Here's the thing: When it comes to the wanton exploits of the gloriously single-minded penis and its commanding tendency, since the dawn of time, to propel otherwise savvy males toward behaviors generally considered to be the province of unhinged zoo animals, everyone seems to more or less agree.
It isn't so much the kinky adventures that are the problem. It's not the scandals, the adultery, the sloppy photos, the tepid perversion, the frat-boy sexting or even the prostitute's yawning grunts heard through the hotel walls at the Republican National Convention.
These are all, if not completely acceptable in the public sphere, then pretty much par for the sexually deviant human course.
It's not even the multiple partners, the secret gay trysts, or even the random love child with the scullery maid that so annoy and ruffle the populace, save for the usual cadre of fundamentalist "family values" nutbunnies and occasional unfortunate, horrified girlwomen who claim to be entirely grossed out by images of enthusiastic penises (in which case, I'm terribly sorry for your boyfriend and please avoid my iPhoto library).
No, what everyone seems to agree on is -- how to put it gently? -- the repellant douchiness of how it's all handled when the scandal, the tryst, the penis photos leak all over the Interweb. Is it not true?
The condescending tone, the dishonesty, the hypocrisy, the patronizing attitude, the sheer gall of trying to pretend that you would never do such a thing and someone must have hacked my account and how dare you suggest it in the first place and then whoops, oh yes, well, sorry, yeah it was me after all. About this, universal disdain.
Behold NY's own Anthony Weiner, if you must, just another in a long line of textbook examples of How to Do It Wrong. Of no doubt is the fact the man's a world-class shmuck for sexting with a half-dozen women, both before and after he married his whip smart (and newly pregnant) wife. Of no doubt is the fact that, from the generic penis shots to the semi-naked gym photos, it's all a bit embarrassing, a skeezy but all-too-common cautionary tale no one really wanted to hear all over again for the thousandth time.
Nevertheless, the overwhelming refrain I hear most can be summed up in a single pair of words: Who cares? Who isn't a bit of a (hopefully healthy, consensual, tactful) pervert in this day and age? Who hasn't employed his or her cellphone's awesome multimedia powers for sundry filthy exploits?
Put it this way: If you're a reasonably youthful adult and a sexual deviant in the slightest and you haven't used new media to Tweet, Histaprint, SMS, CameraBag, FaceTime, Dropbox or otherwise Web 2.0 a live pic or pile of snapshots or (better yet) shaky handheld video of some quivering, slippery body part to someone else you deemed equally deviant and aquiver, well, you're just not doing it right.
Read the rest of this column by clicking here.
Mark Morford is the author of The Daring Spectacle: Adventures in Deviant Journalism, a mega-collection of his finest columns for the SF Chronicle and SFGate. Get it at Amazon and beyond. He recently asked that you please step away from the fear, a piece lamenting how
Fox News ate my nuclear dolphins, and a column wondering why you always walk in circles. Facebook, or email him. Not to mention...