Spare a man, fuck a monster
He who makes a beast out of himself gets sloppy toppy
The times they are a-changin'. In the last decade we've seen incest become the dominant porn genre on earth and monster fucking go on to win the Oscar for Best Picture. Yes, the times they are a-changin'… their underwear. Because they wet them. With sexual fluids. This is a sex joke.
Now Emily Gould is writing about monster fucking for The Cut this week and it's gone so far as to land in the hallowed halls of New York Magazine's “One Great Story.” Beyond all other things, I think this article ought to be notable for this all-timer of an adjective clause: “a friend who has a Ph.D. and who also read Morning Glory Milking Farm.” “Monster fucking is not weird and totally normal,” Emily seems to imply, “and don’t take it from me, my friend is into it and she’s not crazy at all, in fact she has a PhD!” Emily. Honey. So did Ted Kaczynski. Hmm… actually, now you’re selling me. Do go on.
Gould has a reputation for being a pathological over-sharer, so obviously she winds up basically admitting that she’s jilled off to the stuff, but I admire her restraint in not wholly opting to dive headfirst into… those clichés. You know what I mean. The audience for monster fucking is largely women1 and so of course we have to talk about monster fucking like it reveals some great and important facet of woman-ness worth taking painfully seriously rather than just another fetish for perverts, which is fine. It’s okay to have a freaky fetish. I want you to imagine for a moment the same contemplation for fart play if the demographic was likewise: “the obsession with women not farting, the myth that they simply don’t, represents all the ways in which our culture thrusts inhuman expectations onto women, so it’s no wonder that women turn to farting in the bedroom, a space where they are free to exercise unwomanly behaviour, a deliberately rebellious act.” You could apply the same logic if you so choose to functionally anything you’d like. It’s plain fucking sophistry and this shit writes itself. What’s worse is that it winds up in no way actually meaningfully engaging with the fetish.
The other cheap cliché would of course be the “appeal to history” move, which I’m so sure is already saturating much of the discourse around this subject to the point that I’m not even going to look for it, I’m just going to assume this to be the case. I’m sure someone is out there right now, invoking the precedent of something like Hokusai’s Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife in order to somehow make the case that this isn’t just weird pervert shit, as if Hokusai wasn’t himself explicitly making weird porn for perverts. On an unrelated note, can someone please buy me this pillow cover of the aforementioned print on a throw pillow?
Well, that's not entirely fair, the other major audience is of course queers, the two open and proud monster fucker friends I have in my life are both gay trans guys, but their demo doesn’t factor into the article at all so in the spirit of the article I guess we can just pretend they don't exist.