I Hate You All July 2009
By Rev. Jonny Dark
Spewing mindless hatred for over 20 years.
Greetings once again America! I hope you all have had as fun filled and pleasant of a summer as yours truly. I can’t say that it has been all that exciting of a summer. Somewhere around the middle of May, I struck a truce with the wild cats roaming the neighborhood. They agreed quit shitting on my barbecue grill so long as I agreed to stop reenacting my favorite scenes from Schindler’s List on any of their kind that wondered too close to my property. It’s been a tense, but solid peace. I still contemplate the pros and cons of this decision. It is nice not having to dodge kitty logs while flipping burgers, but I miss those days of forcing kittens to hide in the bottom of an outhouse while I systematically hunt down and eliminate their parents with an AR-15. Oh well, thoughts for another time.
A little over a year ago I moved to this trailer park under an assumed name in an attempt to dodge police detectives, bill collectors, ex-classmates and another other form of scum and villainy pursuing me at the time. As one can imagine, for someone like me, going into hiding is at least a two year occurrence. So long as the felines don’t rat me out, I should be good here for a while longer.
Now, for those of you who are not familiar with this process, there are some simple procedures to follow when going into hiding. First, and quite obviously, you must find a location where:
- a) Nobody knows anything about you.
- b) Everything that you could possibly need or desire is within walking distance.
- c) Your neighbors are as degenerate and/or strange as you are, allowing for your obscure behavior to go relatively unnoticed.
The second thing to consider is your list of essentials. Now, I understand this varies greatly from person to person.
Regardless, it is important that you compile this list ahead of time. In fact, like a résumé, it should probably be updated every couple of months.
Aside from the usual supplies on my own personal list; guns, ammo, narcotics, whiskey, matches, lighters, ammonia nitrate, etc., I always carry a revolving supply of fresh pornography. I find that it’s a healthy hobby to keep up on the latest trends and fetishes. I’m sure you all agree. However, on the last exodus that led me to this place, a small incendiary device was hastily and carelessly deployed in my closet. There are those I could blame, but ultimately, the responsibility falls on me.
Regardless, the porn; videotapes, magazines, the spare hard-drive, all of it went ‘poof’, up in smoke. At first, this seemed like a minor setback. After all, these types of collections can always be rebuilt. Unless, of course, there are no such dealers in the vicinity, and a piss poor internet connection. That’s right, rule ‘b’ was not researched nearly enough. Woe is me.
Understanding my pain and feeling compelled to ease that pain, my sexy partner in crime took the liberty of subscribing to Cinemax. Now anybody who has been alive in this country since the 80’s knows about the late night, soft core programming this channel plays commonly referred to as ‘Skinemax’. What can I say? I was ecstatic about the idea. At least until I watched it again.
You see, the last time I viewed this fine programming was probably in the early to mid 90’s. At this time, it was mostly what would be referred to today as foreign ‘Amateur Porn’. The production value was terrible. The models were as nature as the girl next door. The sex, or pretend sex, was performed so well, only the actors knew for sure. The script was usually dubbed, horribly, and there always seemed to be some playful, almost childish nature to the whole thing. In a nutshell, perfect entertainment.
However, the ridiculous bullshit that I witnessed on that fateful day the subscription came through literally destroyed my libido. Unless the viewer is a gay man, or the subject is a relative, how in the fuck can the sight of a naked woman be this uncomfortable to watch? It was horrible! The dialogue, if it can be called that, sounded like it was written by fucking third graders, the models were nothing but silicone injected, plastic, Malibu Barbie clones, and the sex was so obviously simulated it was borderline retarded. I actually saw a man humping the small of a woman’s back! Are you fucking kidding me?
Now, due to my obvious lack of options, I really did try to give this thing a fair shot. Maybe my tastes in pornography had become too refined to enjoy the sight of simple nudity. Maybe I had been exposed to and witnessed every sexual perversion known to mankind, and I’m just de-sensitized. Perhaps a mental cleansing was in order. After all naked women are naked women, there doesn’t have to be some believable context or story line to enjoy them, right? Well, as it turns out; WRONG! Oh, so fucking wrong! The more I watched; hours, days, months, the worse it got.
These programs give me the impression that the writers of those God awful travesties the Lifetime network put out decided to break loose and get all ‘edgy’ on us. It’s ridiculous, and we must all band together and put a stop to this nonsense. For you poor bastards out there who have fallen prey to this tragedy, this is a call to arms! Rise up with me my brothers and demand better soft-core porn. We’re Americans God damn it! We can do better than this!
Now, if any of you can find a practical way of doing this, please let me know.
Well, that’s it from the Darkhouse once more. I hope to be more productive in the months to come. But, let’s face it, you and I both know that’s not going to happen.