I'm all for porn. Just as long as no one from the DUmp is in it, it's all good.
I got turned off when I was about 18, 19 years old, and worked for a wholesale hardware distributor in Lincoln.
The warehouse foreman was a guy of impeccable character and reputation, an older guy who had a behemoth for a wife, whom he loved dearly; doted on her as if she were Miss America.
He did however have one flaw, to which truck-drivers catered, always bringing him certain copies of
Hustler magazine. In case one's not aware,
Hustler during the late 1970s, early 1980s (I dunno if it's still around) was a really raunchy, really sordid, take-off on
Playboy magazine.
The foreman really liked those issues that featured grotesquely fat women.
Damn, those things were awful to look at. Vomit-inducing.
I could never even stand the air-brushed
Playboy after that, but then and again, for whatever reasons, I've always been adverse to women with overly-large upper shelves anyway. All things in moderation, in proportion, please.
A ranch-hand who works across the road from here recently suggested that franksolich himself might be, uh, mildly pornographic, to which I acidly pointed out that sleeping without any clothes during those times one
assumes one has privacy, is no such thing.
