The F Plus - 3: Metaphorical Chastity

Episode Date: October 15, 2009

We're coming off our previous fetishist episode with an episode of self-flagellating morality. This episode features motivation and tips from people angry that other people are having more fun than they are.

🎵🎵🎵 🎵🎵🎵 It's bigger, it's bigger than you and you alone Thanks for the love Hello, welcome to the F Plus Podcast. My name's Lemon. And I'm John. And this is episode three. As you might have heard episode two, we've got a little bit lascivious, talking about some naughty stuff. This time we're talking about morality. talking about some naughty stuff.

This time we're talking about morality. Yes, and about keeping ourselves pure and good and holy in this depraved world of ours. And I feel like, you know, if you're on the internet, you know that there's pornography on the internet. Hopefully this podcast, it might keep you from these sort of impure thoughts. Right. Now, you know, you're already on the internet to get this podcast, so that's okay, but everything else, just don't even bring it don't even bring it no no no this this podcast and this podcast alone and not the next

podcast because that'll probably be dirty too yeah the first the first uh the first bit of material we have here is something railing against um uh just everything um it's it's written by a man named Gil Rievel, and it's a book called Smut, a sex industry insider and concerned father says, enough is enough. Oh, and it's a beauty. It's really good. The guy comes with credentials.

He started his career working for Screw Magazine, for Screw Magazine and I guess he was a ghost writer for the publisher of Screw Magazine Al Goldstein and so he spends an entire

chapter after he talks about oh I'm an expert in this because I work for Screw he spends an entire chapter talking about Al Goldstein being a bastard and how smelly and horrible he is and how much he hates him. And now he works for Maxim,

and so there's another chapter in this book where he talks about how Maxim is a paragon of morality and restraint, and it's a wonderful, wonderful publication, unlike FHM, which is dirty and filthy and horrible. Right, and he's a man of, he's a very, which is dirty and filthy and horrible. Right, and he's a man of,

he's a very deep man, a man of contradictions. You know, he works in, you know, soft porn and porn magazines and stuff that's not necessarily porn, but it's still kind of racy. And he actually wrote a really violent movie, too. Yeah, but he's also, he's very staunchly for the First Amendment, but he's also kind of against it

because there's too much freedom in showing things that are bad and that are sexual and that are violent. And he's also, another contradiction, another contradiction is he's apparently a freelance writer. He's done a lot of writing. He also doesn't seem to know how research works or that certain words mean things. Yeah, he doesn't know the meaning of French words and he doesn't understand how commas work. And I think

this entire book was written with one hand on the keyboard and the other one just shaking his fist. Maybe he had a TV in front of him. He was just shaking his fist at the TV in rage. And you know when they always ask who's thinking of the children? This guy is. He is thinking of

the children. Well, his daughter specifically. Well, right, yeah. Smut is being read by Isfahan. This is just selections from the book. And let's get started. Chapter 4, Culture Whipped. Let me sketch out a day I spent with my middle school age daughter.

It started with an episode of a tween sitcom, that is a show targeted for kids between the ages of 9 and 12. I passed through the room where my daughter was watching the program and just happened to catch a scene where twin 7-year-old girls tried out a new cheerleading routine they were practicing. Shake it, shake it, shake it, the seven-year-old squeaked, sticking out their fannies, slapping them, and then reacting as if they just touched a hot stove. I looked at my daughter, who gazed at the tube with the vacant-eyed look that is, if statistics about watching TV are right, the most common facial expression in America.

I felt upset about the clear sexualization of a pair of prepubescent girls and especially annoyed that their antics were being played for laughs. Shake it, shake it, shake it, chanted the seven-year-olds. Ha, ha, ha, went the laugh track. How cute was the fairly subliminal message being conveyed to my daughter. Look at these tykes acting like a pair of pole dancers.

Real funny, I posed my unspoken thought against the canned laughter. But I resisted the impulse to point out the inappropriateness of the message. Just the day before, my daughter and I had talked about a ludicrous song she liked, about thuggin' and clubbin' and hoes, street slang for whores, and I didn't want to come off as constantly preaching.

In present-day America, we learn to swallow many of our responses to modern culture, so as not to appear prudish, vanilla, or outré. A commercial interrupted the seven-year-old lap dancers. A trailer for The Girl Next Door, the latest theatrical movie from Fox, about to open. I want to see that, my daughter said.

I let that pass, too. The movie is rated R, and my daughter is not allowed to see R-rated movies. The plot involves a porn star moving in next door to a teenage boy. Why are they advertising an R-rated movie on a program aimed at 12-year-olds? That was my thought, but again I said nothing out loud.

