and has no shot- the frustration of being so close and yet so far.
"Ted Bundy grin" - the last thing this girl would see before losing consciousness if she made the mistake of going somewhere with him alone. Notice the sausage fingers close together like an awkward prom picture - painful evidence he has no real world experience with women beyond awkward hugs at tradeshows.
CONCLUSION: This information is not a joke. He's going to snap at some point, and god help the girl that's without a chair when his music stops. Stalkers are very difficult for the police to deal with- until the leap from the obsessive to the destructive phase is finally made, no crime has technically been committed. Advise anyone you know to put him on their ignore list. Be safe.
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