sweatin the small stuff

One thing that I am is an avid internet junkie. I use it for my blog, reading news, various forms of entertainment and keeping in touch with people I like and the where bouts of you muthafuckers I don’t like. But one of the things I confess to using it for is looking at porn. Now I’m a firm believer that youth can’t hold a candle to older folks when it comes to knowing what we like, mainly because we’ve had years of trial and error to sort all the shit out and I like porn, which makes the search for interesting porn that more interesting.

Hold it, isn’t it funny how the word porn affects some people? Some muthafuckers get all indignant and shit when they hear that word. “Hrump, porn is for those dang law breakers and other low lifers of that ilk. You’ll never catch me looking at porn, not a fine upstanding Christian man like me.” Or you’ll hear some chick bitching that her husband or boyfriend never looks at porn. And I love the mother that tells me with a straight face that her little Johnny has never looked at porn and he never will.

Whatever….but here’s the cool thing about the internet and porn, you never have to leave the house. I mean back in the day when I wanted to look at porn I had to get dressed, grab some quarters, hop in the car, go downtown or somewhere seedier then where I lived. Park the car, go inside and after running the gauntlet of hookers and dopefiends, find myself a booth where I could watch maybe two minutes of porn for a quarter.

Or if I felt high class and had a few bucks I went to one of the MANY theaters that dotted my part of town and enjoyed my porn sitting down in comfort hoping that the cat behind me didn’t shoot high and hit the back of my neck. It’s like eighty-five fuckin degrees outside and every muthafucker in the theater had a jacket over their lap. And I know I’m going off track but those days kind’a rocked for a young man living out on his own dime.

There was the Ole Chelsea Theater in the river market area, on Troost stood the Strand and on Main the Dove Theater. These were just three of the places where back in the day I could go and see not only porn on the big and small screen but buck assed nekked dancers. And the Dove even had the girls in the glass booth who happened to be very close personal friends of mine…thank you very much. Plus besides the theaters there were tons of arcades scattered all over midtown including the city’s largest which took up most of half a block.

And argument aside, looking at porn never made me want to go out and abuse women or talk back to my mother or shoot heroin. In a strange way porn made me respect women that much more if that makes any sense. I guess because I knew hookers and chicks who did porn by name, and because I knew them and the fact that they had family’s and sweated thru life like I did. Well, that put a face on my porn and if you was me living in my part of town you never thought bad of these women. It was just that they had a gig different from mine and I never held that against em. Plus it’s kind’a cool looking at porn and seeing a familiar face or body part.

Wow, once again I got the fuck off track from whatever I started writing about.

"and the monkey flipped the switch"