We got into the car for a drive, my wife up front next to me, my daughter in back with her beloved iBook laptop. She had just received the computer as a present for her birthday and had already downloaded 75 songs into her iTunes jukebox. She sang along as the iBook trolled automatically through her playlist. My wife and I were talking, not really paying much attention to what was going on in the back seat. When I heard my daughter mouthing the words to D12's hit,

my band featuring Eminem, who was born Marshall Mathers. I swear to fucking God, my 12 year old saying, dude, you fucking rock. Please, Marshall,

please let me suck your cock. I asked, twisting my head around and almost running off the road. In our household, which is not a free speech zone, we have well articulated boundaries about what sort of words are inappropriate.

You don't even know what that means. I do, too, my daughter responded, even though I know she doesn't, and she knows I know she doesn't. She has no idea, I promise. It turned out she had downloaded my band from the internet, where there was no choice but the cleaned up radio version, which she is allowed, and the unbleaped explicit version, which she is not allowed. My wife and I fell asleep at the switch, not monitoring which version our daughter actually chose. But what happened next we could not have

stopped or avoided through any action of our own. We drove into Manhattan along the west side highway through a commercial district of warehouses and garages. The carriage horses that operate in Central Park are stabled here, and across the highway, the military museum installed in the decommissioned aircraft carrier USS Intrepid looms massively on the docks. Also located in this neighborhood, so that it acts like something of a portal to all of New York City, is Larry Flint's Hustler Club, a sprawling burlesque house situated in a former automobile showroom. Flint adorns the side of the building with a billboard-sized

sign showing a woman, her mouth pursed, blowing on her hand. Oh dear! Who was gazing out the window, keeping an eye out as she always does for a glimpse of the carriage horses. What she got instead was a teasing display of adult sexuality.

I didn't say anything, but I tried to imagine what was passing through her mind. She had asked about the club before. What's that? How to explain a strip joint to your pre-teenage daughter. Keep it simple, my wife always advised When communicating grown-up concepts to children Some men like to watch women dance I had told her back when she first asked about it Even for someone such as myself

With experience in the world of commercial sex The explanation sounded lame and incomplete I recall suddenly feeling unworthy of the charge of being a parent. How could I unravel the tangle of politics, morality, exploitation, and hedonism that represents the knotted sexuality of America today? I had trouble explaining it to myself, much less to my daughter. That specific day was not atypical My family has been treated to X-rated movies On the DVD screens of cars in the lanes next to us The Howard Stern radio show has boomed

Out of what seemed like nuclear-powered car stereo speakers When we were attempting to enjoy a morning in a Riverside park Now, as I watched her gazing out at Larry Flint's mud emporium I realized the degree to which we have failed our children. In a political sense, the young are powerless, voiceless, totally reliant on adults.

In myriad important ways, in providing them with health insurance and legal protection, our record as a society is spotty at best. But we also have left unfulfilled our function as guardians of their cultural environment. The boundaries of their world have been repeatedly breached, many times by people interested in making money and dismissive of all other considerations. All too often, our children are exposed to the loud frenzied garish spectacle of adult sexuality

they get their faces rubbed in it one very ordinary day i have been treated to a vision of twin seven-year-old fanny slappers a sex professional taking up neighborhood residence and groupies begging for oral sex i didn't like it it made me mad what had happened to my family day was that we had been culture whipped a term that measures the gulf between the expectations of the viewer or listener and the content of the media when you whip whip your head around asking, what was that? Not believing your eyes and ears, you've been culture whipped. Bam!

In this media climate, whether we want it or not, we are inundated, saturated, beaten over the head with sex. Television, our national public commons, has an ever-mounting percentage of explicit sexual content on the table, shading down to the mere leering double entendre and snickering innuendo of broadcast sitcoms. It's difficult to find a program that doesn't reference sex.

It's egregious. It's out of control. It's too much. Media, advertising art, and entertainment constantly shove images at me that i am not just not interested in seeing the average child in america puts in full work week 40 hours consuming media that means our kids are getting a snoot full of this stuff all day every day week in and week out I'm reminded of Groucho Marx, who once had a guest on his interview program, You Bet Your Life, a woman who said she had nine children and that she and her husband liked it.

I like my cigar, Groucho responded, but I take it out of my mouth every once in a while. In today's culture, the cigar of smut has been permanently and surgically stapled to our lips. We can't take it out of our mouths at all, much less every once in a while. And that's it. Aging Dr. Freud. Bravo. Holy shit.

Well done. You read the hell out of that. Man, yeah. Yeah, I don't think I can read today. We're done my absolute my absolute favorite part of this is uh of this specific part is that he says in present-day america we learn to swallow many of our responsibilities to modern culture so as not to appear prudish vanilla or outre apparently thinking that word means the exact opposite of what that word actually means.

