4.16.2007

Porn: Why It Blows.

I will be the first person to admit it: there really is nothing quite so awesome as a good lay. In fact, sex is one of the few things on the planet that can be considered good even when it's not "great," simply because it typically feels a lot better than having splinters shoved under the fingernails (unless you're into that kind of thing, you kinky bastard).

But see, for me there is a difference between having sex and watching it, at least in its completely unadorned form. Call me crazy, but witnessing two or more pairs of genitalia in an extreme close-up clanging together like a couple of sweaty, epileptic meat puppets just isn't hot to me. It removes all need for my imagination, and this is bad because my imagination has a tendency to make things (like those aforementioned epileptic meat puppets) seem much prettier than they really are. I think what is envisioned in Allison's Wonderland is about a hundred times hotter than what's inside the head of the man who helmed "Big Trouble in Little Vagina." Frankly, a hot episode of Red Shoe Diaries on Skinemax has the power to do a whole lot more for me, (and it's not just because David Duchovny was the narrator of that show). So I guess censorship has one use -- it enforces the idea of restraint, and it gives me the opportunity to imagine something that is often times much better than reality. Put simply, give me the hint of sex, and I'll do the rest.

It's not that I think that pornography shouldn't be made. By all means, if two or a dozen consenting adults, half of whom are midgets, conjoined twins, or conjoined midget twins (if you're into that kind of thing, you kinky bastard) want to hop in front of a camera and engage in relations for money, then I only have two things to say about that: God Bless Capitalism. I'll be in the other room watching Red Shoes.