“If you don’t like it, you don’t eat it,” is what my aunt used to say. She didn’t remove the item from the buffet table because she was afraid I wouldn’t like it. The delicious chestnut raisin stuffing remained without any concern for individual taste preferences or nut allergies. She empowered me to decide if I wanted to try it or pass. She trusted me to be mature enough to avoid things I know don’t agree with me. What a cool aunt!
Here comes a leap.
So, as I enjoyed an episode of Naught Amateur Home Videos on Playboy TV last night, I similarly wondered why certain lines were drawn and who drew them. At 1080p high definition, I can see labia hair follicles and anus skin folds. This doesn’t dissuade me or the typical viewer. I don’t even wrinkle my nose. Then why, when a scene comes to an end, must I be saved from the ejaculation? Has Hef, in his infinite wisdom, decided that a simple spray of genetic soup would cause me to cancel my subscription, whereas watching a woman cough up rear-throat spit while being gagged with an unclipped penis would not? I prefer to see the orgasm, not just hear some guy squeak, “Unghgooooyeahhhh,” while the screen distorts.
Sadly, I never get the chance to say, “Nice batch, mate.”
These same ignoramulous (made that up) censors work on the morning news. Reporters can discuss and show bloody car wrecks, crime scenes, and war atrocities, but if a lovely co-anchor happens to fall victim to a nip slip, holy crap, some twelve-year-old just saw a gland … the Armageddon is nigh.
If you’ve watched any football on TV this season, you’ve seen video game commercials full of famous actors becoming make-believe soldiers, going around blowing shit up. No problem there. Nothing worth censoring. Just because some kid sees and wants to use an imaginary gun, doesn’t mean he’d consider the real thing. But, if Little Justin sees a Japanese anime titty, best prepare the jail cell because he’s going to rape someone. Stupid.
We have too many rules, and too many people who get their rocks off making them up and enforcing them.
I love the rules placed on bars. During certain hours, people can get slightly intoxicated, but not too intoxicated, or they might drive off and kill something, which would be the bar owner’s, manager’s, bartender’s, and server’s fault. So, to prevent this, bars can only be open during certain hours. Oh, and we, the silly people who bought homes next to a fucking bar, don’t want any noise unless we’re making it, so the business must close when we’re ready to go nighty-night. Closing the bar will prevent intoxication, accidents, and loss of sleep. It’s not like patrons are smart enough to try the door, see that it’s locked, then return home to a residential area, drink a fifth, and blast AC/DC. Who would think of that? Bar not open? Time for bed.
Bars should be allowed to be open 24-hours, 7-days. People are much safer and happier when not drinking alone. Fact. If a patron gets drunk or noisy, punish that patron. Don’t punish the rest of us because a tiny percentage could turn into tequila-fueled douches.
Stop censoring the fun out of everything.