And then he did one piece of research to learn that Eminem was born Marshall Mathers and then just shoves it in there. He's Marshall Mathers. Well, the way he says it, it sounds like it's some sort of criminal alias. Hose. I just love that hose slang for whores i i try to i try to verbalize the quote marks as much as i can he typed that whole thing out with his teeth clenched so the next chapter the next chapter might be the best one. You know, and I don't actually want to give anything away because it's all really in there.

So this is his chapter about video games. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. He is very much familiar with what he speaks of. This is relevant to my interests. This is so great. Chapter 16. Silent Thrill.

In an upscale private school in a suburban town near where I live, an English teacher and advisor to the senior class expressed his shock at his student's first choice for the prom theme, pimps and hoes. They were serious,

the teacher said, laughing in disbelief. They had decorations designed, and instead of a promenade, they were going to do a perp walk. A California-based company called Brands on Sale sells tight-sized pimp and hoe costumes for Halloween. The pimp suit is

one of the company's biggest sellers, and they can outfit the whole family, parents, children, and dog, in development of a pimp outfit for infants. Other customers sell Pimp Daddy or Mac Daddy outfits, blue velvet with faux leopard trim. Welcome to the brothel. Pimp and Ho have now become all-purpose terms of address for many teenagers, invoked, no doubt, with proper adolescent irony.

But enjoying great currency nonetheless, MTV boasts an auto-customizing program called Pimp My Ride. Rap artist Nelly shills a drink called Pimp Juice. I've had this drink. We can thank a computer games company called Rockstar for adding immeasurably to the popularity of such icons

from the world of prostitution, since it produces a best-selling video game called Grand Theft Auto Vice City. GTA, as it is known among cognoscenti, is a simulated crime game in which the players are pimps, having sex with and then murdering their hooker victims as they rampage through the mean streets of an urban landscape. Points for hit-and-run killing of pedestrians.

I'm for freedom of speech, but Grand Theft Auto is heinous, said Washington Post columnist Mike Wilbon. The people who put it together should be stoned in the street. Street stoning would probably earn Wilbon a few points if he were playing GTA, but his is merely a small sample of the wrath directed at Rockstar. I wish. But it's all okay, right? GTA Vice City and its sequels, GTA 3 and GTA San Andreas, both rated F4, mature by the Entertainment Software Rating Board,

the industry's self-regulatory. So there is no possible way that minors are getting access to GTA, right? Think again. Oh no! to GTA, right? Think again. Oh no! GTA features a toxic mix of sex and violence, vending

two assaults for the price of one. Computer and video gaming reaches an astonishing percentage of America's children, boasting almost television-like numbers. Over 95% of kids ages 2 to 17 have played a video game.

GTA making a sport out of rape. Video game producers and sociopaths be collectively hired to babysit. Maybe stoning in the street is too good for them. so yeah so grand theft auto vice city is a game that only exists in his own mind but he's angry at it i just like i just love the part about gta vice city and its sequel gta3 yeah like like the most cursory bit of research, you know, fuck that. That would cut down on my anger. Apparently the only thing you do this game,

everything you do in Vice City, building a criminal empire, taking down your crooked boss, everything like, it's just ancillary too. Well, basically, I didn't know that I was a pimp also in Vice City. And if you were a pimp, wouldn't murdering hookers be kind of counterproductive for your business model? I didn't know you got points for running over people. I should have been playing it wrong all this time.

I'm going back to it now. I've got to try to do it right. Basically, GTA Vice City is like Pac-Man. Instead of Pac-Man, you're a car. Instead of Dodgers, hookers. So the next part, I just want to start out by saying that the next part, he talks about what he calls disturbed six and teners. And it took me a while to figure out where that phrase was coming from.

And what ends up happening is that in one of the early chapters, like chapter five or six, he invents the statistic out of thin air that says that six out of 10 people are upset, are upset with or disturbed by sexual imagery in the media. And then just constantly refers to these disturbed six and teners so he just invents a statistic saying six out of ten people agree with me

and then moves on from there well I mean that sounds legit I like to picture him dusting off his hands after he wrote that done okay chapter 23 chilling slopes and slippery effects Done. Okay. Chapter 23, Chilling Slopes and Slippery Effects. Let's circle back to the fact that most people out there, those disturbed six and teners,

are extremely uneasy about the amount of explicit sexuality, softcore smut, and indecent innuendo they have to wade through just to get through their day-to-day lives. You may quibble and pull apart poll results all you want, but rarely does that big of a chunk of the American populace agree about anything. We might want to commemorate the occasion by actually doing something about it. You would think that as a community that we would be responsive to such a common concern, but we're not. The situation continues. People remain frustrated year after year. The chattering class basically says sorry to the six and ten.

