The only boob on Planet Man is me.

February 5, 2009

One of my wonderful, beautiful step-daughters, knowing how much I miss the Great White North, sent me a gift to remind me of home. No, it wasn’t a copy of The Hockey News — I should be so lucky — but, rather, a DVD entitled Girls Gone Wild: Canada.

I knew of this series, of course, but had never viewed any of its, um, parts. Depending on your opinion, its founder, Joe Francis is allegedly a) an asshole; b) a complete asshole; c) a pornographer; d) a hopeless idiot when it comes to math, especially the part where you’re supposed to subtract the current year from someone’s birth year and arrive at a number at least equal to the legal age; e) a tax evader; or, f) all of the above.

I had to watch the DVD, if only because one of the commandments in the Planet Man Handbook reads, “Thou can never see enough boobies in your lifetime.”

Plus, the whole Canada angle intrigued me. I needed to hear someone say “eh” and “hoser” and “aboot,” having resided too long in New Zealand and grown frustrated with people ending sentences with “sweet as.” Sweet as what, people!?! Finish your bloody thought, for chrissakes!

There was a time when I would have watched this DVD to the final second, chair drawn close to the TV, one finger poised over the Pause button, another over Rewind, eyes wide and staring, breathing hard and ragged through my mouth.

But not this time.

In fact, I only watched maybe 10 minutes before pressing Eject.

It’s not that I’d grown bored with 20-something sweeties displaying and caressing their perky bits. My new passport photo may look like something taken during an autopsy but my ticker is still turning over and pumping blood to all the right places.

No, the reason I hit Stop was a combination of embarrassment, despair and sadness. I actually felt bad for these girls, plied as they were with free booze, flashing dazed and confused smiles as they dutifully followed the instructions of an offscreen cameraman (Francis himself?) to shed their tops and, because they were invariably teamed up with a best friend, to nuzzle each other’s breasts.

For what? The free beer? Free T-shirts? A free hat? The opportunity to be “famous” via the DVD? Was money exhanged and, if so, how many pieces of silver buys one’s dignity these days?

I found myself raising my eyes from these ladies’ breasts to gaze instead at their faces. Realizing this was not simply meat with nipples, but real people, with feelings and aspirations and dreams and entire lives lying ahead of them.

They might have been too drunk to feel degraded, but I certainly wasn’t. I was stone-cold sober and left shaking my head at how stupid people can be. And realizing the name at the top of that Stupid List was my own for watching this crap.

Oh, Christ, I’m starting to sound like a puritan here and I assure you, Dear Reader, that is not the case. I enjoy living on Planet Man, where porn and sports and scratching and farting and muscle cars and caffeine addiction are part of the air we breathe. The day I do not want to look at a winsome young lass is the day six of my closest friends will be carrying me into a church.

But I’m tired of being a grotty-minded voyeur. I’m bored with watching professional copulators, with their exaggerated size and endurance.  They leave me feeling less of a man and serve only to deflate my self-esteem. Why the hell would I want that?

Face it, I will never be the next Johnny Wad. But I can be a better John Ireland.

And if that means throwing a gift DVD in the rubbish, so be it. If that means deleting from my Internet Favorites, consider it done.

Maybe it’s a sign that I’m getting old. I prefer to think of it as an indication that I’m growing wiser.


One Response to “The only boob on Planet Man is me.”

  1. Megan said

    Maybe part of your reasoning is that you have daughters, and grand-daughters. Did anyone say “eh” or “hooser” ?

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