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I know it’s been FOREVER since I posted, but honestly, not much worth writing about has happened. Either that, or weird shit has started to seem commonplace to me.

A sad day has arrived: I’ve finished working at the porn shop. I left because I moved back home with my parents for a bit after graduating college, and then in two months, I’ll be starting a new adventure! You can read all about it and keep up with my shenanigans at this website:

Thanks for all the comments and pageviews and laughs while I’ve had this blog up! I really do hope you enjoyed it.

I’ll leave you with one last word of wisdom that I hope you remember, courtesy of Hustler’s creator, Larry Flynt:

Relax…it’s just sex.


SUP, BITCHES? Sorry I’ve been gone for so long. Shit’s been slow at the store, and the crazies have been keeping it down to a dull roar. Lame.

Halloween, however, was pretty fun. It wasn’t horribly busy, but we did get a few people come in to buy dildos for their costumes. I got two Brett Favres, and one couple going as John and Lorena Bobbitt. Remember them? She chopped his dick off while he slept, and then he did porn after. Classy!

I also got a lot of drunk dudes asking if we had any five-dollar porn deals.  No, we do not. If you’re not willing to pay at least twenty bucks for porn, go back to your mom’s basement and use her credit card once your dial-up internet finally connects.

Halfway through the night, a ‘good ol’ boy’ couple walked in. Husband and wife who look like they live in a trailer and yell about “hatin’ the guvmint’ while waving around a shotgun because you drove by and ‘was eyeballin’ my land’. Those types. They walked around looking at stuff for a while, then came up to make their purchases. The husband noticed the gay movie we have sitting on the counter and sparked the following conversation with me while the wife browsed:


Joe Dirt: to his wife, “Heh, I’m surprised Johnny didn’t pick this up yesterday!” to me, “My son, he’s queer as a three-dollar bill. He was in here yesterday, he told us.”

PSG: Awesome, now he’s going to rant about how his son’s an evil sinner. “Oh?”

Joe Dirt: “Yeah, he come home swinging’ that black bag around, all “Pop, look what I got!” One of them bigass dildos, with a suction cup on it. I say to him, “What’s that for, hands-free shower fun?”

PSG: Overshare. Awkward. “Haha, yeah, that’s mostly what those are intended for.”

Joe Dirt: “Yeah, took us awhile to get used to, him being gay. But you know, to each his own, and all that. We love him just the same.”

PSG: Awww! “Wow, he’s lucky to have such open-minded parents!”

Joe Dirt: “Yup, we got over it.” Spots the Viagra knock-offs next to the movie. “Hey! Are these dick pills?”


I was quite pleasantly surprised. That’s what I get for judging a book by it’s cover. It’s nice to have your faith in humanity restored every once in a while…


…until you go to check that the cock cave is empty for the night, and find a Subway sandwich wrapper with dirty napkins and condom wrappers on it.  “Eat fresh”, my ass.

…a friend, family member, significant other, or acquaintance you can’t help embarrass the shit out of, simply for the sheer joy of it.

Me, I’m the one that misses things flat in front of my face. I’ll grab a freezie pop, hunt for scissors for ten minutes, give up, and mangle it open with my teeth. My one of my best friends/former roommate Adri would wait until I caveman’d that shit open before picking the scissors up from the coffee table in front of me and wordlessly raise an eyebrow.

Then there’s things like puddles. My freshman year of college, I was running late for class on a torrential-downpour of a rainy day. I was darting across my usual route, not quite paying attention, when a large pool of water appeared at the sidewalk. I stopped for a second, shrugged, and charged through it, thinking it was only two inches deep. My legs ended up soaked to my knees. I came home, told Adri about the story and she shook her head at me. When we went out walking later, she stopped short.

Adri: “Don’t you dare tell me THAT was the puddle.”

PSG: “Ummmmm. That wasn’t the puddle, not at all…”


To this day, she and the rest of my friends make fun of me. When it so much as sprinkles out, they dramatically throw an arm in front of me and shout “LOOK OUT, PSG! IT’S A PUDDLE!”  They’re all dicks and I hate them.


So I’m working tonight, and it’s slow as hell.  A couple walks in, scruffy dude in his mid thirties, unamused woman in her mid-late forties. They walk around the store, I offer them help, and they decline.

Scruffy: “Nah, I’m just gonna see how long it takes to embarrass her so bad she makes me sleep on the couch.”

