You Guys Are Animals

...no sexual attraction to any human, male or female, so I don’t feel the need to date. Also, sharing this information with anyone would probably end in horror, tears, and my needing to move out of state. However, a lifetime without a relationship (two-legged or four-legged) seems unappealing. Here are the options I see: 1. Get a shrink (who I can talk to about this) and a girlfriend or boyfriend (who I can’t talk to about it) and, in terms of the sex, master giving head since my dick won’t want to join the party. 2. Buy a house with a big yard and… well, you know. I don’t care if you print this. I’d just like another opinion. I mean, honestly, who else would answer this anonymously, for free, and I actually have some faith in his judgment? Really Unsure For Future In short… my advice… which is really going to annoy Mike “Man and Animal” Huckabee… is… um… to buy that big house, RUFF, one with a nice, big yard… and do what you gotta do. Inside, please, shades drawn. Bestiality is wrong, wrong, wrong, because an animal cannot give its consent. But… uh… anyone who’s ever actually owned a boy dog knows that most would be only too delighted to… um… well, you know. I assumed and, via e-mail, confirmed that you want to be fucked by dogs, as that’s almost always the case with dudes into dogs. Man-on-dog is a whole lot wronger than dog-on-man, if I may use a certain former senator’s formulation, for reasons of safety for the animal. A zoophile who takes a torn-up girl dog to the vet is going to wind up talking with the police and having to cross a PETA picket line to get back into his house—and it’ll serve him right. For the record, I’m con bestiality. I think fucking dogs is wrong, wrong, wrong. But I had pork and beef and chicken at dinner last night—all 100 percent factory-farmed meat, derived from animals that were cruelly tortured every second of their brief and miserable existence—and my particular strain of Tourette’s syndrome commands me to say this: If I were an animal, I’d much rather be screwed than stewed. We murder animals for their flesh, skins, fur, and just for the fuck of it. Those of us who eat meat; wear fur; run around in leather pants, jackets, shoes, restraints, etc.; and kill animals for sport don’t have much moral authority when it comes time to lecture those of you who wanna smooch the pooch. Finally, RUFF, build a nice, tall fence around that yard, okay? And seeing a shrink probably won’t make you wanna screw humans but, hey, it couldn’t hurt. You helped take out Rick Santorum by naming a sex-related term after him and now the time has come for you to do the same for GOP hopeful Mike Huckabee. He has compared homosexuality to bestiality in an interview, just like Santorum, and more than once. Huckabee says he’s against changing “the definition of marriage so that it can mean two men, two women, a man and three women, a man and a child, a man and animal.” So what do you think, Dan? Isn’t it time for a contest to name a sex act The Huckabee? Dave In Olympia Every time someone says something idiotic in public—myself included—I get letters from readers angrily demanding that Ann Coulter, Stephen Harper, Dick Cheney, myself, et al., get the “santorum treatment” (which sounds almost as disgusting as the substance itself). Honestly, this is the first time I can say that I’ve been tempted. Huckabee remains a long shot for the GOP nomination, DIO, so it’s entirely possible that we’ll be rid of Huckabee in a few weeks’ time. But in case Huckabee is the nominee—you can’t be too careful—send suggested definitions for The Huckabee to huckabee@savagelove.net. On my 21st birthday, my mother got so shitty drunk that she had to buy a pair of pants off a gas-station attendant after she pissed her own. She dropped her giant bag of pot in the limo. We put her to bed and she got up and tried to screw my roommate. Then she fell out of the top bunk of his bed and hurt herself so bad she grabbed her car keys and left. She got a DWI on the way to the hospital where they found out she broke her rib. What does all of this do to my psyche? Please Answer Me Nothing good, PAM. But I can’t imagine that your mother’s behavior on your 21st birthday did more damage to your psyche than your mother seeing her behavior recounted in a nationally syndicated sex-advice column is going to do to hers. So you’re your mother’s daughter after all, PAM. Loads of gay men read your column. This makes you a good person to spread the word about the crazy “flesh-eating” MRSA strain that is running rampant in communities of gay men in Boston and San Francisco. According to the studies reported in the New York Times, gay men in SF are 13 times more likely to have this nasty staph bacteria. Infection results in gross and horrible problems like abscesses and ulcers (usually on the buttocks and genitalia). Maybe you could help inform people and keep them from getting infected with ass-and-genital-flesh-eating bacteria? Keep It Clean Not all gay men listen to me—things wouldn’t look so grim for us on the STI front if more did—but for what it’s worth: Gay men can easily protect themselves from this new strain of MRSA. According to docs, it’s as simple as scrubbing with soap and water after skin-to-skin contact. I wouldn’t, however, describe MRSA as “running rampant.” While gay men are likelier to be infected in the cities studied, we’re talking about a larger share of a very small number of infections. And there have been documented outbreaks in other communities—particularly in the military—in the past. But, hey, washing up is good advice. And here’s some other good advice: Have more sex with fewer people. That was an effective health strategy at the beginning of the AIDS epidemic—guys who took it to heart tended to live—and it would be nice to see today’s gay men adopt/readopt the more-sex/fewer-people strategy before the infectious shit hits the epidemiological fan. Download Savage Lovecast (my weekly podcast) every Tuesday at www.thestranger.com/savage. mail@savagelove.net