by Flack » Thu Nov 29, 2018 5:04 pm
As a kid I didn't realize how backwards Oklahoma was until the first time I ventured outside it. I grew up assuming all states had a church on every corner and that 3.2 was as strong as beer got. Hell, it wasn't until 2006 that Oklahoma legalized tattoos. Literally, I was in my 30s before I saw my first tattoo parlor in Oklahoma. Anyone wanting a (decent looking) tattoo prior to 2006 had to make the two-hour drive to Texas, where multiple tattoo parlors sat just past the Red River border, waiting for Okie business.
But Texas was more than just the land of 6-point beer and tattoos. It was also the land of porn. To this day, anything harder than "cable porn" (anything that shows actual penetration) is illegal to purchase or possess in Oklahoma. This goes both for videos and printed magazines. The Christie's Toy Box down the street from my old house sells a dildo modeled after a horse (of course), but the magazines they carry are barely more revealing than the average Playboy.
But Texas has that covered, too. There's a place called DW's that's literally a stone's throw from the Texas/Oklahoma border, but the most infamous place was KT's, a few more miles down the road. The parking lot was large and covered in gravel, designed to make parking more convenient for truckers. You know a place is going to be good when you pull up to it and realize all the windows are just black rectangles that have been painted on the outside of a gigantic metal building. Every Oklahoma boy old enough to drive has been inside KT's at least once.
Now I don't want to rat the guy out, but years ago I used to be friends with a guy who was really into porn. Like,
really into porn. And when the two of us started going to Texas together on shopping trips and adventures, KT's was a regular stop. This was before the internet was what it is now. Eventually there were some websites where you could look at boobies, but if you wanted videos, you bought them.
So each time we went to Texas the two of us would stop at KT's, and he would spend 30 minutes shopping while I would wander up and down the aisles, trying not to make eye contact with anyone or touch anything. Eventually my friend would pick out two or three DVDs, get my attention, and head to the front counter to pay. If I remember correctly they had a deal, 3/$50, which was his normal transaction. And with each $50 purchase you got a couple of free magazines, and that's where I came in.
(Not literally. That's gross.)
As a teen and guy in my early 20s, I liked watching porn as much as the next guy, but not enough (like my friend) to pay for it. But free magazines? Hell yeah! And these magazines weren't your daddy's Playboys. These were "Big Busty Grandmas," and "Plug Her Holes." Half of them were in German. It was the pile of dirty, disgusting magazines so bad they couldn't even sell, but that didn't bother me in the slightest. When we got back to Oklahoma, my friend would go his way with his shiny new DVDs, and I would go my way with two or three super vile magazines.
The problem later becomes, what do you do with these magazines once you've, uh, looked through them? I've been caught throwing away both a car battery and used paint in my trash can (it was 20 years ago, but still). You get caught tossing these in your trash, and that's a headline story around here. Burn 'em? Sounds good in theory, but my fireplace is barely even real. It has a sheet of glass in front of the fire, and a light switch that turns it off and on. It gets warm, but not warm enough to burn away these sins.
I guess my plan was, "mix them in with your other old magazines and forget about them," because that's what happened. I put them in a box with some other magazines, and literally forgot about them. They've been sitting there for almost twenty years, neatly sandwiched between some old computer magazines and issues of Thrasher.
Last month, we moved. My goal at the new house is to unpack everything, box by box as I come to them. A couple of days ago I found a box labeled "magazines." After flipping through the August 1988 issue of Mini-Truckin', I reached into the box and pulled out a copy of "The Fisting Times." I had quite literally forgotten all about those magazines. All of a sudden, I was holding one.
Now, I have to tell you this in full disclosure. When I was younger, I swore I was going to be the cool dad. I said I was going to let my kids play Grand Theft Auto, and watch and listen to whatever they wanted. Curfew, schmerfew! What's so magic about being 21 before you can drink, right? Then I had kids, and all that went out the window. Grand Theft Auto? Grand Theft Negative.
I tell you that to tell you this. The first porno magazine I ever saw (that wasn't a Playboy in my dad's bathroom) was some dirty old magazine that someone had thrown down in the creek behind my house. I was young enough when I saw it that I remember being confused at how many pictures there were of women's butts. I mean, boobies, sure, but who wants to see where a girl's poop comes out, amirite? The point is, I always swore to myself that if I, as an adult, ever came across a stash of adult magazines and needed to get rid of them, that's what I would do, too -- ditch them where some horny boys would find them. Maybe near a school or something -- okay, not
near a school, that's bad, but like, along a path where teenage boys might walk home from school.
And if I were in my 20s, who knows, maybe that's what I would have done. But I'm not. I'm in my 40s, with two kids of my own. Kids don't discover boobies from print magazines anymore anyhow. They all have the internet.
But that brings me back to how to get rid of a handful of dirty magazines. And the solution I came up with was, wait until everybody else left for work or school, and then drag the shredder into my office and get busy.
One by one, the magazines went into the shredder. And for the record my wife's shredder is super cheap and can only shred three pieces of paper at a time, which meant I had to go through six magazines, rip them apart three pages at a time, and shred them that way. It was impossible not to look at them one last time as they were going into the shredder, and I made a lot of comments as the pages disappeared like, "that is one limber grandmother," and, "that is one well-behaved German Shepherd."
Less than half an hour later, all the magazines were gone -- chopped to teeny-tiny bits and dust.
I suppose the least I could do is dump the contents of the shredder into the creek out behind my old house.
