This is the first in a series of helpful advice by YNOT’s own Ben Suroeste, designed to assist readers with porn problems, smut conundrums, obscene challenges and other indecent issues that “Abby” bitch will just never understand.
YORBA LINDA, Calif. – DEAR BEN: The other day, I went to use the computer we keep in the study and noticed a folder on the desktop labeled “SASHAKNOX.” We don’t know anybody named Sasha, much less someone named “Sasha Knox,” so naturally I was curious about the folder. When I double-clicked to see what was inside the folder, it was password-protected. By then, I was really curious.
When I confronted my husband about the folder, he claimed SASHAKNOX is an acronym that stands for “Surprises And Select Housewares (for) Anne, Keep No Other Xeroxes,” with “Xeroxes” being code for “copies.” He claims the folder was password-protected because he didn’t want me to find out about items he’s considering buying me for my birthday, Christmas, laundry day, etc.
Now, my first name is Anne and I do love a good surprise gift, so the explanation seemed pretty plausible to me at first. At the same time, I wondered why he didn’t just label it “Work” or “Finances” or “My Hopes and Dreams” or anything else he knows I don’t care about.
Later, at the advice of a girlfriend from yoga class, I Googled “Sasha Knox” and found out it’s the name of a porn star. (Gross!)
Now, I’m truly torn. On the one hand, I want to believe my husband is being honest with me, but on the other, don’t they usually leave the word “and” out of acronyms? And who the hell calls copies “Xeroxes” these days, especially when it’s all digital information?
So, is my husband really a considerate and romantic guy who is thinking ahead about the next time he buys me a present, or just a filthy, lying pervert with a thing for petite, slutty blondes with round butts and small boobs?
Please help!
A Very Concerned Spouse.
DEAR CONCERNED SPOUSE: Your husband isn’t necessarily a pervert, because there’s nothing perverted about liking Sasha Knox’s ass, in itself. Objectively speaking, Ms. Knox just has a pretty damn nice ass. As for your husband’s explanation…. Well, just as obviously as Sasha has a nice ass, your husband’s explanation is a bald-faced lie.
Here’s the thing, though: If you’re worried he’s watching porn behind your back, you can rest easy, because that’s not what this is all about. Your husband is employing a classic “double-misdirection” technique, using Sasha Knox and your ingrained jealousy to throw you off the scent of an even bigger secret.
What’s his bigger secret? I’m not 100-percent sure, but I can tell you it’s something truly awful, unspeakably dark and absolutely unforgivable.
He may be part of a radical Islamic terrorist sleeper cell, a charming English spy, a closet Scientologist, possibly even a clandestine congressman. If you have any children, small pets or live-in maids, I highly recommend you all flee the house at your next opportunity. Don’t even take the time to pack any bags. Just throw a couple changes of clothes into your car and get the fuck out of there before the man makes you into a casserole.
DEAR BEN: I’m worried I might be addicted to internet pornography. The problem really isn’t the amount of porn I watch, or even how often I watch porn. The issue actually is one particular scene I just can’t get enough of — and the weird part is it’s not even a sex scene.
I’m addicted to watching the intro (or “pick-up”) portion of an old MILF Huntsman video shot back in 1999. There’s something about watching the main MILF-stalker walk up to a woman sitting outside a coffee shop to make awkward small talk that is simply captivating.
Whether it’s the way the MILF feigns annoyance for about 10 seconds before seeming to be completely won over by some random creep, how laughably easy it is for said creep to get her to climb into an SUV with several other tattoo-covered strangers, or the fact she initially claims to be on a lunch break from work, but then seems completely unconcerned she’s going to get back to the office late if she takes the time to suck off the creep, something about this particular porno preamble just gets me going every time. Hell, I even love the tacky curtains inside the low-rent love nest where the creeps film their exploits!
I’ve tried breaking my addiction by watching other pick-up scenes, including a bunch of those lame parodies of Blind Date, but they just don’t have the same pizzazz, know what I mean? I even tried downloading other scenes featuring the same MILF — including one shot around the same time as the MILF Huntsman scene, but wherein they put her hair up in ponytails and call her a “teen” — but the energy, artistry, chemistry and drapery just weren’t the same.
What can I do, Ben? How do I get this shining example of reality porn build-up out of my mind, once and for all?
– Obsessed in Ohio
DEAR OBSESSED: Believe it or not, not only have I heard similar complaints before, but I’ve also heard similar complaints about the same scene. This isn’t coincidence; it’s CIA mind control.
The good news is, due to my extensive experience in countering the brainwashing techniques employed by everyone from Aum Shinrikyo and Heaven’s Gate to the Boy Scouts and Alton Brown, I can help you wriggle free from the shackles this nefarious MILF porn scene has clapped down on your occipital lobe.
Read the instructions below very carefully, Obsessed, because it’s crucial you follow these steps to the letter.
- First, burn a copy of the scene to DVD, or copy it to an USB drive.
- Second, surround the DVD/drive with six red candles arranged in a circle, with exactly 7.7 inches of space between each candle.
- Third, using a Swiss Army Knife, slice a small slit into your index finger using the smallest available blade.
- Next, as you drip blood onto the DVD/drive, rhythmically chant the words “credo id facere non possum” — an ancient incantation that, loosely translated, means “get thee behind me, MILF.”
- Wait while the blood dries on the DVD/drive and allow the candles to burn for one full hour.
- Take all the materials of the ritual, including the Swiss Army Knife, candles and DVD/drive, and bury them in the snow at the foot of Barbeau Peak on Ellesmere Island in Quttinirpaaq National Park.
If the above doesn’t work, try some sessions with a therapist, or whatever it is pussies like you do when you can’t be bothered to pay attention to the minute-but-crucial details of ancient cleansing rites.
If you have a problem you think Ben can help you with, please keep it to yourself. Alternatively, feel free to scrawl your question on a piece of paper, then bury it in the snow next to that obsessed guy’s pocket knife.
