Thank you, Internet Porn. Sincerely.

A few weeks ago I watched a CurrentTV segment about the porn industry, and how those particular purveyors of triple penetration love making and romantic sentiments like a chick fellating a stranger through a wall were losing their proverbial shirts because of all the online outlets that provide their hard work free of charge. I wanted to feel their pain, I really did, the combination of a piss poor economy and ever improving technology must be a poisonous cocktail for your garden variety porn distributor. It truly is hard out here for a smut peddler. That said, I'd be lying if I claimed that I wasn't a proud participant in their untimely demise. Its not so much because I'm a cheapskate, even though I'm sure I've saved shitloads of dough lovingly stroking my unimpressive penis in front of a computer screen screaming "Oh baby, give the drummer some!" - its really because cavalierly stealing filmed penetration online has saved me awkward situations of the soul crushing variety. Let me explain:

The Ninja Exit: When you go to a store that strictly sells videos with the same exact ending, a young woman's face resembling a glazed donut, there's no particular need for "The Ninja Exit". See, there is absolutely no confusion why you're there - sure, its shameful not to have an actual real live woman to provide the only respectable outlet for a sexual release, but at least you're amongst friends. But whenever you go to a video store, a proper one that sells regular films where only the viewer gets fucked, self respecting gentlemen who routinely masturbate have to exhibit the elusiveness of your garden variety Ninja. Most times the aforementioned video store will have a back room where they store all of their X-rated titles - usually the only thing that momentarily impedes your path into that masturbatory promise-land are a set of rather unseemly looking doorway beads. Anyways, even though the sole purpose of me getting out of bed that day was to rent films of women being consensually degraded and folded up like origami - I always felt the need to show a disingenuous interest in the regular movies before making my entry into the porn room as stealthy as humanly possible. Looking back I suspect that the employees knew what I was up to, with me sporadically looking up while clutching a copy of "Gigli", with that "I'm going to masturbate in every room in my house" look in my eyes - before disappearing out of sight as soon as said employees looked away or answered the phone. Thank god that emotionally taxing exercise is over.


Don't stand so close!: Personal space has always been important to me. Call it rude if you want to, but I've been known from time to time to even give my closest friends rather pedestrian, space clearing forearms to the chest whenever their conversation finds itself inside of my coveted personal space. So if your personal space is valuable in normal situations, just imagine how precious it is when you are trying to figure out which delectable seductress you're going to spill your homemade man-sauce to. Most dudes know to follow this unwritten rule to a tee, sometimes you find yourself having an entire row of filth all to yourself because of how much that protocol is respected. But sometimes there is someone, usually a miserable sad sack of a human being who mistakenly thinks supermarket decorum is the same as porn decorum, who takes it upon himself to stand right beside you as if he was your fucking hypeman. Even though I was always tempted to threaten brutal violence for such a hellworthy trespass, more times than not I just screamed "Will you get the fuck away from me!" at the top of my lungs like a mentally disturbed person taking up residence in a padded room. Something about another dude in close proximity while making masturbation plans that completely ruins the pornographic renting experience.

Intrusive cashier: As if renting pornography wasn't embarrassing enough. Nothing batters your self esteem like traveling through three cities to peruse smut in a video store so seedy that it would light up like Yankee's Stadium under a black light, the last thing I needed was awkward encounters from the fucking cashiers of all people. Whenever I walked up to pay for my rentals, and I knew damn well that there were some rather questionable choices in there, my shame had me transfixed on her face for the slightest sign of emotion. I obsessively tried to read into the manner in which she grabbed my card, how she grabbed the designated DVD's out of the drawer, the tiniest of vocal inflection to let me know that she was trying to either hide her disgust or pity. But even if all went well on those neurotic fronts, the cashier always felt the need to inform me that I had already rented one of those movies: "Sir, do you know that you've already checked out "There is no such thing as a wrong hole" two times already?". I always gave her a quick nod and a dismissive "I know, hurry the fuck up!" waive of the hand - but I always wanted to run out of the store screaming. I mean, I'm sure people re-rent things all the time - don't shame me just because what I'm re-renting what happens to be a woman getting all of her orifices filled up like a bowling throw.

No more hazmat suits: But the real benefit of getting your pornography online is that you no longer have to wear a fucking hazmat suit to handle your DVD rentals. Ok, maybe I wasn't wearing a hazmat suit. But I'm a germaphobe, so when I thought about all the other grubby masturbators who handled said DVD's before me I made sure to use industrial strength gloves when getting the DVD out of the case and into designated DVD player. I accidentally touched a case with my bare hand one time and spent the better part of an hour fighting back vomit as I scrubbed my body with Laundry Detergent using S.O.S pads. Yeah, I'm sorry that the porn industry is losing money, but its much better this way. For me anyways.