As a kid I didn't realize how backwards Oklahoma was until the first time I ventured outside it. I grew up assuming all states had a church on every corner and that 3.2 was as strong as beer got. Hell, it wasn't until 2006 that Oklahoma legalized tattoos. Literally, I was in my 30s before I saw my first tattoo parlor in Oklahoma. Anyone wanting a (decent looking) tattoo prior to 2006 had to make the two-hour drive to Texas, where multiple tattoo parlors sat just past the Red River border, waiting for Okie business.
But Texas was more than just the land of 6-point beer and tattoos. It was also the land of porn. To this day, anything harder than "cable porn" (anything that shows actual penetration) is illegal to purchase or possess in Oklahoma. This goes both for videos and printed magazines. The Christie's Toy Box down the street from my old house sells a dildo modeled after a horse (of course), but the magazines they carry are barely more revealing than the average Playboy.
But Texas has that covered, too. There's a place called DW's that's literally a stone's throw from the Texas/Oklahoma border, but the most infamous place was KT's, a few more miles down the road. The parking lot was large and covered in gravel, designed to make parking more convenient for truckers. You know a place is going to be good when you pull up to it and realize all the windows are just black rectangles that have been painted on the outside of a gigantic metal building. Every Oklahoma boy old enough to drive has been inside KT's at least once.
Now I don't want to rat the guy out, but years ago I used to be friends with a guy who was really into porn. Like, [i]really[/i] into porn. And when the two of us started going to Texas together on shopping trips and adventures, KT's was a regular stop. This was before the internet was what it is now. Eventually there were some websites where you could look at boobies, but if you wanted videos, you bought them.
So each time we went to Texas the two of us would stop at KT's, and he would spend 30 minutes shopping while I would wander up and down the aisles, trying not to make eye contact with anyone or touch anything. Eventually my friend would pick out two or three DVDs, get my attention, and head to the front counter to pay. If I remember correctly they had a deal, 3/$50, which was his normal transaction. And with each $50 purchase you got a couple of free magazines, and that's where I came in.
(Not literally. That's gross.)
As a teen and guy in my early 20s, I liked watching porn as much as the next guy, but not enough (like my friend) to pay for it. But free magazines? Hell yeah! And these magazines weren't your daddy's Playboys. These were "Big Busty Grandmas," and "Plug Her Holes." Half of them were in German. It was the pile of dirty, disgusting magazines so bad they couldn't even sell, but that didn't bother me in the slightest. When we got back to Oklahoma, my friend would go his way with his shiny new DVDs, and I would go my way with two or three super vile magazines.
The problem later becomes, what do you do with these magazines once you've, uh, looked through them? I've been caught throwing away both a car battery and used paint in my trash can (it was 20 years ago, but still). You get caught tossing these in your trash, and that's a headline story around here. Burn 'em? Sounds good in theory, but my fireplace is barely even real. It has a sheet of glass in front of the fire, and a light switch that turns it off and on. It gets warm, but not warm enough to burn away these sins.
I guess my plan was, "mix them in with your other old magazines and forget about them," because that's what happened. I put them in a box with some other magazines, and literally forgot about them. They've been sitting there for almost twenty years, neatly sandwiched between some old computer magazines and issues of Thrasher.
Last month, we moved. My goal at the new house is to unpack everything, box by box as I come to them. A couple of days ago I found a box labeled "magazines." After flipping through the August 1988 issue of Mini-Truckin', I reached into the box and pulled out a copy of "The Fisting Times." I had quite literally forgotten all about those magazines. All of a sudden, I was holding one.
Now, I have to tell you this in full disclosure. When I was younger, I swore I was going to be the cool dad. I said I was going to let my kids play Grand Theft Auto, and watch and listen to whatever they wanted. Curfew, schmerfew! What's so magic about being 21 before you can drink, right? Then I had kids, and all that went out the window. Grand Theft Auto? Grand Theft Negative.
I tell you that to tell you this. The first porno magazine I ever saw (that wasn't a Playboy in my dad's bathroom) was some dirty old magazine that someone had thrown down in the creek behind my house. I was young enough when I saw it that I remember being confused at how many pictures there were of women's butts. I mean, boobies, sure, but who wants to see where a girl's poop comes out, amirite? The point is, I always swore to myself that if I, as an adult, ever came across a stash of adult magazines and needed to get rid of them, that's what I would do, too -- ditch them where some horny boys would find them. Maybe near a school or something -- okay, not [i]near[/i] a school, that's bad, but like, along a path where teenage boys might walk home from school.
And if I were in my 20s, who knows, maybe that's what I would have done. But I'm not. I'm in my 40s, with two kids of my own. Kids don't discover boobies from print magazines anymore anyhow. They all have the internet.
But that brings me back to how to get rid of a handful of dirty magazines. And the solution I came up with was, wait until everybody else left for work or school, and then drag the shredder into my office and get busy.
[img]https://i.imgur.com/cyX84xw.jpg[/img]
One by one, the magazines went into the shredder. And for the record my wife's shredder is super cheap and can only shred three pieces of paper at a time, which meant I had to go through six magazines, rip them apart three pages at a time, and shred them that way. It was impossible not to look at them one last time as they were going into the shredder, and I made a lot of comments as the pages disappeared like, "that is one limber grandmother," and, "that is one well-behaved German Shepherd."
Less than half an hour later, all the magazines were gone -- chopped to teeny-tiny bits and dust.
I suppose the least I could do is dump the contents of the shredder into the creek out behind my old house.