RIP XXX WASPS

As I'm sure you know, the lightly pornographic Abercrombie & Fitch quarterly catalog is no more. Can't say I've ever seen one in the flesh, as I like to buy my overpriced racially-charged ugly lifestyle shit at FUBU, but I do sense the loss. After all, naked white girls don't just grow on trees in this culture.

I remember as a child of 15 with no older siblings or cable to supply me with filth, catalogs you could masturbate to were, literally, not very easy to come by. I often had nothing to get through a long winter's night with other than an Orvis catalog and a warmed can of frosting. Orvis. Even when you're 15 and nothing but a throbbing erection with toes, Orvis is a very hard ride. The few women it does offer in between the monogramed dog beds and obviously gay airline piloty guys in khakis tend to look something like a Norman Rockwell painting of a PTA meeting taking place in Martha Stewart's barn. Reading The Crucible. Durring a depression. In Vermont.
Sex is definitely not what Orvis is selling. Orvis gals grimace like the female half of the American Gothic painting, a joyless, tight-lipped rictus that screams not so much "fuck me" as "whoever left the Ben Gay where I normally find the Vagisil is fucking dead after the photoshoot."
Or, imagine trying to fuck Lura Bush.
Right. Not exactly Hustler.
Still, it's what there was, and I made the most of it. I'd play "Master and Servant", or, the Ovris-enabled version, "Suburban 15 Year Old And The Sexualy Repressed Goon Squad Of The PMRC."
"I've been a baaad free minded teenager!" I would moan. "I've been listening to filthy heavy metal and you're here to deal with me, aren't you, stern woman."
"Yes" they would sternly reply in my fevered 15 year old brain, " We're going to do it missionary style twice a month for the next 40 years of your life in a tight, unforgiving wedlock."
"You're evil!" I'd gasp. "Give it to me L.L Bean style! Unbutton only the uppermost button on that shapeless tattersall man-blouse lumberjack-looking thing you can either sleep in or wear to the mall! Uh! God, I love that half inch of collarbone!"
"Hurry up and finish, we've got Mark Twain books to protest in the morning, worm."

As far as A&F goes, I myself am okay with the catalog's departure, since I'm cool for wank material as long as they don't change the Mrs. Butterworth's bottle.
Well... they could make the opening a little wider, but I don't want to sound like I'm bragging.