I worked the graveyard shift at the convenience store. One night, a middle-aged woman came in to purchase a snack and bend my ear about what was wrong with the world. Normally, I ignore such ravings. I was paid to stock shelves, mop floors and sell smokes & sodas to the lost souls who wandered in at 3 A.M. I was not, however, a bartender nor a shrink. No one paid me enough to listen to their troubles and I never got any tips. That evening, though, that mouthy broad got under my skin. "The Internet is nothing but sex and skin. It should be completely banned," she complained.
Finally, I had enough. "Let me guess. You have a kid, right?"
She announced, "I caught my eleven year old son looking for dirty pictures on the Internet! I'm going to talk to my church group about getting all Internet access prohibited in the Joplin, Missouri area."
"Then, lady, you are an idiot and a fool!" I exploded. "Forget the fact that you want to kick Freedom of Speech in the balls. You instead should be counting your blessings that you have a normal son!"
The woman was shocked that anyone would disagree with her, especially on the subject of pornography. "What?"
"Your kid, like all budding heterosexual boys, is taking an interest in naked women. Rejoice! It's his first step in becoming an average male." I explained further, "At first, all guys see women as sex objects. We never completely outgrow that stage... as you can attest, I'm sure, by the occasional leerings of your husband."
The woman reluctantly nodded in silence.
"Eventually, men develop more sensitivity... although it is never enough for most women."
She continued to nod like a dashboard toy dog with a spring in its neck.
"Years from now, your son will eventually date, fall in love, get married and sire you a bunch of screaming grandchildren. If you jump all over his case now and teach him that these developing emotions are bad, what do you think will happen? One day, he'll come home with Bruce, his significant other, and tell you he's going into the interior decorating business?"
The woman actually paled as she shrank in horror.
"Or will you overload him with enough emotional baggage that he'll remain a mama's boy?" I pressed on. "What do you think they talk about in therapy sessions? What is the younger generation's main excuse for drug addiction or alcoholism? Restrictive parents that don't understand."
She finally spoke up. "That's not true!"
I countered with, "Have you ever read a celebrity's biography?"
She had at least read the tabloids and knew I spoke the truth.
"Males have been seeking out pictures of naked women since time began," I calmed down. "Today, it's the Internet. Before that, X-rated videos. Playboy magazines. National Geographic. Filthy French postcards. The underwear section of the Sears catalog. Ever seen Classic Greek statues? Cave paintings? They weren't all of bison, you know?"
"What am I going to do?" she stared at the floor.
"Teach your son discretion. All men are horny bastards. The ones who are successful in relationships with women are the ones who can hide their primitive lecheries the best."
As she left the store, she muttered, "I'll have his father spend time with him on the Internet. Pornography is an interest they both share."

I'm not promoting pornography for children. I just wish parents wouldn't go into fits over their kids doing the same stunts that the adults did when they were brats. This affliction of not remembering one's disobedient past is called 'selective amnesia,' a malady suffered by the clergy, politicians, teachers and other authority figures with sticks up their asses. Give your children guidance, not a hammering that will permanently warp them out of shape. Expect them to be as curious about such things as you used to be. After all, you didn't turn out so bad, did you?

Which, in a roundabout way, expresses my cantankerous views concerning the Internet and receiving E-mail via this WebSite.

Dodging The Old Mail Bag

The Internet is about communication... which means, eventually, some nincompoop is going to write to me about some asinine thing. It's unavoidable, especially when this obstinate eccentric starts spouting off. When it comes to controversy, I don't take safe paths and I make a lot of noise along the detours. Such is my nature.

Other WebMasters have told me about the bizarre E-mail they periodically receive. No, not threats nor unwanted sexual advances nor viruses. What they get is junk.

Somehow, one fellow WebMaster got onto a dog lover's list. No, he doesn't hate dogs. He just has no interest in dogs, doesn't have a dog and never plans on owning a dog. Yet, like clockwork, he receives E-mail about dog shows and kennel clubs. Apparently, his E-mail address was tacked onto a doggie aficionados' mailing list. It got passed around and, now, every time a pooch patrol posts new info via the SEND TO ALL option, his electronic mailbox get stuffed. Yes, he has begged to be removed from their lists but, as soon as he gets off of one, he's on two new ones. He finds the whole thing a frustrating waste of time.

He's handling the situation better than this vindictive rogue would.

Consider this text to be a preemptive strike against such manure being shoveled my way. I figure that, once you know about my pathetic life, you may never send me meaningless E-mail. I may never get any E-mail ever again. Cool.

Next!

My Computer's Burrow
&
Rejected E-Mail

---

Next Page - Top of Page - Main Menu

---