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Any
regrets about 2004?
—One
Concerned Dude
Regrets?
I’ve had a few—I mean, I must have had a few, right? But thanks
to short- and long-term memory loss (I drove a nail into my
own head in fourth grade—really), I couldn’t recall any off
the top of my head. So just for you, OCD, I pulled the last
52 installments of Savage Love from the vaults and read through
all of them. And here, in no particular order, are my regrets
for 2004 . . .
I regret dedicating two columns to the freakish phenomenon
of women passing gas sitting up, with their ass cheeks clenched,
which apparently forces the gas to bubble forward, past their
vaginal lips. In some tragic instances, this phenomenon sets
vaginal lips a flappin’, and the sound is identical to the
one made by a regular, ol’ butt-cheek flappin’ fart. I regret
twice burdening my readers with that mental image. (Three
times, if you count this column.)
I regret not telling the obese guy who was only attracted
to petite women not to lose some weight.
I regret that some people have grandmothers who jerk off parakeets.
I regret touching on the sensitive subject of the epidemic
of GLH, or “girl love handles,” so soon before the craze for
skintight, low-rise jeans that put so much GLH on display
passed into history. This unfortunate fashion trend was still
being debated in my column weeks after the last teenage girl
in North America had sent her last pair of low-rise jeans
off to Goodwill.
I regret not including necrophilia in my original list of
perversions that I will never, ever be able to sign off on,
along with scat, pedophilia, and bestiality.
And I regret to inform the non-animal-fuckers in my readership
that I received tons of e-mail from animal fuckers who thought
my anti-bestiality stance oppressed them and their beloved
pets.
I regret the emotional torment that so many of my readers
experienced when I wrote a column about sounding (shoving
of metal rods up men’s urethras), but I don’t regret writing
in that same column about the fine line of e-stim products
produced by the good folks at ErosTek (www.sex tek.com), who
were so grateful for the mention that they sent me some of
their fine e-stim products as a thank you. If the good folks
at ErosTek (www.sextek.com) want to thank me for mentioning
them, their fine products, and their Web site (www.sextek.com)
in my wildly influential sex-advice column yet again, I think
an assortment of the new attachments would make an appropriate
gift.
I regret advising one reader back in July that a staple gun
could solve the problem of condoms slipping off her boyfriend’s
cock during sex.
I regret three things about the column I wrote after George
W. Bush won the election on Nov. 2. First, I regret writing
it in a drunken stupor. Second, I regret uncritically accepting
the “gay marriage cost John Kerry the election!” hysteria
that was flying around the day after the election. (That supposed
fact, drawn from the same exit polls that showed Kerry winning
in a landslide, has been thoroughly debunked.) Finally, I
regret not making it clearer to my straight readers why, for
gays and lesbians, contemplating/threatening a move to Canada
after Nov. 2 wasn’t, and isn’t, just sour grapes. We live
in a country in which one political party—the one that happens
to control all branches of the federal government—“activates”
its base by demonizing, scapegoating, and actively persecuting
homos, a tiny and relatively defenseless minority group. Republicans
tell the fundies in their base that the existence of gays
and lesbians is a threat to the American family, Western civilization,
and, as one bigwig R recently put it, “the survival of the
earth.” At some point the Rs are either going to have to make
good on their rhetoric and actually do something about all
the homos out there imperiling the survival of the planet
(hey, maybe we’re responsible for global warming?), or they’re
going to have to knock it off. I suspect/hope that the Rs
will eventually knock it off. But the off chance that the
Rs will one day decide to make good on their anti-gay rhetoric—by
amending the U.S. Constitution to ban gay marriage, say, or
rounding us all up and putting us all in camps (I’d like to
be sent to Boy Scout camp, please)—makes the thought of moving
to a big, sane, nearby country where gays and lesbians are
full and equal citizens extremely tempting.
While we’re on politics, I regret being so mean to Republicans
in my column—even going so far as to say that people shouldn’t
fuck them—for two reasons: First, I have a lot of readers
who are Republicans, as it turns out, and they send me long,
wounded letters whenever I suggest that they’re unworthy of
sexual release. (Dear Republican readers of Savage Love: I
trust you also send long, wounded letters to the prominent
Republicans who suggest that I’m unworthy of equal treatment
under the law.) Second, Republicans rule the world now, and
it’s probably not a great idea to be on their bad sides. So
I take it back: We should all fuck Republicans—they’re fucking
us, after all, so why not?
I regret boring my many readers in Canada with a lot of blah
blah blah about American politics. I tried to make it up to
my Canadian readers by heaping compliments on your sensible
positions on God, ganja, and gays. But some of my columns
probably didn’t make for riveting reading up north. Sorry
about that, Canada, and I promise to bore my American readers
with at least one column about Canadian politics in 2005.
I regret writing back in April that men who get sex-change
operations have “their dicks cut off.” This is not the case,
according to at least one angry tranny who wrote in. What
happens is this: The dick is sliced open, the erectile tissue
is scooped out, and then the hollow, empty tube that used
to be the penis is pulled up inside the body to create a vaginal
canal. The head of the penis is somehow relocated to the spot
above the entrance to the new vagina, stitched into place,
and the newly created female bits are almost fully functional—the
new woman is even orgasmic!—and she is not, as I implied,
a
genital-less freak. According to the angry tranny who wrote
in, reading about how dicks are sliced open, hollowed out,
and their heads stitched into place is somehow less disturbing
than reading the phrase “have their dicks cut off.” I regret
the error.
I regret suggesting that all goth girls are fat. There are
many slim goth girls out there, including one that sits in
the cubicle right down the hall from me.
I regret that in last week’s column I neglected to tell the
woman who encountered crap in her boyfriend’s ass that there
were pro-active steps he could take to make sure his bowels
are empty before she sticks her arm up there, from a few moments
on the can to a fiber-rich diet to a full-blown enema. I was
too busy making jokes about Braille dictionaries and twice-baked
potatoes to offer her much useful advice.
And finally, I regret announcing a GGG contest way back in
November. I thought hordes of my kinky readers would nominate
their “good, giving, and game” vanilla partners for a GGG
Award. I was wrong. In the end, I only got two—two!—nominations,
and two contestants does not a contest make. So the GGG Awards
are off. I will be sending both people who bothered to nominate
their partners one of the lovely GGG T-shirts for sale at
www.extraugly.com. (Extraugly.com’s GGG T-shirts make lovely
gifts, great consolation prizes, and they’re a great way to
advertise your GGG status.) I’ve still got a trip for two
to Las Vegas to give away, and if anyone has a suggestion
for a fun, dirty contest that people will actually enter,
I’m all ears.
mail@savagelove.net
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