Actually, it doesn't even say sorry. It says tough, adding, barely under its breath, you neo-Puritan philistine weenie. Not quite neighborly, is it? Parents are the Rodney Dangerfields of the political left. They are sneeringly described as breeders and lumped in with that whole bourgeois suburban workaday nexus that is anti-art, anti-freedom, anti-hip. The concerns of parents trying to raise children are dismissed condescendingly. Yes, yes, parents are the downtrodden. There's no... I like the part where he says

actually, no they don't, because it doesn't work in text. You had time to think it over. You're not just suddenly changing your mind mid-book. No, it's a conversational narrative. Because, you know, you could stand to listen to this guy talk, right? In his mind, the legion of

the throngs of gay men that are following him around shouting, Breeder! Well, you don't have throngs of gay men following you around yelling Breeder? Not as often as I would like to. I do, but I have to pay them.

Oh, yeah. Okay, so who likes metaphors? I do. Excellent. Who likes metaphors about the internet? They're okay. Oh, it's getting better and better. Alright.

This is, I believe, an award-winning metaphor about the internet. Okay, I'm sitting down for this. Chapter 27. The internet. It is useful to think of the internet as a whole lot of printing presses, personal

computers connected to a large number of printing presses personal computers connected to a large number of bookstores computer servers in this metaphorical example sexual content is everywhere on the individual presses and in almost every bookstore but what if the owner of a printing press wishes not to be publisher of smut what if we want to preserve the privacy of a printing press wishes not to be publisher of smut. What if we want to preserve the privacy of our personal printing presses? Being an unwilling pornographer sounds unlikely, but there is so much X-rated content zipping around the net these days that some of it inevitably slops over onto personal computers. When you think about it, that's an outrageous transgression.

Especially if the victim is someone offended by the smut. It's as though an intruder sneaked into your home and stole pen and paper to write up say, hate flyers. Can I try to think of how the metaphor of personal computers being printing presses and servers being bookstores works. How does that even work?

Does he think that he owns the servers or something? Right. I love how that metaphor works. It's just like, hey, can I borrow some paper real quick? Okay, thanks. Jews! Jews! What a morning.

I've become a publisher of hate literature. Fuck! Nobody will ever believe this wasn't me. Tubes. The internet is Tubes. Providers. Consumers. Movies delivered to your house.

Big truck. Small business. It's Tubes. I'm about Tubes. And to finish house big truck, small business it's tubes, I'm gonna tubes and to finish this section off we are going to leave you with just a couple tidbits more people view porn on any given day than watch sports

if I had applied myself to it in 1981, I could have been a smut millionaire right now I am a first Amendment absolutist, and I think that today's trash culture is vomit-inducing and has gone too far. So if I understand this correctly, he's all entirely for freedom of speech.

He's an absolutist. Oh, fuck. He's an absolutist. Oh, fuck. He's an absolutist. He absolutely believes in freedom of speech without any equivocation whatsoever. But there are equivocations. I think oranges are delicious. Also, they're terrible. I like the implication there.

It's like, if I had applied myself, I could have been a porn millionaire. Since I didn't, I'm writing this book. Fuck those guys! There are people out there who are just trying to get through their Super Bowl without a breast being shoved in their faces. Who is that person? I have the same problem.

Not right now, honey. I'm trying to watch the game. Becky, would you sit the hell down? For God's sake. Why is this happening to me? This is the worst day of my life. My daughter is lured by the animated images of South Park, but then betrayed by the program's

bait-and-switch strategy. Think it's a kiddie show? Surprise! It's not. I, uh... This guy's the least attentive person. I like that he thinks his daughter has the brain of a fish.

A full fifth of network programming nowadays is reality-based, but we're a long way from Alan Funt and Candid Camera. Well, yeah. Also, I just, you know, more made-up statistics. It's always fun. Not much is real.

He went and saw five TV shows. Oh, well, there you go. I think him and Chivette go to the same statistics agency they get together there not much is real in the surreal life it's fake in fact it's not surreal either

somewhere Salvador Dali Man Ray and the rest of the surrealists are spinning in their graves oh god aww you are kidding aww can I unhear that spinning in their graves. Oh, God. You are kidding me. Can I unhear that?

I think Salvador Dali would like this in real life. Actually, I think he would, yes. Oh, what is Ron Jeremy going to do today? He's that guy that you like. Salvador Dali was using his mustache to spin in his grave. This guy is definitely the guy that you like. He was using his mustache to spin in his grave. This guy is definitely the guy that's like, he's walking towards you at a party and you're like, oh, God. You quickly run over to the snacks, try and divert him to someone else.

