Like most drug snorting guitar players in failed music experiments ( punker shows in rented halls are the whole deal for me, so please don’t take this as Manson style bitterness), I earned my Eagle badge shortly before I found crushing up various pills and punting them up my nasal cavities through rolled up bills and pipettes from those tinctures found in wellness centres– was more intense than playing Scrabble; contrary to the expected melodrama, I never touched the brown stuff , only the venerable drugs once used in baseball were right for me.

Who starts even a depraved seduction by talking outright about porn and jerking off, sleaze and the inevitable hangover? We have a national crisis on the question of chat up lines, their use and absence. He said he had a girlfriend, and then delivered the rankest advice about gurls anyone’s ever concocted while traipsing down the tender nape of my hysterical, frightened miserable teenage self.

Some of the uniformed leaders I’ve unwillingly encountered in a well known camping and knot braiding club (which is its own story) make Mystery’s Method seem the height of decorum as a chat up tactic whether gay or straight.

After browsing more news reports and taking up the dangerous task of thinking about my own experiences, I’ll say at the glad risk of being an absolute bastard about this-

American Boy Scout leaders want yr wallet and yr asshole, yr woman they’d rather not bother with.

We’re all hypocrites, but not all of us are goin’ round the block dressed like a rape crisis center. Saying come one come all, only I can understand your pain.

Distrustful? How could I not be? From my fractured memories of camping trips and weeks away from civilized life, trustful boys get disappeared into the Boss Hog’s tent on Scouting holidays.

As for the Catholic revival underway, I wouldn’t want to discourage the new fella in charge from giving direction to his flock, just giving my reasons for staying one of the unwashed.

It seems more and more arty drunks (aka podcasters) are turning to the Roman Church for guidance. This got me thinking about my experiences in that institution, which I wasn’t confirmed into, having started Catholic ed rather late, well after 2nd grade.

I don’t consider myself lapsed since I stayed non-cooperative with the entire set-up from the first; I remember getting told off by the teachers in Catholic school for daydreaming about Star Wars and I found more meaning in confrontations with the elements than in studying theology. Maybe that’s the buried savage in me.

I’d trade all the holy gold and your unctous admonitions to distrust nature’s song in our flesh for a wholesome gangbang with a coat check gal and her beau on a mattress thrown on some club bathroom’s slime flecked floor.

After reading more on the Revolution, I think the Catholic rules on sexuality are the hollow result of centuries worth of Jesuitical reasoning down a certain garden path– a place where the blossoms droop in poisoned languor over the unwary traveler, what Henry Miller found so horrifying about “Ulysses”– so best head for the America of the mind, mister leave while you can.

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