Well, uh, High Times called me and said they were dedicating this issue to sex or some such and that I should write some such. Since sex is one of the main activities people get high for, and since I have been asked “How does it feel to be a sex symbol?” about a thousand million times in the last six months, it all seems very natural, and after all nature is gonna win no matter what all you suckers do.
Sex sells more magazines, books, movies, records,etc., than anything else. Only violence runs a close second, with flying saucers and drugs tied for third. I wish I had invented sex.
“So tell us how it feels to be a sex symbol, Debbie.”
“Well Johnny… uh, why don’t you go fuck yourself with a double water-spurting, pulsating, rubber, motorized, body-temperature dildo—then and only then will you know the truth, the answer you have sought.”
The real truth is that I learned about sex at the zoo. As a cute but clumsy four year old, I was taken to the Central Park Zoo by my mom. We stood peacefully watching the bears while they sat and scratched themselves, when out of the blue came superjerk in his weather-beat-in raincoat (à la Columbo) flashing his worn-out privates. My mom was pissed off. I couldn’t have cared less, except he seemed to have three of ’em and I couldn’t get much of an explanation from my mom.
Years later I discovered that the male of the species is equipped with nuts and that these in fact were what I had mistaken for two extra wangs.
My only sex-related problem is the unexpected biological urge at the most inappropriate time, e.g., lines at the supermarket or crowded buses …
Author: High Times / High Times