I laugh and continue about my work, listening as Scruffy makes comments to Unamused.

On the Clone-a-Willy Kit: “Hey, want a copy of my boner? It vibrates! I don’t vibrate. But imagine if I did! *shakes his hips* You could have my vibrating dick!”

On porn: “Baby, can we get a movie?”

Unamused: “No. I could make that crap at home before I’d buy it.”

Scruffy, excitedly, “WE CAN MAKE A DIRTY MOVIE?! We can put the camera on the dresser, and it’ll be all sexy and shit!”

Unamused: “NO. I meant it would be cheaper, not that we’re doing it. I’m not recording myself having sex for you. What if you lose it and it gets on the internet?”

Scruffy, pouting, “Awww, come on! I bet SHE’S made a dirty movie! *points in my direction and turns to look at me* Come on, YOU’VE made a dirty movie before, haven’t you?”

PSG: “Nope. But you don’t necessarily have to put your face in it, just angle the camera towards your body instead.”


Unamused, now slightly amused at his pouting: “NO. Shut up, dork.”

They  make their way towards the counter and continue browsing. Unamused finds a little mini-book of shots with dirty names, sniggers a little, and starts reading the names out loud, with commentary from Scruffy:

Unamused: “White Mess, ew!”


Unamused: “Slippery Nipples, haha.”

Scruffy: “I love nipples in my mouth. Oops. I meant Slippery Nipples. MY BAD.”

Unamused: “Screamer?”

Scruffy: “Hey, I’ve got one of those!” *looks pointedly at Unamused*

It takes approximately one second for Scruffy to look over at me and waggle his eyebrows before the two of us start snorting with held-back laughter.

It takes approximately three seconds for Unamused to register what he said, turn beet red, and run out the door, quickly followed by Scruffy whooping with laughter and yelling “HA! I WIN!”

Everybody’s got one.

The Bouncer is easily described in two words: fuckin’ badass. He’s seriously so badass that when I Google’d “huge white security dude”, I got pictures of shark and a dinosaur. Clearly, this means The Bouncer was born when a shark and a dinosaur mated, and he was their glorious and terrifying offspring.

The Bouncer's mom.

The Bouncer's dad.

In reality, he kinda looks like that rapper Fat Joe, except about 150 pounds heavier, white, and doesn’t have a douchey mustache or grill.

Fat Joe does not buy porn at my store. Though that'd be pretty badass.

I’ve mentioned him before- he’s the one who, since he generally comes in towards the end of the night- we ask to stick around after close if someone’s a-creepin’. He sits out menacingly in his truck until they leave, and then gives us a merry wave as he drives off.

The Bouncer is called such because he is one deadly dude. He’s a black belt in several different forms of martial arts, and created and taught a new form. I don’t remember what it’s called, but he and a buddy got it legitimized and had their own dojo.  He was a real bouncer for a strip club nearby, and he didn’t politely ask dudes to leave- he’s the type to pick you up by the scruff of your neck and toss you out on your ass with a swift kick to the ribs for good measure. He is the Chuck Norris of the porn store, except for he doesn’t sell exercise machines with Christie Brinkley on late night tv. And he’s not a crazy Bible thumper.

On angry drunks busting up the strip club: “Back when the strip club opened, dudes would constantly be getting pissed off about shit and go punch up the drywall in the bathrooms. Me and the owner, we got sick of it. We decided to strip the walls down to the concrete and just put wallpaper over it. Many drunks with broken hands later, no more wall-punching!”

On handling dickbags who try to test him: “Every once in a while, we got a dude who was being a doucher, but not quite douchery enough for me to kick him out. That’s when I’d go get the most dominatrixy stripper we had, cos there’s always at least one. I’d point him out to her and ask her to take care of him, and she’d giggle maniacally and prance onstage when her song came on. She’d drag the dude up on stage, use his belt for a leash and lead him around on his hands and knees, then WHIP him with his own belt, and yank his underwear clean out of his pants with her bare hands. Seriously- she would hand him HIS OWN BOXERS. I saw a dude cry once. You don’t wanna fuck around with the scary stripper!”

