Wednesday, October 25, 2006
For you men out there who are hopelessly addicted to porn, I have a cure. And if you have a library card, the cure is free.
If you’re tired of wasting your free time bathed in the pinkish glow of cyber-porn, or putting on that fake mustache and wide-brimmed hat for your frequent trips to the adult bookstore, then take a journey to the Weber County Library sometime and check out a copy of Underneath It All by Traci Lords. If reading the book doesn’t turn you gay, it will kill any trace of libido you might have for at least a few weeks. I even heard they’re using the book for birth control in some parts of the country, but that might be a rumor.
If you’re a pop-culture retard then allow me to educate you a little here, even though most of what I’m about to recount happened when I was a child. Traci Lords (born with the terribly unsexy name of Nora Kuzma in the terribly unsexy town of Steubenville, Ohio) was the world’s most famous porn star in the early to mid 80’s. The reason for her success had nothing to do with talent, or good casting, or acting ability, or any skills in the sexual realm. Traci was famous because she looked so fresh and young and natural on film. And what magical secret did she owe her youthful looks to? Actually, there was no secret. She started illegally making porn as a 15-year-old, a sharp contrast to the leathery porn stars whose haggard looks most men were used to at the time. Traci looked young because she was young, and the world loved her for it. In her book, she describes getting a fake birth certificate and taking it to a “modeling agency” where a pervy old man shot a few topless pictures of her and introduced her to cocaine. The rest is history.
So why is a book so full of sexual content such a libido-buster? For one, it’s an autobiography, written by Traci herself, so readers can gauge exactly how dumb she is by her clichéd prose and her focus on the unimportant. Someone so stupid can’t be sexy, no matter how perfect her breasts are. Traci portrays other female porn stars as being even dumber than she is (if such a feat is possible) and she claims that no woman enjoys being a porn star since the work is often painful, always shameful, and erodes a woman of her humanity. If this is true (and who would know better than someone who’s been there?) then what normal man can enjoy porn, knowing about all the suffering behind the scenes?
Traci dropped out of high school when some boys in the lunchroom showed her a nudie magazine they had, which she was on the cover of. After three or four years of porn stardom, the FBI busted her agent and producers, made all her underage films illegal, and relegated her to the status of scandalized D-list celebrity, fit only for occasional roles on soap operas or in low-budget films. Her shameless autobiography, which includes sections on her childhood sexual abuse and her drug addiction in a pitiful attempt to gain readers’ sympathy, is nothing more than a last-gasp moneymaking attempt for a fading star who doesn’t realize her own unimportance. In our world of keyboard porn and high-definition money shots, the most famous porn star of all time has been forgotten, and that hurts her more than any double-penetration scene ever could.
I checked out the book because I thought it would be fun to read and moderately stimulating to my prurient mind. Instead, it was depressing more than anything else, a sad look at a woman who still has no control over her wasted life, even though twenty years have passed since her last adult film debuted. The book, or, in essence, Traci herself, turned me into an asexual robot for a few days, drained of reproductive energy, disgusted by anything erotic.
The autobiography strangely includes a photo section showing high-quality photos of Traci in various states of undress, although all the photos are “tasteful” (tasteful meaning no nudity, but just barely). After Traci’s insistence throughout the book that she’s more than a piece of meat, why would she purposely include sexy photos of herself? Those few pages of glossy print undermine the book’s main theme, namely, that women are more than their bodies. Contradicting your own beliefs to make a little money sounds remarkably similar to the plight of a porn star, proof that people never change, and that some of them do enjoy it.
If you’re tired of wasting your free time bathed in the pinkish glow of cyber-porn, or putting on that fake mustache and wide-brimmed hat for your frequent trips to the adult bookstore, then take a journey to the Weber County Library sometime and check out a copy of Underneath It All by Traci Lords. If reading the book doesn’t turn you gay, it will kill any trace of libido you might have for at least a few weeks. I even heard they’re using the book for birth control in some parts of the country, but that might be a rumor.
If you’re a pop-culture retard then allow me to educate you a little here, even though most of what I’m about to recount happened when I was a child. Traci Lords (born with the terribly unsexy name of Nora Kuzma in the terribly unsexy town of Steubenville, Ohio) was the world’s most famous porn star in the early to mid 80’s. The reason for her success had nothing to do with talent, or good casting, or acting ability, or any skills in the sexual realm. Traci was famous because she looked so fresh and young and natural on film. And what magical secret did she owe her youthful looks to? Actually, there was no secret. She started illegally making porn as a 15-year-old, a sharp contrast to the leathery porn stars whose haggard looks most men were used to at the time. Traci looked young because she was young, and the world loved her for it. In her book, she describes getting a fake birth certificate and taking it to a “modeling agency” where a pervy old man shot a few topless pictures of her and introduced her to cocaine. The rest is history.
So why is a book so full of sexual content such a libido-buster? For one, it’s an autobiography, written by Traci herself, so readers can gauge exactly how dumb she is by her clichéd prose and her focus on the unimportant. Someone so stupid can’t be sexy, no matter how perfect her breasts are. Traci portrays other female porn stars as being even dumber than she is (if such a feat is possible) and she claims that no woman enjoys being a porn star since the work is often painful, always shameful, and erodes a woman of her humanity. If this is true (and who would know better than someone who’s been there?) then what normal man can enjoy porn, knowing about all the suffering behind the scenes?
Traci dropped out of high school when some boys in the lunchroom showed her a nudie magazine they had, which she was on the cover of. After three or four years of porn stardom, the FBI busted her agent and producers, made all her underage films illegal, and relegated her to the status of scandalized D-list celebrity, fit only for occasional roles on soap operas or in low-budget films. Her shameless autobiography, which includes sections on her childhood sexual abuse and her drug addiction in a pitiful attempt to gain readers’ sympathy, is nothing more than a last-gasp moneymaking attempt for a fading star who doesn’t realize her own unimportance. In our world of keyboard porn and high-definition money shots, the most famous porn star of all time has been forgotten, and that hurts her more than any double-penetration scene ever could.
I checked out the book because I thought it would be fun to read and moderately stimulating to my prurient mind. Instead, it was depressing more than anything else, a sad look at a woman who still has no control over her wasted life, even though twenty years have passed since her last adult film debuted. The book, or, in essence, Traci herself, turned me into an asexual robot for a few days, drained of reproductive energy, disgusted by anything erotic.
The autobiography strangely includes a photo section showing high-quality photos of Traci in various states of undress, although all the photos are “tasteful” (tasteful meaning no nudity, but just barely). After Traci’s insistence throughout the book that she’s more than a piece of meat, why would she purposely include sexy photos of herself? Those few pages of glossy print undermine the book’s main theme, namely, that women are more than their bodies. Contradicting your own beliefs to make a little money sounds remarkably similar to the plight of a porn star, proof that people never change, and that some of them do enjoy it.
