From Ernest Cline, the mentally arrested manbaby who wrote Ready Player One, behold his godawful poem about how pornography “should” be—from his self published and self titled poetry collection “The Importance of Being Ernest”.
All the porn I’ve come across
was targeted at beer-swilling sports bar dwelling alpha-males
Men who like their women stupid and submissive
Men who can only get it up for monosyllabic cock-hungry nymphos
with gargantuan breasts and a three-word vocabulary
Adult films are populated with these collagen-injected
liposuctioned women
Many of whom have resorted to surgery and self-mutilation
in an attempt to look the way they have been told to look.
These aren’t real women. They’re objects.
And these movies aren’t erotic. They’re pathetic.
These vacuum-headed fuck bunnies don’t turn me on.
They disgust me.
And it’s not that I’m against pornography.
I mean, I’m a guy. And guys need porn.
Fact.
“Like a preacher needs pain, like a needle needs a vein,”
Guys need porn.
But I don’t wanna watch this misogynist he-man woman-hater porn.
I want porno movies that are made with guys like me in mind:
Guys who know that the sexiest thing in the world
is a woman who is smarter than you are.
You can have the whole cheerleading squad,
I want the girl in the tweed skirt and the horn-rimmed glasses:
Betty Finnebowski, the valedictorian.
Oh yes.
First I want to copy her Trig homework,
and then I want to make mad, passionate love to her
for hours and hours
until she reluctantly asks if we can stop
because she doesn’t want to miss Battlestar Galactica.
Summa cum laude, baby!
That is what I call erotic.
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