LINKS DU KINK
You. Yes, you, sitting there smugly reading this on your computer screen. You, sir (or madam, or bi, or undecided), are a pervert. Yes you are. Don't you DARE deny it. I know that you are. How do I know this? 'Cuz you're reading this on the Internet, that's why -- the greatest source of porn access since the invention of the Betamax.
In a lotta respects, the "Information SuperDriveway" (sic. -- thanks to For Love Not Lisa) more closely resembles New York City or Los Angeles at 3 AM; you can get anything you want if you know where to look and get your shots afterwards. In fact, the World Wide Web-of-Iniquity makes the asking part simple, thanks to all those nice search engines out there. They don't care that eight-year-old Johnny's hunting down pix of Racquel Darrian airing her muff in public -- they're just doin' their jobs, like the good soldiers they are. It's no wonder that the first thing parental Net-watchdog groups advise is <switching to Dwight Yoakum mode> "Mommas, don't let yer babies grow up to use Ya-hoo!" (Then there was the recent front-page article in USA TODAY about the lady who plugged the phrase "I love horses" into a search engine, only to find the page of a guy who REALLY loved horses, if ya know what I mean and I think you do...)
(And have you noticed that typing a sex-U-ally charged search string -- say, "upskirt" -- into some of these search engines IMMEDIATELY changes the tone of the ad banners? These people are no fools; you're a vertical [yes, as in "erect!"] market, and they wanna make damn sure their sponsors get your attention.)
Now, lest you get the impression that da Flatline's gotten religion and turned into C. Delores Tucker or, God help us all, Donnie Wildmon, let me reiterate: I AIN'T BOTHERED BY ONLINE SMUT. Well, least not by most of it -- there's so much out there, it's just a matter of picking and choosing your own perversion.
Ah. "Perversion." That's the point I was trying to get back to. Spend enough time cruising this virtual 42nd Street, and you'll:
sniff out whatever REALLY turns you on;
discover kinks within your cerebellum that you wouldn't otherwise admit to even if Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS, started jamming red-hot roofing nails into your eyelids.
First, the known turn-on. My major fetish happens to be cancan girls. Always has been, always will be, don't ask how it started 'cause I couldn't tell you. Been tracking down these honeys for years, thinking all the time that I was the only brain-eating ape on the planet who got (you'll pardon the pun) a real "kick" out of this dance. No sooner had I gotten that first copy of I'net Explorer up and running than I was jamming "cancan" into Yahoo! Even after winnowing through the telecom projects and pedigree-animal names and drunken-office-party snapshots and BMX bike moves and misspellings of "Cancun," I was still able to come up with a clutch of lovelies in ruffled skirts with one leg in the air higher than their waists.
But all of these hits were scattered hither and yon throughout cyberspace, and the thought occured to me, "Hey Dix, why not gather all these ladies together on one page -- or better yet, on one site?" What started as a subdivision of Da Flatline's Rumpus ROM's "Cute Girls" page eventually coalesced into (ta daa!) Da Flatline's Can-Can CyberPavilion. At the risk of gloating -- okay, bursting with pride -- I'd created a site unlike any other, and the most common remark made by cyberfolk who stopped by was "Dude, I thought I was the only guy on the planet who was into cancan girls! Thank you!"
(Meaning, of course, that either I was sane or we ALL were crazy...)
On to "the kink less discussed." Let's talk slapstick. Mack Sennett and Mabel Normand and Soupy Sales. Awright, awright, let's just blurt it out: pies in the face. Oldest laugh-getter in the book. 'Cept, when Kid Flatline (moi, not the Only Child) saw someone get splatted on TV or in the movies, I didn't laugh -- I found it, well, disturbing, but in a secretly thrilling way. Especially if the "splatee" was female, and pretty, and (like Natalie Wood in THE GREAT RACE) wearing her best Victorian unmentionables.
Fast-forward to the present. It started innocently enough, when I stumbled across the Famous Pied Faces List, and its encyclopedic collection of celebrity pie-ings (many with photo evidence: Vanna White! Marlo Thomas! Idalis from MTV!). Hot stuff, but it got me wondering: "Is there any MORE out there?" Back to the search engines, this time looking for "pie face/fight/throw."
Well, just call me Alice, 'cause what a rabbit-hole I tumbled down! I found myself knee-deep in the wonderful world of "gunging"/"splooging"/"wet-and-messy," folks who got their jollies from ladies drenched with water, sunk in mud or quicksand, doused with food/paint/oil, and -- yes -- even getting pied with extreme (comic) prejudice. They wrote stories on USENET, collected and analyzed TV/movie pieings from around the world, even made their OWN pie-throwing videos. All in the name of "whatever turns you on..." Goofy, to be sure, and not a place I spend an inordinate amount of time in, but again -- it's nice to know I ain't alone.
On a recent episode of NYPD BLUE, the cops were investigating a female murder victim, and their only clue was a private-label fetish tape she'd starred in: "Crush-a-rama 14," in which she wore platform shoes and stomped earthworms in loving closeup. Fumed the fuzz and fuzz-ettes, "This is sick!/disgusting!/perverted!" I merely chortled to myself quietly, "Guys, there's a lot WORSE out there than squashing worms in your new Candies."
In fact, I wonder what I'd get if I fed "platform shoe worm" into HotBot or Excite...
Naah. That's a door in the cerebral cortex best left unopened.
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