Look, I'm no prude. I have a scheduled lovemaking session with my fiancÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ©e on the first of every month, and let me tell you: it gets pretty festive. But I feel I've got to draw some scrupulous attention to the ads for American Apparel I've been seeing everywhere.

I first saw an ad on the back of a magazine at a family get-together at my father's house, and immediately assumed he was a child pornographer. After a very awkward ten-minute discussion and a bowl of spilled guacamole, it was explained to me that this:

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was in fact an ad for a clothing store and not for a rainbow of underaged sex slaves as I had assumed. Since then, I've seen a number of these ads pop up, usually on the backs of magazines. This has proved problematic, as I am a functioning illiterate and spend my time at the doctor's office or in line at the grocery store perusing magazine backs.

Suffice to say, the healthy erection I achieved after leering at this ad for twenty minutes didn't help my attempt to persuade the checkout girl to give me a double coupon discount on a single coupon basket of mango slices.

If I could read or writeÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ¢ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂwhich, again, I cannotÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ¢ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂI would have probably put it together that the word ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ¢ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂtightsÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ¢ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ refers not only to leggings, but also to the woman's vagina, and blown a load right there in aisle five.