During the first few weeks of my graduate studies, I couldn’t get over how much had changed in the world of academia since I received my bachelor’s degree five short years ago. It was a crazy time back then. Only an elite few owned cell phones. Research sometimes involved getting to a library rather than getting online. And in four years, I never saw as many panties as I do now on an average walk down Common-wealth Avenue. I haven’t seen London and I haven’t seen France. But I’ve seen the underpants of every girl on the B Line.
Waistlines keep sinking lower and here’s some ‘news you can use:’ thongs are in! I stumble around like a delusional old man wondering if anyone cares that their undies are hanging out, but apparently it’s no big deal. In our desperately horny I mean enlightened and empowered culture, sexuality is celebrated and flaunted, whether it’s on the Green Line or in a green M’M.
Despite her sultry voice and a fine chocolate ass that melts in my mouth, the green M’M is of very little sexual appeal to me. Does this make me a square? A queer? Does the M’M marketing team think Americans have gotten so stupid for sex that we’ll buy their product in bulk if that little green piece shakes it just right? Sadly, they may be correct.
It doesn’t seem possible that anyone could over-hype, over-market and effectively spoil something as wonderful as sex, but I think we’ve done it. Drivers are made to feel secure through ads featuring an animated Michelin Man who gives obsessive attention to quality assurance by lustfully molesting each tire’s contours and grooves. Under the guise of ‘news,’ Time magazine informs readers of American Taliban John Walker Lindh’s alleged sexual exploits with a Pakistani man. Every month, Maxim, FHM, Stuff, Gear and others provide a teasing cover shot of the most recent or reliable Hollywood whore du jour, along with tips for at least ten brand-new ways to have Earth-shattering sex.
It’s all quite exhausting.
Our collective embrace of sexuality is now so mainstream that we shun those lunatics bold enough to suggest that getting laid should not be the primary focus of our existence. Miss America has been widely criticized for telling kids that abstinence from sex is OK. Where does she get off with such a ridiculous notion? Regardless of its size, any organized movement to silence this un-influential figurehead’s harmless opinion is astounding. How far have we sunk when people are scorned for merely hinting that abstinence is one possible option for teenagers?
I’ve heard of no such outrage directed at MTV for its show ‘Dismissed,’ a half-hour of programming that somehow makes horny, busty young teens and co-eds about as desirable as cold, rubber tires. ‘Dismissed’ follows three contestants on a date, as the two potential Dismissees compete for the affections of one Dismisser. The Dismisser’s decision is traditionally based upon a broad spectrum of variables, including ‘hotness’ of the Dismissees’ bodies, degree of ‘hotness’ of the Dismissees’ bodies and how well they ‘connect’ with the Dismissees during the ‘Time Out.’
One ‘Time Out’ buys a Dismissee 20 minutes of Q.T. with the Dismisser. This gives them an opportunity to get to know each other in a more intimate setting, which usually involves a hot tub, a conveniently-placed bowl of fruit and a romantic foot massage administered by the tongue, which might as well be cunnilingus. This week, a potential Dismissee showed ingenious strategy during her ‘Time Out’ by dragging the Dismisser into a lake and removing her bikini top to share her perfect 19-year-old rack. Typical first-date fare.
At that episode’s conclusion, the Dismisser expressed relief. He wanted a girl who knows how to have a good time, and by revealing that side of herself, the Dismissee made his decision easy. They ‘totally connected.’
But many decisions are not so easy. During the show’s climactic Dismissal, most Dismissers hem and haw, weigh the options and eventually send a Dismissee on their way. From start to finish, ‘Dismissed’ and its implications for humanity are Dismal.
‘It’s all in good fun though, and the pixels ensured that no impressionable youth saw a nipple, so who really cares?’ The disturbing message of ‘Dismissed’ is apparently so obvious that few have bothered to even mention it. If you want to find that special someone, kids, you’d better be ready to put out. And anyone who tells you otherwise, especially that moron Miss America, has their head up their ass.
Equally troubling, our culture now pushes the idea that we are entitled to sex at a younger and younger age. Not only is it OK to screw, but it’s encouraged. And many people are so consumed by the pursuit of getting laid that it’s made them damn near retarded. We see a chance to screw, and we screw. At all costs. Without consideration for consequences.
What ever happened to the great masturbators? Perhaps this is the problem with our nation. We’re so used to getting what we want be it getting laid or otherwise that we’ve neglected to masturbate, and instead waste our valuable time and energy searching for someone who’s drunk, dumb or vulnerable enough to satisfy our immediate desires. This was not always the way. In fact, the pages of our country’s history are rich with great masturbators.
Amelia Earhart masturbated regularly. The guy who invented penicillin? Big masturbator. Henry Ford went at it twice a day. FDR? You bet. By the end of Operation Desert Storm, General Norman Schwarzkopf was rumored to have pleasured himself as many as three to four times a day. And in the midst of his run at Roger Maris’ single-season home run record, Mark McGwire supposedly masturbated after every game.
But driven into heat by the fashionable and overwhelming bombardment of sexual images, fewer and fewer of us are turning towards masturbation or self-discipline. Instead, we engage in reckless and ill-advised rolls in the hay with small pieces of green chocolate. Because we are dumb. We are that pained look of confused bliss that takes over our face at the height of each orgasm. And from the most powerful positions in Washington to the morning commute on the MBTA, we are a nation distracted.