Pornography: An Unscientific Study

I don’t get the appeal of pornography. I’ve probably watched about 10,000 hours of it since Al Gore invented the Internet, and I’ve finally concluded that it’s boring.  There are only so many times you can watch a babysitter taking it from behind, three girls doing it with a black man who’s hung like an oak tree, or a Japanese chick pleasuring a pack of German Shepherds.

And whatever happened to pubic hair? It seems that 95 percent of female porn stars shave or wax their entire pubic region. I believe this is known as the Nazi wax. It looks like their pubic area has been scalped by the Crotch Indians. When did normal, non-pedophiliac men start wanting their women to look like prepubescent girls? Besides, some body parts are so ugly they really need to be covered with hair.

The level of social acceptance that pornography has attained surprises me. It’s the biggest business on the Internet, and a good many people have no problem admitting that they watch it. When I was a horny teenager in the pre-computer age, I had to go down to the drugstore and hide a copy of Hustler inside a copy of Mad magazine in order to enjoy my porn.

After age 21, if I wanted to watch pornographic films I had to make a drunken, furtive trek to the back room of the adult arcade past extremely creepy men lurking in the shadows. The movies were 25 cents for three minutes and had to be watched standing up in a tiny booth because you definitely didn’t want to sit down in there. It was a tawdry, somewhat dangerous and shame-filled experience, which is what watching porn should be. Kids have it much too easy these days. They can watch porn at home over the Internet at too young an age and don’t even have to work at it.

After years of careful research, I have concluded that pornography is ultimately unhealthy for its consumers. Not only does it get boring after about 15 years, it sets up unrealistic expectations for both men and women. Men start expecting their real-life partners to have boobs big enough to serve as floatation devices for an entire planeload of people, and skin that’s marble-smooth and blemish-free. And normal women start feeling inadequate by comparison.

I’ve been so damaged by my porn research that I’ve decided to marry my blow-up doll Marsha, because she’s perfectly flawless and doesn’t talk. We need to hurry to Vermont, where such unions are still legal.

Porn has other social costs. Do we really want our children thinking that being a porn star is a perfectly acceptable profession to aspire to, like being doctor, lawyer or Wall Street embezzler? I think not.

For these reasons, and because my credit cards are maxed out, I am swearing off pornography forever. Right after I finish watching “Indiana Boner and the Kingdom of the Crotchless Panties.”

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