Anyone who lives, or has lived, in Iowa City can tell you there are two porn stores within a dildo�s throw of one another. There�s the Adult Pleasure Palace, then just up the hill, there�s the Adult Marketplace. (The latter sounds like a warehouse that sells adults. �I�d like ten adults, please. Caucasian, shrink-wrapped!�)

While I�m not a voracious consumer of porn (at least the kind I have to pay for) I have fond memories of going to either store on the occasional lark, usually with my partner in mischief Neil. It was never really a mission; we�d just be out driving around and one of us would say, �Pleasure Palace!� and before we knew it we�d be parked in front of its conspicuously opaque door.

The most hilarious moment in either one of these stores occurred in the aforementioned Palace. We�d gone inside and were promptly asked for identification by the surly goth girl behind the counter. Not knowing we�d be partaking in activities requiring the proof of a minimum age of 18, Neil hadn�t brought his wallet. �Sorry, guys,� the girl said, in a tone that suggested she didn�t know whose story was more pathetic, hers or ours.

So we begrudgingly turned on our heels, trying to be good-natured instead of humiliated. On the way out, just before hitting the door, Neil suddenly gestured manically at the walls of porn videotapes on either side of us and melodramatically cried, �But you can�t stop us from looking at all of this, on our way out!� Back in the car, I succumbed to convulsive laughter while Neil admitted that he was, quite probably, an asshole.

The end.

Or is it?

Yes, it is.

Here's another funny, obnoxious editorial by Neal Pollack.

Several friends of mine are graduating from college soon. To them I say, conGRADUATIONS!

Oh, my. I need a nap.

0 Comments

Back & Forth