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A study has found, duh, that most young women in college find pornography acceptable and view it themselves. As if you couldn’t tell that from the way they dress and comport themselves.

Don’t get me wrong, porn’s fine. In fact, it’s a girl’s best friend. Quite the little time saver.

Whenever the man-of-the-moment started giving me the horny eyeball when I had a good book to finish or laundry to do, POP went the VCR. Most porn is so silly, with those pneumatic, ridiculo-boobs, and toothache moaning, five or so minutes in, a sister was bored and wandering off for a snack. The hard part, you’ll excuse the expression, was snaking out of that feverish clawing with a fako-bacon, husky “I’ll be right back” in a 1-900 voice he interpreted to mean that I’d be donning something uncomfortable and sleazy but which really meant, “I think there’s some Chunky Monkey left”.

There’ no helping it; a bug-eyed, sweaty man watching stupid porn, pounding the pillows blindly for you while unable to tear his eyes from the screen is truly the most deliciously pitiful sight in nature. It’s fun to hide in the kitchen listening to them bleat “where are you?” whilst you search for the whipped cream. Here’s a tip college girls: don’t put the whipped cream on your ice cream. Or not all of it. Timing is everything with the porn-gambit-for-avoiding-protracted-sex. Take the whipped cream back with you and show it to him. Just show it. You won’t have to actually use it because the stupid porn has done all your work for you. Well, all but the last five minutes. He won’t even notice your rolling eyeballs. Leave the last of your ice cream nearby; it won’t be melted when you’re free to finish it off and you’ll have some whipped cream to boot.

No, my problem with porn is the way it’s saturated the culture and tells young girls that pole dancing and lap dances are feminist and empowering. That showing the world your thong and posting drunk photos of yourself on Facebook is hilarious. There is such a thing as lady like behavior and it is not incompatible with either feminism or individual freedom. That was my problem with the Janet Jackson boob incident; not that she bared her bizarre breast but that she did it during prime time at the SuperBowl. That is, or should be, a porn free zone. If you watch HBO, or even broadcast TV after 9, you go in knowing it’s a free for all. Even before Jackson’s strip tease, I’d been appalled by the back up dancers’ X rated moves. Not, not appalled. Exhausted. Numb. Now, Beyonce is shilling for some cable company or the other with hip rolls and pelvic thrusts that should, but don’t, make her mother blush. She’s a truly beautiful young woman with an amazing voice but her hips, and ultra short skirts, seem to be the instrument she most relies on.

There should be times, and places, where life can reliably remain PG. We all need the rest and sex could use a little return to mystery.