Column:
Friesen reports from Olde Un
Published Nov. 13, 2007
Children, I can't say enough good things about Alicia Smith Jr., Columbia's premier sex columnist. Whether it's to think or to masturbate, I never finish her column without being inspired to do something.
This week my beloved sexual guru dropped a huge bomb on me, namely that there actually are porn stores in Columbia. Great, now I feel like a total rube for having established such an elaborate underground porn railroad to get black market Canadian titty mags into the city. Had I known I could just go to a porn store here in town, I would never have wasted all that time, effort and money. Plus, I wouldn't have had to deal with all that out-of-control bush that's so prevalent in the Canadian version of Swank.
But we can't live in the past; all we can do is move forward. As a journalist, I knew I had to see this "porn store" for myself. On Friday night, a couple of friends and I made our way to the Olde Un Theater. It turns out Olde Un (as those in the know call it) is the oldest and most respected porn shop in town. Their selection runs the gamut from straight to gay, back to straight, then over to anal with pregnant chicks. No matter how bizarre your taste in smut, rest assured you can find something at this pornographic smorgasbord.
I have only gone to an "adult bookstore" a few times in my life, but every time I do, I run into the same problem. I always have trouble, having decided to buy some "jack supplies," trying to figure out exactly what to buy.
Once I've resolved to settle on "1000% Cumshots" I'll stumble upon "Sheepish Teen Porn Auditions #43." Am I going to get the "1000% Cumshots" tape home and wish I'd bought the auditions tape? I can't have that. Buyer's remorse is bad enough when you're at Chipotle and order tacos only to later realize that you really wanted a burrito. Masturbatory buyer's remorse is a far scarier beast; it's the perfect storm of shame, regret and dreams of what could have been.
In the past, I've always dealt with this dilemma by buying one of the bundled three-packs of porn magazines. The magic of the three-pack is that you can see what the two outside magazines are, but have no idea what waits inside. You're taking a huge leap of faith that the interior magazine will be something palatable. You might end up with something basic and decent, like Club or Fox, or the train could derail and you end up with a disaster like fifty-somethings or Celebrity Skin. Freak out!
Predictably, I had indecision problems on Friday, so I knew the only thing to do was head over to the three-packs.
I was greeted with a great shock. They had three-packs, but there were only two varieties. The first was a three-pack of collections of erotica, and quite frankly, I have no time for that. The second type of pack is far worse, and, in my opinion, downright sinister. Every one of those three-packs of porno magazines had some promising looking magazine on one side and either High Society or Celebrity Skin on the other.
Those two magazines are worthless. Basically, what the packagers have done is to take the danger involved in buying a three-pack and made it inevitable. They have taken the mystery and intrigue, and they turned it to foreboding. That is the greatest of nefarious acts, to destroy hope, to shatter optimism, and for doing such, I cannot forgive Olde Un.
You know what that means: it's back to the bootlegged Canadian porn featuring women with more hair than a musk ox.
df5d2@mizzou.edu