Well - Those Candles Won't Exactly Blow THEMSELVES Out, You Know!!!

Kink is a tough thing to judge. After all, one person's shit is another's shinola. And then some people want you to rub the shit on the shinola; stuff it in their mouth; and punch them in the gut while you ram a rusty flashlight up their ass. I have a term for it - Thursday Night.

The inherent danger in casting aspersions is simply - where in the bloody fuck is the line? And for some people a bloody fuck is, well, Thursday Night.

I really try not to judge. I'm not a conservative guy at all. And I respect innovation, ingenuity and imagination in a partner. And sturdy furniture. 

But sometimes, an idea just seems so goddam left field to me that I feel I should just hang up the handcuffs, park it on the porch with a glass of Fresca, and let the kids use the sand box. Although, if this is a generational thing, you know what? Give me 50cc's of Geritol shot into the vein on my cock, immediately, for I'm apparently in a wheelchair headed for the abyss.

But I wasn't writing about my cock. At least, not today.

Try rolling the following words together in your head for a couple minutes: cake farts. Cake. Farts.That's right. Cake. Fucking. Farts. I wonder if that's what Mr. Reese was thinking when he coined the phrase, "Two great tastes..."

But I'll get back to cake farts in a second.

I really used to think it was all kind of a matter of taste. That whole "as-long-as-nobody-gets-hurt-who-doesn't-want-to-be-hurt" thing. For some, doing it from the side is a wild time. For others, it involves a transvestite and a Little Bo Peep costume, but enough about Marv Albert. I didn't really think there was such a thing as a threshold. Something that I find so deviant - nay, fucking repugnant - I actually wish they still had those "special" hospitals to lock up the "socially unfit."

But those joints are where the Puritans locked up gay folks and girls who liked to be on top.

Then I worked in a comic book store in LA for a couple years. Pasadena, more specifically. It was actually a good shop, but the thing that finally pushed me to my limit was a section we called "The Cage"; the material therein; and especially the consumers of the aforementioned material.

It sounds kind of weird to say, but Oh sweet God do I wish we had porno! Porno, I can live with. Humans, with other humans, doing normal (or even kinky) human shit - whatever. As long as you don't try to show me rape, snuff or scat - fuckever.

But what about Furries? For the two or three people who don't know what a "Furry" is, in a nutshell, it's somebody who's sexually attracted to animals. Not in that beastiality way. They like "anthromorphs" - that is to say, animals that display human qualities. More to the point - cartoons. That's right. There's a lot of them. The person in the cubicle next to you, on any given weekend, might be hanging out in the "West Ballroom" of a Holiday Inn near an airport, getting all hot and bothered over a Donald Duck cartoon with a gaggle of like-minded pervs.

"You know, if I were that guy, I'd make Daisy get some marmalade from the fridge and we'd make some Duck a L'Orange! Hold her down! Hold her down! She ain't waddlin' off to nowhere! I'd tie up his nephews and make them watch while I she shits in my mouth..."

My grandmother had a vivid imagination. She called that last one a "Chuck Berry." Strange, I didn't think she liked black folks very much. Life is a mystery.

I can only say one thing about those Hentai freaks (animated porno from Japan). I've said it before, and they'll have to pry it from my cold, dead vocal chords: There is little in this world more heartwarming than the story of a Catholic schoolgirl and her tentacle monster. *le sniffle*

So let's get back to cake farts. Perhaps I should establish a baseline for my own Puritanism. I, like so many people at the time, heard the legend of "2 girls, 1 cup." I thought, "Aw bullshit! I've seen some pretty weird shit. Big deal....

...OH FUCKING CHRIST!!!"

So when an old friend wants to tell me about a site he's found - as he was doing some chop-monkey work for dating sites in the Eastern Bloc - called "Cake Farts," I just don't want to know. Even if it's one of those things that you hear described, but wouldn't believe in a million years that anyone would do that to another human.

[See: "The Dirty Sanchez," "The Tony Danza," and "The Filthy Priate."]

Do I really need to mention, at this juncture, that cakefarts.com, or whateverthefuck the URL is, is a fucking fetish site???

"Is it what it sounds like?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then I don't want to know. All it's going to make me do is turn you in to Interpol. And Amnesty International."

"Bah! It's not that bad! They just..."

"I don't fucking want to know!"

"It really isn't THAT..."

"No, you bastard son of a pirate whore! No! Cake is the one thing I have left, for fuck's sake!"

"Dude, don't drag my mother into this. That's uncool."

So tonight, he's pitching me out on an idea. A good idea.

"Well, it's not cake farts, but I think it would be relatively easy to produce."

I should NOT have opened that door again.

"Did you check it out?"

"No, you goddam degenerate! I have all I need to know from the fucking title. Thanks to you, every time I pass by a 31 Flavors, I fucking shiver! And it ain't because of the ice fucking cream!!!"

"All they do is..."

"No!"

"...these chicks rub their asshole around on a cake."

"Goddam you!"

"And after a while, they fart on it."

"Oh yes. That was MUCH better than what I was thinking!!!"

But now that I'm musing on it, I do have a birthday coming up in a couple months...