Monday, January 21, 2008

Muck of the Irish

Horatio writes: Regular readers know we are in the midst of some important research in the name of science, reuniting a cadre of plucky volunteers across the country with the formative material that used to catalyze their fantasies in the days before the internet. A long way of saying, we have invited 25 friends to toss one off to a vintage copy of Sports Illustrated's swimsuit edition to see if it was as arousing an exprience as we remember it to be. This just in from Jonni of Brooklyn, New York:

"Back in the day, I was sent home from Hebrew School after being busted for reading the swim suit edition at the back of the class with a kid named Fatty Rosenbloom. My excuse that these texts were just as sacred as the bible passages we were meant to be studying fell on deaf ears. I returned home in disgrace, prepared to be disciplined by my parents. But to my surprise, although my mother gave me a cursory telling off, she seemed to be almost giddy. I realized retrospectively that she was internally delighted. Here, at last, was ireffutable proof that I was not gay. At the risk of straying to another topic, I feel this is an appropriate time to raise a glass to the Mothers of America. Among the greatest enablers of adolescent masturbation this nation has ever seen.

All of this is to explain my mental condition when I received the copy of SI Swimsuit, 1992 edition two weeks ago. I cancelled my evening plans immediately and settled in for a night of solo excess. And I am happy to report that I was not dissapointed. Although I was alone, the evening was like a scene out of Caligula. Indeed, I lost count of the number of times Sports Illustrated and I had that magic connection. However, there was nothing nostaligic about the experience. I did not emotionally summon up deeply buried adolescent fantasies. Far from it. The thing I found arousing was however sexy these women were back then, in today's licentious times, they felt more frumpy-sexy -- and I loved that -- because they felt, like middle-aged Jewish mothers ready to have an affair. Kathy Ireland, case in point. Look at this picture below and tell me that she does not look like the treasurer of the Temple Sisterhood, living out her fantasy life and letting herself go wild."

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