The Gift of Porn

Many of you, our friends and family, are probably taken aback by this, our annual holiday newsletter. You've read of our recent tragedy in the newspapers and were no doubt thinking that, what with all the sudden legal woes and "hassles," the Dunbar clan might just stick their heads in the sand and avoid this upcoming holiday season altogether!! You're saying, "There's no way the Dunbar family can grieve and carry on the traditions of the season. No family is that strong," you're thinking to yourselves...Well think again!!!!

-David Sedaris, in Holidays on Ice

Apparently, everybody saved up this year and decided that what I really wanted/needed was porn.

Sometimes, lesbian porn.

Here's this morning's most popular email, currently circulating around the office:

"Hey Hows [sic] it going. I just moved to the area from New York. I saw your profile on the internet and was wondering if you were single? I'm looking for someone who can show me around town and to have a good time with. If your [sic] interested email me at [deleted] and I'll send you some of my sexy pics."

OK, first off: where did she see my "profile on the internet?"

Immediately, I emailed all the guys I know-at least, those I could count on to have a vast, working knowledge of pornographic websites (which is, believe me, EVERY guy I know)-and they quickly ground into action. (Several dummied up email addresses and are corresponding with "Kara" even as we speak, and, I suspect, obtaining some "sexy pics" in an attempt to flush her out. The rest are leaving no porn site unviewed in their attempt to locate my "profile.") It's touching how they can always be counted on to RUSH to my aid.

Second: how could anyone-male or female- possibly be attracted to someone who doesn't even know what a contraction is, and persistently ends sentences with prepositions?! I think we can all agree that these are EXACTLY the same sort of people who don't know the difference between "who" and "whom," and that dammit, we don't care HOW sexy their pics are! (Well. OK. You can if you want, but don't expect any sympathy from me when all that silicone melts and you're left to fold her in half and hump the bubble.)

The other one I get, at least daily, is this popular seasonal favorite. The subject line is "Im [sic] so alone, Ill [sic] do anything." AGAIN with the contractions! The apostrophe is on the RIGHT.

"Her husband or boyfriend is gone and has left her all alone...She's sitting there all by herself, feeling very upset and very lonely...She wants someone to come have their way with her...It could be you... Lonely, neglected women are sitting at home at this very moment. They are deeply in need of someone, either it be just for company, just to talk, someone to hold, or just to be pounded...they need someone and they need them right now..."

I had to read that one a few times the first time it arrived to see if they were offering lonely women for sale, or if I was a "lonely woman" they were targeting to sign up (in need of "company, to talk, someone to hold, or just to be pounded.")

I thought a lot about porn this weekend, actually, because some friends and I gathered to watch the uncut, European version of Monster's Ball, at the home of a doctor buddy with a plasma screen TV. (I think it cost $13,000.00...because he left the invoice out, and I looked.)

I missed this movie in the theater because it came out right around the same time as In the Bedroom, and NONE of us were willing to get suckered twice. (Oh yeah. Oscar? SHOCKING dramatic twists... Sure: the crazy, violent ex-husband blows the affable, teenage boyfriend's head off? Right. Anybody NOT see that coming? The father hunts down the killer? Big deal. If Sissy Spacek had taken to the rooftops with an AK47, now THAT might have been shocking.)

So, instead, I just saw Ocean's 11 and Black Hawk Down over and over and over again (sometimes, more than once a day, but hey: George Clooney. Sam Shepard? A gal could do worse.) See, I got locked into social repetition because I'd beefed up the holiday dating roster significantly shortly after Thanksgiving, when my then-steady neglected to invite me to his office Xmas party, out of, what I assumed to be his profound shame and embarrassment to be seen with me. (He later said it wasn't really a party." Which, in women-speak, translates to: "it wasn't really a party where I would take a date, because that might intrude on my chances at better-dealing you.")

Fine. I hedged my bets and branched out, which meant I got stuck doing a LOT of the same things over and over again-feigning surprise and delight every time-which brings us back to the original topic of unwanted, thoughtless, cheap, inappropriate gifts...and back around to porn.

So anyway, I'd heard a LOT about the sex between Halle Berry and Billy Bob Thornton, so I was expecting somebody to get, you know, "pounded."

The first half-hour or so is really just an excellent, white-trash Green Mile (and I actually prefer Billy Bob and Puff to Tom Hanks and Michael Clark Duncan).

But as for the sex, what was all the fuss about (other than, as one wingman pointed out, you usually only see that kinda graphic...Positioning commonly favored by mammals of the canine persuasion...In soft porn, or on Oz.)?

Helloooo. Does NO ONE remember our coming-of-age years?!!! Body Heat, 9 1/2 Weeks, or even About Last Night (back when Demi Moore's breasts were the same size as mine).

But then I got another email that might really be a gift that keeps on giving (yes, even more than porn). It's a site allows you to "record and store email messages to be sent on to named recipients in the event of your death. You can even send a bottle of wine!"

Finally, somebody's making it easier for us all to be thoughtless schmucks year-round, confident that our sins can be cybernetically atoned for post-mortem.

Aw. God bless 'em every one!