Porn Again

Adam asks Johnny if he can shiver his timber.

So when we left off last month I was about to engage in the first honest to goodness fight of my teenage career. Though my opponent, was three or four inches taller than myself, he was pretty much as geeky a twerp as you'd ever hope to fight. Though I couldn't imagine that beating him was going to do much to elevate my social status, poor Cereble (pronounced "Sarah-Bull") wouldn't leave it alone. I'd catch him trying to trip me from behind, throwing spit wads at me. As it turned out Cereble (so nicknamed because his last name rhymed with Palsy and he was just a hopeless spaz) was being put up to it by a mutual friend, who'd convinced Cera that he could make a savvy slide up the pecking order by goading me into a fight then making short work of me. "Jonesy's a little pretty-boy wuss, he'll drop like a sack of nickels," he counseled while winking at me.

The mutual friend I speak of was able to wield the puppet strings in such a fashion because he came from a jock family dynasty and his folks were rich. To call this guy popular was an understatement - he was like Royalty. A bored prince amusing himself by toying with the peasants. Cereble knew not that he was groveling at the feet of the author of the nickname he so passionately despised, willing to do his petty bidding in hopes of winning his favor. The fact that he lived next door to his Highness was the sole thread that attached him to the popular crowd, and one that could easily be snipped at the most fleeting whim of the prince. Alas, as is so often the case, the great and terrible karma gods of middle age have not been kind to the prince, demanding every last hair on his head, in exchange for another chin to go with the weak little toad-like one that he started with.

As for the big fight, the whole silly production culminated out behind the old High School, as we were led and then encircled by a good 50 kids whooping it up and urging us on. It was there that I would face down Terrible Cereble and put up my dukes. Since this was his baby I didn't want to throw the first punch, but after circling for at least a minute the crowd started in - "is this a dance? Should we put on some music and leave you guys alone?" At this, Cera finally answered the call of the wild with a weird, sort of underhanded poke of a jab that grazed my hip. "Wow, I'll never live this down" I remember thinking before responding with a hard right that caught his nose napping. It was like pulling the plug on an Avatar - he grabbed his bleeding nose with both hands, turned around and took a knee. "Kick his ass Jones, come on dude what the hell?" came the taunts from the fast growing crowd - kids were running toward us now in numbers odd and even.

Heaven knows how badly most of us wish we could go back and do Jr. High and High School again. It's hard to imagine why we would've given a rat's atus about social status.
Even now I wonder how we could've thought it was funny to call a kid Cereble. Well we did and it became so common that we had to try to spell it. There were plenty of kids that didn't know from Cerebral Palsy and they thought Cereble was his name. Yes it was in bad taste, but kids that age can be ignorant and cruel, but it was mostly about peer pressure and clique-acceptance. We lived in the dark ages before cell phones and lap-tops, geek-chic, goth, emo - hell this was probably before the guys in Weezer were even born. There were just no alternative avenues of acceptance. You were either in, or you weren't.

Again, this was in the heart of Radio Free Utah about two years before Pong. In a day when television offered 6 channels courtesy of rabbit ears and HD stood for Hanger Doodling. Given such an utter lack of wholesome diversion, even the most religious kids (puritans) took to the streets in search of fun and absolutely nothing could beat a good beating. In Jr. High there was some kind of fight literally every day and I witnessed some brutal classics: "Crude Dude" Baldwin Vs. Alvin "mouthy, outta-town-kid" Klemm. Jeff "King of the Hoods" Ashdown Vs. Ted "Fully Grown Adult at 14" Smith. Crazy, sadistic stuff – some of my most enduring memories. Thirteen is a little young to be getting kicked in the head, yet, as shocking as that may seem, anybody that tried to break up a fight was liable to carry several of their teeth home in a pocket. I managed to make it through with only one other big marquee match, ironically against the class clown. Paul "he's not a Jew" Snyder. The guy was hilarious, but when the jokes started coming at my expense we had to throw down. He had braces so one good shot to the kisser made it look like I'd beat him from hell to lunch bell. After that we just rolled around in the gravel and broken glass. It's cool. We're Facebook buddies now.

While I'm on the subject of odd behavior, over the past few months it's become more than clear that one of the chief concerns of our spiritual leaders is that a lot of members are letting internet pornography ruin their lives. Personally I feel like I went the wise route and let internet pornography teach me how to operate a computer. Before the Tsunami of Tsewage flooded cyberspace (over 10 years ago now) I could barely turn a computer on. After a few months of being pulled and played through the cyber-cesspool like a fish on a hook I probably could have landed a job with NASA. Don't think I don't realize how far I'm sticking my neck out here, but sometimes you just have to trust your instincts and go for it. I know there're tons of people out there who have strong opinions and everyone has their own take on it, but damn it here goes: I honestly think pornography is really pretty bad. That's right - I'm coming out against it – and if that offends you then write yourself a letter to the editor. I'm taking a stand on this. Okay - I'm done with my little experiment with cutting edge humor.

During my thankfully brief dalliance with the dark side of technology, I "did" learn a few odd things about human nature. After a while, for example, I realized that it really wasn't so much about sex. If you doubt me, ask yourself this question. (Yes "you" – come on "I'm" admitting to it – it feels good to confess your sins. The important thing is that we learned that it's nothing but a boring waste of time, we stopped goin' there and got on with our lives. It's only human to be curious about new things, especially "naked" new things, but we're not total jackasses bent on chronic self-abuse to our spiritual destruction - right?).

So whether or not it's "hypothetical" or highly pathetic the question is this, "during your curious phase did you find yourself returning to the same images over and over again or were you more inclined to click around in search of something new?" The correct answer is B – because, though this addiction is ostensibly about sex, it's my theory that looking at all this sad rubbish taps into a deeper, more primitive "mal-something or other" to see just how far someone is willing to defile themselves for a quick buck. Nobody that gets caught up in the sinternet is ever satisfied with what's on the screen in front of them "now," because what we're "really" hot for is to see what's NEXT. That's the hook - what might we catch someone up to as a result of that next click . . . and the next and the next. This was also back when E-mailing was a novelty and every time someone would E-mail me a link to some God -forsaken web destination, it would almost always be something bizarre. It was never some ultimate centerfold beauty queen. It was more likely to be a one-armed hermaphrodite with a goat. (Note: the foregoing is intended strictly for the purposes of comedy and should in no way be taken to my Bishop.)

Luckily for me, when the subject is raised in church, I don't feel the least bit guilty. Even though I've been there and done that, when it comes up, I just shake my head and think, "poor buggers, hope they pull their heads out." What kind of hypocritical BS is that you ask? Simple, I got it out of my system when it first reared its nasty head on the internet, I realize I was being a jerk so I repented and now I avoid it like the plague that it is. If you take nothing else away from this rather frank discussion, it should be that REPENTANCE WORKS! Take your problems upstairs – make a clean breast of it, apologize to your wife no matter how hard "that" might be to do. (Note: ideally this should take place away from sharp and pointy objects and never in a moving vehicle). "Do you really have to apologize to your wife?" Not at all, because I'm sure you've had this conversation plenty of times: Wife: "I don't get it. This is like the third night in a row you've had to stay late at work, what's going on?" You: "Honey I told you I have a lot of stuff to get through. I just came across this enormous site and it has literally hours of hot, freaky threesomes and foursomes, it's awesome – give me just another half hour or so to masturbate again and then I'll wrap it up, okay? I'll be home in time for Biggest Loser?"