Yeah, I've never actually read a Glenn Beck book ever, but I assume that... Well, you're clearly missing out. Yeah, I assume that reading that is pretty much the same thing. I glanced through Arguing with Idiots at a bookstore, and I couldn't see for three days. Your retinas cut you off. It's like, okay okay you've had yeah all right coming up next is something that really really is no longer very prevalent on the Internet.

You know, if you went on the Internet in about 2000, there was GeoCities pages and there were AngelFire pages and there were these wonderful, wonderful websites with terrible design and people's terrible sensibilities. And it kind of got washed out in that whole Web 20 thing. And it kind of got washed out in that whole Web 20 thing. Right. Yeah, there was so much of this just because, you know, now there's things like YouTube and MySpace and, you know, things like that that kind of give you a way to kind of have a web presence. But with this, before that, it was all like GeoCities and AngelFire. You had to kind of make your own thing.

And there were a lot of people who apparently thought, you know what, this new internet thing, Information Superhighway, I'm going to make the worst poetry. And also be the best poetry and post it right there and spread that. And this is, in fact, somebody who did just that. This site is called Sharing My Gift. The link for it will be on the website. But this is someone who legitimately believes that he's not a terrible poet. His name is Timothy John Barrett.

And he thinks that he doesn't suck. And he writes a bunch of Christian-themed poems. We're going to have a couple readers for this. This is going to be read by Acer Ocoadal, Jack Chick, and Squiddy McOnwee, depending on the poem. And really, rhyming couplets. Let's just get into it. This poem is called Generation X. A lost generation, the world has said, our children wear a hex. And hope is all but gone today for this Generation X.

Children carrying guns to school and killing just for kicks. But prayer is dead, the courts have said, as the time bomb slowly ticks. In their pocket lays a bag of grass, in their pipe a rock of crack. And that alcohol binge does their conscious singe that they've jumped the chosen track. Drugs are used to soothe the pain and sex to feel again, while little girls will sell themselves to dirty, filthy men.

Teen suicides, of course, as we look the other way. And the lifestyle they are choosing now is leaning toward the gay. Awesome. Wow. Kool-Aid is not the drink of choice, but now a nice cold bud. They keep falling down, but no one's around

to hear the awful thud. While the internet keeps pumping porn into those youthful brains, and Larry Flint is hellbound bent to wear those sinful stains. Okay.

So this generation that is lost is lost because we're blind. We keep looking for a miracle cure, but dead kids are all we find. There is a miracle lurking about. If you'll open up your eyes, this cure is called the Lamb of God, who hears your children's cries. He's waiting there with open arms, with forgiveness and with love,

and healing for their broken hearts with mercy from above. But we parents need to wise on up and get back in control and train our children in his ways and claim that precious soul. There are certain steps we must now take, starting first with us. There are certain steps we must now take Starting first with us We must take our savior off the shelf And Put him on the bus

Okay I just keep seeing that part in God Hand. The bus? We're examples with our very lives. Cos monkey sees and does. If you don't teach, those kingpins reach and love them with a buzz. So get your life back right with God. Be examples to your flock. And this time build your house up strong on that precious holy rock. And though the winds and rains will come,

you know your house will stand, because as you know, a house will go that's built on sinking sand. Put prayer back into our public schools, and vote those leaders out, and demand from Satan all your kids with a hallelujahs shout. Okay. Then pray the blood of Jesus Christ on your children all the more. Then stand aside

with that Christian glide and watch Jesus fight the war. Oh, the gay. The gay! That was good. Tending towards what? Trending towards the gay. There's a guy with a chart and there's a red line heading steadily up towards a horizontal line towards the gay. There's a guy with a chart and there's a red line heading steadily

up towards a horizontal line marked the gay. Alright, I think Ace has got the next one. Oh yes. Two minute warning. Two-minute warning. Just two minutes left. The crowd on their feet. The world has made a fumble.

Could this mean defeat? The two-minute warning in the game has sounded with the world on defense and totally astounded. The world had a plan to keep time of possession, controlling the outcome of this hard-hitting session. But God was the coach of the underdog heaven. He's an offensive genius and only losing by seven. The world was notorious for their defensive play, but little did they know there was hell to pay.

