DIE DIE SMART PORN!

well everything seems to be back to normal now, yes? i've returned from the dead to fuck with porn. and smart kids. and basically anything else i can think of now that my head has been screwed neatly back into place. besides, tonight's feature is pure shock value anyway; straight pulp nastiness on my part. welcome to the death of my future political career! muahahahahahaa!

step one of the resurrection will be to address a lingering problem i have with hardcore pornography and jurassic park (the movie). travesty of travesties, i can no longer watch porn without laughing and falling out of my chair, a disastrous maneuver considering the obvious physical context. the reason for this charming handicap lies in the ubiquitous (and, in my experience, truly implausable and downright rude) manner in which porn chicks beg for great, ropy, wads of man-aise to be smeared all over their faces. ugh. don't lie to me, your lips cry "shoot it all over me," but that who-in-the-hell-just-hit-me-in-the-face-with-a-fly-swatter? look in your eyes really says it all. did you just run into a wall grabbing for the telephone as fresh shampoo suds dripped in your eyes? no? hmm. could have fooled me...

mkay. daddy's not a fan of the money shot. so what? i'm not the only one keeping that multi-billion dollar industry alive, obviously. so... so my problem is, every time i see that happen i think of the scene at the beginning of jurassic park where that park ranger wrestles with the velociraptor. you know the one? i hear his voice scream "shoooooooot her! SHOOOOOOOOOOOT HERRRRR!" each time someone unleashes le fury on some poor, poor actress. yea, it really messes with the porn mood.

SHOOOOOOOOOT HER!

now you know something new about me. for the gentlemen in the audience, i suggest you surprise your lover by screaming that phrase mid-coitus. they just love it when you do that.

oh if only my AP English teacher could see me now... i want to be a decent man, i really do.

and so i bring our attention back to one of my most favorite-ist topics: smaaaaht porn. oh how i love picking on harvard's amateurish excuse for erotica. h-bomb. say it out loud and it spills from your lips like a cold splattering of marbles. perhaps that's just the very way in which they've composed their latest issue. if you haven't already been fired for reading this at work, please direct your attention to h-bomb's website and a poem entitled "when i imagine fucking you." the title alone is enough to make you want to slam your head in a car door.

now, i'm no literary critic, but if you describe yourselves as "naked bald hyenas / full / of cognac" you are expecting much too much from me, sir. and ladies, please rest easy knowing i will never "sit / atop [your] body / like a tsar / upon / an elephant / and ride into the / rose / horizon / like a real cowboy!" nope. probably won't catch me doing that. probably not. like a real cowboy!

and if that weren't enough to make you wonder what 35 grand a year really buys, please direct your attention to "untitled (on sex, drugs, and money)." first off, don't title your piece "untitled" if you are to directly follow with an actual title, it makes you seem confused and unsure of yourself. secondly, unless you were born before 1960, are on drugs, and are cool don't talk about being on drugs. these days cool people on drugs don't talk about being on drugs. "But here--maybe it was the cocaine, working its artificial empowering magic; maybe it's that this could hardly be called "reality"--" you know what? you sound like Rick James... moreover you sound like the Rick James episode of the Chapelle Show, which i'll admit makes me laugh. a lot.

SHOOOOOOT HER!

and don't say things are "going on with opulent ease." i may not be a smart man, but i know that shift+F7 = thesaurus when you just can't find the right way to say "proper fucking." and "the soccer player is going down on me" just calls the mental image of a strong slide-tackle into the vagina. or was that the image you were going for? ahhhh romance...

...reminds me of a neat little highschool literary magazine called Min... whoops! almost gave up a little too much personal information there, but Reckless should be chuckling up blood by now....

oy. dare i continue? oh what the hell, let's play a little game i like to call "translator." without permission, i'll just steal steal steal away from their website (http://www.h-bomb.org/preview.php?page=8 always cite your sources, bitches!):

H BOMB: Do you think that romance and sexual freedom are mutually exclusive? Does romance depend on modesty, respect, and withholding "free samples"? And then does the responsibility for this fall solely on women? Are male students incapable of changing their attitude on their own, or simply unwilling?

Harvey Mansfield: Romance requires some freedom, for sure. I won't try to say how much. Don Giovanni is a romantic hero because he made many conquests. How can you make a conquest of a woman who wants to hook up?

which i will now translate to:

H BOMB: Dr. Mansfield, i stayed up all night copying and pasting lines from your latest book into an unnecessarily long and regugitative question. would you please add legitimacy to our magazine, even though it's painfully obvious this exercise is completely self-indulgent?

Harvey Mansfield: shouldn't you be smoking pot and playing xbox 360 like normal kids? shit that's what i'd be doing if i were you. i have tenure. leave me alone.

oh h-bomb. where would i be if not for you? welcome back, old boy.

SHOOOOOOOOT HER!!!