my brother and i sat on the porch last night talking about regular things. you know, my son’s basketball game. his upcoming nuptials. porn. we were bemoaning the fact that there’s a dearth of decent places in town to get quality adult entertainment unless you don’t mind shopping for it at the local convenience store slash head shop with the super private back room that really isn’t so super private. it’s the kind of place that makes you feel like you should be wearing a trench coat and carrying a passport. just in case the feds catch on and you have to flee the country in a hurry. i always thought pornography was legal if you’re a consenting adult of sound mind and body.

he was relaying a story to me about his last experience there. he had picked something up but the case was mislabeled. he and his fiancée were shocked and horrified by what they saw when they put it in the dvd player. and he doesn’t shock easily. i won’t go into detail. i’ll spare you what he didn’t spare me. so he takes it back. he tries to explain to the man who barely speaks english that the case is mislabeled. “o. yeah ok you get another one. yeahok!” so my brother picks something else. which is also labeled incorrectly. and is equally if not more horrifying. i guess they figure porn is porn and who cares about things like labels?

the thing about this store is that they may have a super private back room for choosing your smut du jour, but you still have to schlepp through the rest of the place with it. you still have to come out to the register and pay for it with all the good, upstanding christians who are boring holes into you with their god-fearing eyes. there’s still that. and my brother went through this twice now. just trying to spice up his love life. ha. stupid sucker. so he hands the third dvd to the clerk and this guy, he starts yelling to someone who probably didn’t even exist in the back room about the porn. my brother is shriveling up and dying. he’s standing next to some little old lady. he’s looking around like, “what? who, me? this isn’t for me! i’m renting the passion of the christ!” he’s pointing at the little old lady, hoping the gawkers in the store would think “all anal on the western front“ was for her. he shakes his head and looks at her disapprovingly. you oughta be ashamed of yourself, lady.

finally, he’s defeated. he asked for store credit, bought a shiny new bong and left, sans smut.

he told me last night it’s more expensive, but far better to just buy what you want. i agree. you’re more likely to find what you like and until mainstream society is a little less uptight and spastic about it, relegating it to seedy back rooms and dark corners, it’s likely to stay an uphill climb to find anything worthwhile. so that’s what they do. they buy them. a few at a time. they’re amassing a huge library of porn. and he says i can borrow whatever i want! i don’t know if i should be thrilled by this or horrified. my brother: “what do you like? what flavor? i got it all.” then he starts listing it off. i must admit i’m no prude, i think you know. i was okay with the porn talk. but telling my brother what kind i like. er. i don’t know so much. the whole thing started giving me the heebidy jeebidies.

i’m not saying i won’t borrow it, mind you. i’m just saying i won’t discuss it with him. i’m not crazy.