Then the world huddled up and set up his own, because the quarterback for heaven was highly unknown. A great quarterback that the world had never scouted. Well, they heard he was good, yet they seriously doubted. Jesus was his name. He went to Nazareth College. He majored in life, and he was filled with the knowledge. filled with the knowledge. I will tell you what,

Nazareth College is a party school. College. He's a communications major. Man, I had so much bread and wine, you would not believe. A fundamental leader from the training he had. But this was expected. The coach was his dad. The ball

was then snapped and the defense hit hard. Jesus threw the long bomb and caught them off guard. A receiver named Michael they had totally ignored as he raced down the field, caught the ball, and then scored! Yay! as he raced down the field, caught the ball, and then scored!

Yay! An amazing play from God. Again. Then, with ten seconds left, Jesus ran the conversion, scoring two more points using Gabriel's diversion. The greatest upsets the world knew at the hands of Jesus and his heavenly crew. But when God had

recruited all the years there before, the world turned him down because they still wanted more. So they built them a team with unbeatable forces and bought all the playbooks that the devil endorses. But that one secret play that the devil endorses. But that one secret play that the devil wouldn't tell

will be fully explained in his locker room. Hell! So Satan works for the Raiders then? Yes. Now I'm curious. I want to go to hell and figure out what the play is. Satan's all

flipping over tables and Gatorade jugs. I don't think the script for Little Giants 2 will really work out. Happy poem! Okay, everybody. No one loves you. Let me get there for a minute. Okay, everybody. No one loves you.

Let me get there for a minute. Okay. No one loves you. No one loves you. No one cares. No one knows your name. They point at you. They mock and stare.

You always get the blame. You're never asked to join the team. They always leave you out. Your self-esteem you can't redeem. You wallow in self-doubt. You have no friends, no confidants, no one you can trust. They use you up. They just pretend their words have turned to dust.

You're so alone. You're feeling trapped with no way to escape. You're feeling down. You're feeling low while fear is taking shape. You cry inside, but no one hears. you're feeling down you're feeling low while fear is taking shape you cry inside but no one hears no tears will come you're turning cold no passion deep inside. Just end it now, a voice commands. You never

will be missed. You always fail, but this could change with a slitting of the wrist. Yay! You plan your exit every single day, and death is sounding good. Take an overdose, or a sturdy sturdy rope or a pistol if you could. Because no one knows what you're going through.

No one knows your pain. Yes, no one hears those lonely tears. The blues that flow like rain. I'm sorry, but that's beautiful the blues that flow like rain come on I just love the little high note there but death has sounded good

I could use some poison you know this is turning around for me but don't give up I know someone I think you need to meet he loves you now and always will his friendship is so sweet a love so sweet He'll take your life and soothe the scars inside

Take your lonely heart And touch your soul Heal the pain you try to hide So give him a chance You have nothing to lose Except your very soul You must rise above and embrace his love And climb out of your hole

Who is this awesome person? Jesus is that special friend. He's waiting for you now. No time to waste, no time to lose. Please let me show you how. Say, Jesus, I'm so broken. My life hangs by a thread. I know that you can give me life when the world left me for dead.

Product placement. Yeah, that's what that was. I left for dead too. I accept you as my savior now. Please forgive me of my sins. I will live for you from this day forth. This is where my trouble ends. I will live for you from this day forth this is where my trouble ends

I almost gave up and took my life but now my soul is free because today I was introduced to the one who died for me yay that was a happy poem see I brought you Jesus.

Who would have thought there would be so much reveling in a poem called No One Loves You? It feels so low, you feel like you have half a life. A free man you are not. Your team is in their fortress. Something, something, Gary's mod. Oh.

Yeah. Hang on. Hang on, Jack. Let me see if... I think there was one more. Okay, here we go. Here we go. There you go. There's yours.

Oh, I get one? Oh, no. Where did you... Oh, I see. Oh, Christ! Okay. Oh, oh boy. Yes, go ahead. Alright, alright.

So, this is suiting up for battle. So, I hope everybody is ready to do battle here oh I'm so suited up the devil rules this earth of ours we wrestle darkness and wicked powers the evil one will take his

knife and cut to pieces your bread of life. So listen to this, here's our joy. To get a hold of, cause this means war. And take from God the armor full. To stand against the devil. Stand up in truth and God will bless. One who's filled with righteousness.

To help this evil madness cease. The shield of faith. Take most of all. And watch the devil's demons fall. Then take salvation and the word of God. Then prove that the devil is a fraud. And always pray till you get through. Then show all around Jesus in you. Then courageously to all pound. The devil's kingdom ain't so sound.

Lift up God's children with all your might and teach those siblings how to fight. Rebuke that devil in the name of Jesus, and in trembling fear he will quickly leave us. So don't be afraid. Stand and fight for the Lord. Be a soil-der of truth with your heads. That's my favorite Lamb of God song.

