By Russell Nolte
Special to YNOT

MALIBU, Calif. – As you know if you’ve read my past columns here, I’ve been struggling with porn addiction for quite some time. Along the way, I’ve tried just about everything to quit porn, from checking into an expensive rehab center, to ordering a DVD series from a Christian anti-porn group, to recording my every waking moment in a journal that has now consumed more than 400 of those yellow, legal-size paper pads.

Thankfully, whenever a moment comes along when I feel like my addiction is just too strong and there’s no hope for a lasting, long-term recovery, something comes along to remind me I’m not alone, inspiring me to try a new approach to combating my disease.

Most often, the inspiration comes in the form of an idea provided by another porn addict, whether it’s a technique for curbing porn consumption or just a suggestion for ways to distract myself from the always-simmering desire to indulge in porn.

My most recent porn-quitting inspiration came from a brave, revealing, impressively verbose article in the Washington Post, which recommends the fundamentally decent and undeniably morally sound practice of killing helpless aquatic creatures as a substitute for the unethical horrors of watching other people have sex.

At first, I was skeptical killing fish, frogs, octopods, mollusks and shellfish was really going to be an effective method of quitting porn. Once I tried it, though, I immediately understood the appeal of causing the death of aquatic animals.

Admittedly, my process varied from the advice of the piece in the Post in several significant ways, but I think I’m still being true to the spirit of substituting fishing for porn.

For example, I didn’t run a bunch of stop signs like the author of the Post piece, mostly because this seems like the kind of dick move that would be pretty hard to blame on my porn addiction. I don’t remember the Bang Bus running a bunch of red lights, for instance, so I’m not sure why being compelled to watch porn also rendered this guy from the Post incapable of following basic traffic laws.

I also mix things up a bit when it comes to fishing techniques, because the idea of sitting in a canoe all day waiting for a Bluegill to maybe bite a clump of tiny red globules affixed to a little metal hook strikes me as antiquated and inefficient.

Instead, I found a military surplus store that sells hand grenades, a far more modern and expeditious approach to killing things that live anywhere, not just underwater. (Please note, the grenades they have behind the counter are disarmed as a matter of law, but for an extra $50, the owner will sell you the real deal out of crate he keeps in the basement, provided he doesn’t think you’re with the FBI or ATF.)

Granted, some of the other fishermen who go to my favorite California lake are not big fans of my explosive technique. Then again, unlike me they generally don’t have live hand grenades in their tackle boxes, so they tend to keep their criticism to themselves, for the most part.

The bigger problem is tree-hugging environmentalists who say I’m somehow “damaging the environment” with my grenades, antipersonnel mines and the improvised explosives I use to supplement my supply of proper bombs.

This notion is absurd, obviously, because other than every living thing under the water, the occasional passing bird struck by shrapnel, a few other fishermen here and there and one nosy bear that really should have been minding his own business, my grenades have never hurt anybody or anything — except the one unfortunate incident with the Wilson family car, of course. I’m still hopeful the Wilsons and I can come up with an amicable settlement to head off the lawsuit, even if they did refer to me as a “dangerously stupid, mentally unstable lunatic” in the most recent revision of their complaint.

At any rate, my point is if you’re struggling with the unacceptable, disgusting, life-draining scourge that is pornography viewing, don’t feel trapped or like there’s no hope. All you really need is a new hobby for which you feel a real passion, something in which you can invest yourself fully.

It doesn’t have to be fishing, of course. You could always opt for killing terrestrial creatures or birds instead. The important thing is to realize that in order for you to have a full, satisfying sex life free of the shameful burden of porn addiction, something must die.

That said, from my personal experience with the deeply flawed and unfair American legal system, I can tell you it’s probably best if the “something” in question is not a member of the Coney Island Polar Bear Club. That sort of thing involves way too much red tape.

Russell Nolte is a recovering porn addict who has not watched pornography more than a few dozen times since he took up his new hobby of killing aquatic creatures for sport. While we should all support his recovery efforts, if you see Russell in the vicinity of a Sea World or major publicly accessible aquarium, please notify local law enforcement of his presence immediately.