Matthew 7:1

You are a dirty pervert.
Don't deny it.
It's why I like you.

Anyway, you are a perv, and you're afraid that your mom (or kids, or wife, or priest) will find out. Well, guess what, they are dirty perverts too. Well, maybe not your kids. Unless of course they are over the age of 18. Then, it's just a one-way ticket to slutville...

Everyone has that one thing (or several things) held down deep in the dark and sticky recesses of the psyche; kept hidden in the places even Freud feared to tread. These are the bad thoughts that make you grin, or the vivid dreams from which you awake feeling guilty and strangely in need of a shower. Some people choose to keep these untidy tidings quietly to themselves, buried along with the embarrassing memories and imprudent secrets.

On the other hand, there are those who choose to broadcast their obnoxious obsessions via broadband for all the world to read. ( I, by the way, enjoyed Martha's first Apprentice episode.) These are the folks without that pesky nuisance called "shame." While those who vocalize, or act-out on, their hot-button issues may be referred to as "fetishists" (or "specialist," as Swearengen would say), I believe that everyone has some fetish or fantasy just waiting to escape.

Now, normal is as normal does, and I'm not advocating that anyone strive for some knee-jerk notion of what normal might be. I'm not even really criticizing those who conscioulsy choose to disregard social convention. "To each his own," I say. Variety is the spice of life. However, sometimes, too much spice can give you heart burn. Please note, I'm not talking about run-of-the-mill bondage or cliche wife-swapping. No, I'm talking about the really annoying whack-jobs. You know, like the frog swallowers and the tit-lickers. (See Deadwood, Season One.)



Honestly, I'm mostly talking about those individuals, who seem to consciously choose the most melodramatic and non-sexual fetish imaginable just for the sake of being seen, like these fellows for instance, who seem to enjoy dressing up like a bunch of dicks.



Nothing, however, can compare to the Mayor of Fetish Town. That's right folks, you know him as your neighborhood mailman, or maybe your local Jr High Principal. He is quite definitely the shoe salesman at Nordstrom. You guessed it, it's the foot worshipper. This guy can't get enough of the toe-sucking. Which is fine enough, I guess, but what isn't fine is the lesser-known ugly-cousin of the foot worshipper, the Shoe Licker. This poor bastard is just sad. He is the guy who takes you out on a date, and spends the whole night dreaming of that magical moment when he gets to sneak out of bed, after you're asleep, and make out with the mukluks in your closet.

The pentulimate pet-peeve perversion on my list is unfortunately gaining ground. When I was a child, I had a friend who always wanted to play the side-kick animal in all of our games. She could never understand why it was inappropriate to be an iguana when we were trying to play dodgeball. I have no doubt that this now-grown girl has a vast collection of equipment specifically designed for this diversion.

I speak, of course, about Pony Play. Yes, make-believe horse games. Stop laughing. These people are for real. They even have conventions, which are euphamistically called Derbies. Harness your loved-one up, and go for a spin, or train her to trot! There is nothing wrong with this, I suppose, if you can find someone willing to cart your ass around the yard with a bridle in her mouth. I just, well, I mean, I suppose it's just to hard to get lathered up when you're laughing so hard.


What really gets me, though, is the number one most confounding fetish on my list. Simply stated, it's Furries. I hate them. I am truly sorry if you are one. I mean no offense, and I don't mean to judge. I just hate you. That's all. You build ornate theme-park like costumes, wear them to conventions, act-out sexually behind the safety of your tweedy-bird head, then go back and write amateur fantasy fiction about your adventure. You litter the information super highway with your poorly-written, often inexplicable accounts of fully-costumed hotel orgies. And then, I have to read them! Damn you! You couldn't just keep it a family-friendly costume hobby?? Noooo, you just had to take it to the next level, didn't you?

So that's it. Sorry that it got a little ranty. Perhaps we can all take something away from this and learn to be tolerant and accept others for who they are. Everyone, that is, except for those useless twisted furry freaks. They can just go to hell.