Soiler. Soiler of truth. Praise the Lord. I have no idea how I made it through that without bursting in the laugh. I am a soiler of truth. Soiler of truth. So will I.

The evil one will take his knife and cut to pieces your bread of life. Oh no! He just gave me sandwich slices. My bread! That's his toast, fucker! It's the worst thing since sliced bread.

So last up in the F Plus podcast is actually a little pet project from you, John. Yes, this is a book called Every Young Man's Battle. And the whole premise of it is, is that, you know, you're a sexual guy, but you're also a Christian teen. How do you keep pure in this kind of sex-soaked world? So it's kind of... I use handcuffs. Okay, well, that's good. I don't think they use quite that idea. But, you know, it's just basically going over, you know, can you stay sexually pure? What sexual purity is? Just kind of going over the whole topic and giving some advice and also give an idea of how the sex drive works and it's all really interesting i'll say the least it's not really backed up by any science but they tell you it

works so you better believe it because yeah science is illegitimate anyway it makes you disbelieve God. Yeah, let's get into it. First of all, sex has different meanings to men and women. Men primarily receive intimacy just before and during intercourse. Women gain intimacy through touching, sharing, hugging, and communicating deeply. Is it any wonder that the frequency of sex is less important to women than to men, as Mark woefully discovered? Because of the differences between men and women, forming a satisfying sex life in marriage is hardly a slam dunk. It's more like making a half-court shot. Which I guess

from that earlier story Fred knows about. See, the difference between men and women is women say you're a terrible lay. Second, your wife may suddenly become much different from the woman you courted. Larry, a strapping, handsome young pastor in Washington, D.C., has a great Christian heritage. His father is a wonderful pastor, and Larry was thrilled when God also called him into the ministry. When Larry met Linda, a striking blonde bombshell, they appeared meant for each other, a regular

canon Barbie set. After their wedding day, however, Larry found Linda to be far more interested in her career than in fulfilling him sexually. Not only was she disinterested in sex, she often used it as a manipulative weapon to get her own way.

Consequently, Larry doesn't have sex very often. Twice a month is a bonanza, and once every two months is a norm. No sexual desire. Third, your wife may not care to help you in your battle. You know, battle against sexual desire.

After a recent speaking engagement regarding every man's battle, I noticed a man remaining in his seat. When everyone else had milled out, he came up to me and said, my wife approached me this week and said, Jim, I have something to tell you, but I don't really know how to bring it up. I'll just say it straight out. I just don't like sex, and I really wish I didn't have to do it anymore. I didn't dance.

I was stunned. I didn't quite know what to say, so I replied, honey, is it something I'm doing wrong, or is there something I can do better? Yes. She said, no, it's not what you're doing. All my friends feel this way. Every one of them. Now, you're probably saying to yourself, yeah, right, but that'll never happen to me. Really? Marveling at Jim's story, I passed it on to one of the pastors as we chatted in his office.

See that chair over there, he asked? That's my counseling chair. Do you know what complaint I hear most often from married men? Can I go now? I'm just not getting sex anymore. It's overwhelming. Marriage won't free you from the coal mine. If you've been impure before

your wedding day, you'd expect it to crop up after the honeymoon. If you're single and watching sensual R-rated movies, wedded bliss won't change this habit. If your eyes lock on passing babes, they'll still roam after you say I do. If you're masturbating

like gangbusters now, you'll find that putting that ring on your finger won't keep your hands off your son. Damn it, I was hooping. You singing notes? No, you don't put it on your finger. Have you ever been channel surfing and seen two Japanese sumo wrestlers going at it inside a small ring?

In a sumo wrestling match, two bloated behemoths dressed in loincloth diapers, gross, grab each other's arms and ram shoulders until one gets knocked out of the ring. Oh, yeah! Well, picture your battle with masturbation as being like a sumo match. You're on one side of the ring, and your your overgrown bloated opponent, known as Mr. Sex Drive, is on the other. So is he saying I'm also very fat? But this is just making me even more horny.

So you mean he's suggesting that you wrestle your penis with your hands? Yes. Get down! Get down! Stop this gaming! No, honey, this isn't what it looks like. I'm just behaving. No, honey, this isn't what it looks like.

I'm wrestling with my sex drive. This is for Jesus. If you knock Mr. Sex Drive out of the ring, you don't have to masturbate. If Mr. Sex Drive knocks you out of the ring, you do have to masturbate. That's part of the rule. That's awesome. He signed up for this. Oh, shucks. I've lost. That's part of the rule. That's awesome. You signed up for this. Oh, shucks. I've lost it. So, Queensbury rules, then.

