Performing in the local Slam competition has become an annual rite (WCDR). The format seems suited to my satiric leanings. I salute this year’s winner, Anne MacLachlan. Here she is performing her piece. For some reason, there were three of the eight finalist that included confessions in our entries. Competition was tough – everyone presented great Slam pieces.
Here is my entry:
We are in danger.
Danger of extinction by political correctness.
All fine concepts.
But bending over backwards,
contorting into twisted positions,
trying to verbalize and policize
how to be a decent human being.
We’ve gone too far.
Consider: consenting adults.
I have a confession to make.
I have participated in an act that requires consent, without said consent.
Mine or the object of my affections.
How? Alcohol was involved.
Those under the influence may not be capable of giving consent.
We might have been the tiniest bit tipsy,
not in possession of our full suite of inhibitions,
that would lead us
to ponder, consider, debate and speculate,
at great length, and with consultation,
the relative merits of engaging in a hot, carnal grinding of flesh and pressing together of bodies in a ecstatic abandon.
That’s not something you want to do without thinking it, soberly, first.
No means no
But we should take responsibility for yes meaning yes.
Maybe there should be a form to sign:
I [insert name here]
consent to have coitus, with [full legal name, photo and SIN], for a period of blank hours/minutes.
Activities will include: check any that apply:
Those are the only options,
because to list any others might objectify the participants.
Wouldn’t want to suggests the participants were objects of sexual desire.
They couldn’t have nicely rounded breasts, firm, muscular legs or a finely curved butt, never mind great throbbing, err, other anatomical features.
If we aren’t careful, the birthrate could decline to zero,
because we’re managed to outlaw making love.
Why? because we want to love each other.
Let’s love our differences.
Talk about our differences in whatever words we know.
Celebrate (responsibly) that words mean different things to different people.
And good things are sloppy, sweaty and awkward sometimes.
But intercourse with others is fun, if we let it be.