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Every
week I read your column. I figure that since your loyal readers
tell you so much about ourselves and our sex lives, it would
only be fair if you told us more about yourself and your sex
life. So what do you like in bed? What turns you on? What
do you look like?
—Savage
Lust
I
don’t usually entertain “personal” questions, but this week
I’m going to make an exception.
Yes, SL, my loyal readers do tell me a great deal about themselves
and their sex lives. My loyal readers, however, tell me about
their sex lives willingly and, more important, anonymously.
I don’t have that luxury, SL. Anything I reveal in this space
about my sex life or turn ons can be traced right back to
me. Why is this a problem? Because everyone in my huge Irish
Catholic family—including my Aunt-Dorothy-the-nun—reads my
column every week. If I were to reveal in this space all the
things that turn me on, two things would happen. First, my
great aunts would drop dead from shock. Second, the next time
I saw my brothers Eddie and Billy, my uncles Jimmy, Jerry,
Walter and Nestor, and my cousins Chris, Michael, Kevin, Thor
and Matty, they would all tease me mercilessly—and just soon
as everyone was drunk, all my relatives would start telling
me about the things that turn them on, and we can’t
have that.
My relatives do know what I look like . . . so . . . that
I can share with you, SL: I’m 28-years-old, 5’11”, I weigh
160 pounds and I have blond hair and green eyes. I have a
swimmers build, wear a lot of Prada and sport a large opal
on my right index finger.
Oh, and I look fucking hot in a pair of tighty-whities.
Speaking of which . . .
You have until June 30th to enter your boyfriend in Savage
Love’s “My Man Sure Looks Hot in His Tighty-Whities” Contest!
Best looking guy in TWs wins a trip to Las Vegas!
You’re gay. You’re such a prick. I hope you get AIDS and
die. Or if you already have AIDS, I hope you die soon. You’re
a cold, heartless son of a bitch who enjoys the misery of
others.
—Drop
Dead
My
family not only reads my column, they also send me letters.
This one is from my Uncle Jimmy, the long-distance truck driver,
who was always a kidder. Oh, Jimmy! You slay me!
There are many examples of All Things Evil and Dangerous.
Unfortunately. Dan Savage is by far the most heinous abuse
of free speech America has known yet. Dan, you are more pompous
than Rush Limbaugh, more bigoted than the KKK, more damaging
than cancer. I am in shocked that any newspaper would publish
your wicked commentary; you take 10 giant steps back for the
whole of gay culture, I am ashamed to be akin to you in any
semblance. If this is entertainment, I’m not laughing.
—You
Suck
Oh,
now stop, Aunt Dorothy! You’re making me blush!
I’ve been reading your column online for a while now, and
an interesting phenomena has caught my attention: “gay” folks
admitting to engaging in “straight” sex. This seems to happen
often for a myriad of reasons and under varied circumstances,
but seems interestingly common. Which led me to wonder, could
Dan Savage, Lord of the Gays, have engaged in hetero-lust
in the past? Or are you one of those “I’ve known I was gay
since I was 2 and never dated straight, not even for cover
story types?”
—Did
Dan Do The Deed?
Yes,
I’ve had sex with women. Once or twice. Full-on vaginal intercourse
with a girl named Wanda, a few blowjobs from some other girls
and an evening of drunken groping with a girl who is now a
born-again Christian. (I was drunk at the time; she hadn’t
been saved yet.) I did know I was gay when I was doing it
with these women, but I didn’t know that some of them knew
I was gay, which they all now claim to have known.
Me and my boyfriend are thinking about adopting a kid.
We’re gay, and we were inspired to adopt by the book you wrote
about you and your boyfriend adopting, The Kid. We
recently heard that you and Terry had split up, and we were
deeply distressed. I looked all over online to substantiate
that claim but to no avail. So tell me, is it true?
—Bummed
in Iowa
I
heard this rumor, too, and while I laughed it off at first—all
the cool gay couples break up!—the shit hit the fan when my
boyfriend Terry heard the rumor. First, he refused to do my
laundry, “since we’re not together anymore.” Then Terry returned
our son DJ to the adoption agency! Last week Terry moved to
New York City, where he’s been seen on the arm of ABC’s News
correspondent John “Give Me a Break!” Stossell. It’s an American
tragedy.
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Dan, love your column, I read it every week. However. Do
you need to be so nasty all the time? Admittedly it makes
for interesting reading, but your condescension is blistering.
It’s clear that you have no patience for people who seek approval
and reassurance for their sex practices, but DAMN. Not everyone
is a sex consultant like yourself. Please let people be a
little timid and confused. I would think that people writing
to your column would feel foolish for having written at all
based on your responses. Dan, don’t savage people. We want
advice, not ridicule.
With respect,
—Please
Lay Off
I
resolve to be a nicer advice columnist, PLO.
People read your column for fun and to laugh at the freaks.
Don’t waste our time with “compassion” or “good advice.” I
hate it when you get all helpful. When you’re mean, you’re
funny, so you should be mean all the time, Dan, so that you’re
funny all the time.
—Be
a Dick
I
resolve to be meaner advice columnist, BAD.
While I agree with much of what you write, I must question
the motives of anyone who affects the name “Savage.” Couldn’t
you choose a less-obviously-fake pseudonym? This name elicits
images of bad tattoos, malt liquor, pierced nipples and nights
spent writhing on soggy mattresses.
—Stitch
Abbot
Savage
is my real last name, SA. My dad’s name is Savage, my mom’s
name used to be Savage, my siblings are all Savages.
I very much appreciate your column and your no-nonsense
approach to life’s issues. I was wondering, there must be
some photos of you naked, or at least barefoot, floating around
. . . how can I gain access to them? Thanks for your help!
—Foot
and Advice Fetish
I
once “posed” for some unflattering Polaroids when I was living
in Madison, Wis., but I don’t recall if my feet were photographed.
If you get your hands on those Polaroids, FAAF, I will pay
you to burn them. There’s also a picture of me in bed—I’m
stroking myself and staring down at my dick—that circulates
on the internet. Luckily for me, everyone seems to think that
particular picture of me is actually of Danny from The
Real World: New Orleans, so I’m in the clear. And, no,
my feet aren’t in that picture either.
But enough about me, my feet, the girls I fucked, my writing
style, my boyfriend, and my family! Next week, back to you
and your problems.
mail@savagelove.net
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