I hate pornography, not on the usual religious or moral grounds, but because you can get it free anytime, anywhere. You can download incredibly high quality smut off the internet, through your phone, and probably now on your Leapster! Why back in the day – we had to work our tails off to get our porn!

It was a simpler time, before the advent of the internet or VHS tapes, and the only true standard of erotica was Playboy Magazine. And to an 11-year old growing up, Playboys were only available at the local “drug-stores”, barber shops, and your fathers’ stash hidden above the refrigerator. Too young and too short! This was the bane of adolescents whose hormones had just recently woke and were on a low-boil.

One particular summer day I was taking a stroll to canvas the neighborhood on trash day. Mind you this was before the nonsense of environmentalism and individual recycle bins. Trash was displayed proudly in godly mounds at the curbside awaiting pickup. It was a special haven for us kids who could rifle through it and find untold discarded treasures. You might unearth a clock radio, power-tool, or perhaps a slightly cracked baseball bat. Sizing up one particular trash can, I gauge its potential. Expertly navigating my arm downward through tins of half-eaten frozen dinners and beer cans, I press deeper when a small glint of glossy paper catches my eye. A tattered magazine bewitches me and I tug it stubbornly from the bottom of the bin. Out emerges from the fettered heap is an enchanted wonderment filled from cover to cover with images of scantily clad woman. The letterhead “Playboy” announced in a bold, titillating, font. Was that a clap of thunder I just heard?

Finding a jewel of porn in the trash is the equivalent of a kid winning the lottery. This was my Playboy – my first true love, and we would never be parted. My fantasies are suddenly shattered by a sharp noise across the way. Billy Jacobs emerges from his house, letting the metal screen door slam noisily behind him. Across the street, another screen-door slams shut and Elliot Deers stumbles into his front yard. Adult magazines give off a faint scent that only the attuned nose of an 11 year boy old can detect. The pheromones of porn are quickly transmitted from pubescent boy to boy at nearly the speed of light. In a heart-beat a clatter of aluminum screen doors echo up and down the street and an army of kids assemble. Their steely eyes focus intently on me. But I was no fool; they weren’t there to welcome me to the neighborhood– they craved to possess my magazine. But Miss October and I will not be so easily separated and I take off running.

Legs churning madly, my mind quickly calculates the fastest distance to home, times the inverse power of porn cubed. It would take me through the park and over the creek. With a little luck, I could hold up in my garage with my dearest love forever. Quickly I turn up the path and race towards the wooden decking. The magazine pressed warmly against my chest, gives me additional strength. But midway across the bridge, a phalanx of lustful buddies blocks the path before me. Painfully clumsy footsteps echo from behind. My predicament is painfully clear – I am trapped in on both sides with no visible means of escape. Reddened eyes laser in on my magazine. A low-collective growl issues from the surrounding mob. My heart pounds wildly – thoughts scatter in all directions looking for a way to escape. When facing near oblivion, the human mind can made some startling choices to protect itself. Suddenly the value of the Playboy Magazine diminishes in comparison to survival. Against all logic or common sense; I toss the accursed magazine into the swift waters below. The crowd wails and lunges past me, edging over the railing. The magazine is quickly swallowed up in the brackish waters and disappears beyond them. The empty look on their faces read as if I just shot Christmas. Perhaps pornography and I will cross paths again.

So my despair is with the youth of today, who appear to have their porn electronically available on tap! I had to use all my childhood guile and cunning to score some smut. And it was second-hand smut as best! It just isn’t fair – and that’s why I hate pornography.