Who knew that sports would eventually kick porn off the front pages of our favorite tabloid, The Daily Dirt?

And to think, porn in its heyday used to be so reliable when it came to sleaze. Actresses spoke out about how their agents made them sleep in dog poop. Performers and directors would invariably be found dead in cheap, tawdry motel rooms.

Chuck Martino would invite you into his closet to whiff the breeze off an ocean called “freebase”. His ex girlfriend Farrah would be caught robbing banks.

Meanwhile other porn chicks would climb the gates of Charlie Sheen’s compound and wind up on the nightly news. Not any more. I mean, when was the last really good porn story?

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