Oh, darn. Now, here's a metaphor. You're standing just inside the ring, wearing that silly white thong with your arms crossed and your gritted teeth bare. Oh, I'm already masturbating. You snarl at Mr. Sex Drive to leave you alone. Mr. Sex Drive To leave you alone Mr. Sex Drive, bloated by a billion meals

Of lust and fantasy Yawns and looks at his watch Then, appearing quite bored, he waddles over your way Without bothering to lock arms With you in battle He merely swings his huge thonged rear And sends you flying against the wall Where you dutifully sit down and masturbate on the spot

Stop it Stop it, I'm getting hot and sends you flying against the wall where you dutifully sit down and masturbate on the spot. Stop it. Stop it. I'm getting hot. Time and again, you enter the ring and time and again, you fly against the wall. Empty jar after jar of Vaseline. For a while, you keep up your courage by bravely facing up to Mr. Sex Drive again and again, but eventually

your bruised and battered spirit gets angry, and you blame it all on God, spitting under your breath, God put me in this ring with this massive sex drive. If he hadn't given it to me, I wouldn't keep getting knocked out of the ring and have to masturbate. It's his problem, not mine. You wait and wait, but Mr. Sex Drive just keeps standing there, bored as the dickens, waiting for some more lust.

As the dickens, get it? Meanwhile, you climb back into the ring for another flying lesson and then another, and the ache gets deeper as the despair brings tears to your eyes. You decide to leave the arena from time to time to go to church. Your pastor claims it's God's will for you to defeat Mr. Sex Drive. You pray for victory. When church is over, you rise up in courage, march back into the arena,

and declare your victory once more. Standing on your side of the circle, you command Mr. Sex Drive to go in the name of the Lord. Nevertheless, he waddles over and knocks you on your rear. You hope that a hormone drop will shrink him down to size, but that never materializes. You hope to grow in spiritual strength, but that doesn't seem to happen. You'll feel shame before

God, especially after viewing all the empty jars of Vaseline lying around. Finally, you say, I guess it's not God's will that I win the battle. So specific. Not God's will? That's an offense to the character of God. God turns to you and says, get into the

ring. So you obey, but Mr. Sex Drive knocks you clean into the wall again turning to god with pleading eyes you cry see god save me from this monster don't you love me of course i love you says the creator of the universe don't you love me lord you know that i do then starve that sumo you see lying beneath the size and girth of that monstrous Mr. Sex Drive is the genetic makeup of what your sex drive is supposed to look like. Really, Mr. Sex Drive is built like a 5-foot, 3-inch, 110-pound shrimp. So he doesn't have the circumference you think he does. But he's just grown huge because you've been feeding him very well over the years. You served

him six to ten lusty meals a day until he became big and fat as a barn door. I think we've been mixing our metaphors here. Once you decide to starve Mr. Sex Drive, however, his weight and heft will shrink. He'll shed pounds overnight. All you have

to do is stop feeding him the cable, TV, videos, internet, magazines, and fantasy we mentioned earlier. Sure, he won't lose 200 pounds overnight, but Mr. Sex Drive will shed weight rather quickly if you choose not to heap huge helpings of sexy food into his fat face. Then you'll cut Mr. Sex Drive down to size, and once that happens, you'll start winning some of those battles inside the ring. You can do it, but you must act with urgency and choose to be strong and courageous before your peers in your

quest for purity. In the middle of a second it takes to make that choice, the Holy Spirit will start to guide you through your struggle. Wow. That was fucking amazing. And that's all the crap we have for this week. John, what do you think you learned today? Well, from the section I read, nothing I didn't already know, which is, you know, if you say you're Christian and you put out a book, basically anything, people believe anything you say.

But just, you know, seeing the wide range of how people express their desire to be pure and holy in this world is just amazing. And, you know, they're really committed regardless of skill or facts or anything. Just going for that rainbow. or facts or anything. Just going for that rainbow. I guess it's something I already knew, but keeping yourself from sexual temptation really seems to make you very angry all the time. Which, I guess, I mean, it does stand to reason.

Our readers this time have been Isfahan, ACR Coatl, Jack Chick, Squiddy McConwee, and our own John. Boost Reindeer was here to record it, but it turns out that I might be editing it, so my apologies if it does sound like crap because of it. I doubt it. Please visit us on the website.

That's thefpl.us. And until next time, keep yourself chaste and moral, and we'll see you again. Thanks for listening. Bye-bye. No one loves you. No one cares. Your heart slowly turns to dust.

But Jesus is here, and to you he's brought this awesome podcast, The F+. Since life is hard and dot-coms were taken, and your mind is such a confused mess, I'll make it easy and spell it out. T-H-E-F-P-L dot U-S.