the first time with the Playboy babes of 1966 up in the dusty loft of my uncleâ€™s
barn. I poured through those magazines in awe, and knew then the purpose of
this thing between my legs that I had been touching before I went to bed since I
Disclaimer: Many of the links in this post are NSFW.
I grew up, though,
and grew out of it. Porn bores the shit out of me now. What I do find
entertaining, however, is to read porn critiques. Sites like fleshbot and Gram Ponante make me laugh when I canâ€™t
find a smile in a room full of happy clowns.
Some of my regular readers
know that the Comic Sans font is one of my pet peeves. And for some reason,
now, I seek out horrible uses of said font. So when I saw Wild Billâ€™s site I nearly shot beer
out of my nose laughing.
So far, I havenâ€™t found any bagel fetish sites, or Master Lock sites, but I have found plenty of strange sites overall.
Really, though, porn is simply a symptom of a larger problem. And it has to do specifically with â€œwildnessâ€, and that place in us that is wild, something about which I have been thinking very much of late, especially after reading
this article. I hung out with Bex this week, and the idea of wildness has
been preying on my mind. I will revisit it in my next post. Iâ€™m off to go
explore the night.
(Editor’s note: I have had less than 3 hours sleep today, and I have no idea why the formatting is so effed up today.)