On working in a mall’s pet store/why he hates kids: “We sold these CRAZY-EXPENSIVE cats, like 700 bucks a pop. They look like Garfield cats, I don’t know what the fuck they’re called. Squishy faces and you want to feed them lasagna. Anyway, we had a policy against kids under 18 coming in without parents, because kids are little shits and I hate them all. It was real early on a Saturday, and this 10 year old walks in. I figure, it’s still slow, so I’ll let it ride as long as he’s quiet, since I can keep an eye on him. He breaks three fucking rules in 30 seconds! He walks in, makes a beeline to the Garfield cage. Opens it up- strike one. PICKS UP A CAT- strike two. PROCEEDS TO SHAKE THE CAT AND DROP IT THREE FEET INTO THE CAGE. Hell. fucking. no. I come up behind him and just flat-out ROAR at him, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? GO GET YOUR MOTHER AND BRING HER BACK HERE. RIGHT FUCKING NOW.” He nearly shits his pants running out the door. Half hour later, he and his ma walk in. He’s being a perfect fuckin’ angel now, and his ma just looks at me and says hello, which makes me realize- the little bastard didn’t tell her! He just told her he wanted her to come to the store! So I decide to mess with his head. I ask real nice if they need any help, and he gives me this white-faced, wide-eyed look of terror from behind his mom’s back, and she’s all cheery and just looking. He keeps glancing back at me, willing me silently to not tell on him, when I can’t keep myself back. I wait until his mom’s back is turned, then I make the universal “you’re dead meat” motion: glare at him, bare my teeth, and make a throat-slitting motion. He started screaming and crying that he wanted to leave. *The Bouncer cracks up laughing* I got fired three hours later for it, but it was TOTALLY WORTH IT! Little fuckin’ bastard.”

See? Badass.

There’ll be more from The Bouncer in the future- I’ve got more of his stories tucked away for a rainy day.

If you’ve never heard of Shit My Dad Says, you are missing out. Head to and educate yourself, then come back here.

They’re making a TV show out of it, which could very easily suck, but I’m excited to see it because William Shatner is playing the dad, and that’s why it’s going to be fantastic.


There will now be a new segment here on Lube with That: Shit My Regulars Say! These will be gems from my non-creepy, mostly-sane regulars that I genuinely like having around.

Today’s episode features Lube Cabbie!

Lube Cabbie is a skinny dude in his late 60s that looks like he used to be a biker, bandana on his head, denim jacket over a classic rock t-shirt, scraggly graying beard.  He kinda looks like Willie Nelson if Willie listened to Ozzy and smoked even more pot than he does now.

No, Willie Nelson does not buy lube at my store.

He drives for a local cab company, and he comes in bi-weekly to buy a bottle of lube. How he and his wife go through a FULL bottle every other week, I’m kind of afraid to ask. LC is also damn lucky- he’s won the scratch off lotto twice in the past six months, for about a thousand dollars total.  If our porn shop is a little family, then LC would be grandpa’s wildcard younger brother who huffed too much glue in the 70s and buys you a case of Old Milwaukee for your 17th birthday.

On one-way streets: “My name’s [Lube Cabbie], but my customers call me WrongWay. All these fuckin’ one-way streets around here piss me off! So if it’s later at night, I come up on one of them damn one-ways, and I don’t see no cops, I turn around and say “Hey! How you feel about getting to your destination faster?” Then I book our asses down the wrong way so I can cut through! I ain’t been caught yet! Fuckers.”

On buying his wife a ticket for a cruise with her sister as an anniversary gift: “The wife, she’s all “Oh, honey, I have to get you a gift for our anniversary!”, but I tell her, “You already got me one!” She doesn’t understand, but then I explained it all to her real nice. “You know how you’re gonna leave for that cruise? That’s my present!” *LC cackles merrily and slaps the counter* “Yeeeeeeeep, that pissed her off.”

On his wife calling him every day on aforementioned cruise: “How the hell was I supposed to know she’d cry? If you call me every damn day when you’re supposed to be on vacation, when you ask “Do you miss me?” of COURSE I’m gonna say no! How the hell am I supposed to miss you if you don’t GO AWAY?”

For as much as he rags on his wife, though, he’s really a sweetheart. Regarding his most  recent lotto win:

PSG: “Shit, dude, I should have you buy me lotto tickets!”

LC: “Right? I’m takin’ the wife to her first concert, we’re gonna go see ZZ Top. She loves them, and she’s never been to a big show like that. We’re gonna go out to a nice dinner before, too.”

PSG: “Aww, that’s nice. *hands him his lube* You’re all set, man. Have a good anniversary and don’t forget, if you win the lotto again,  you gotta come hook up your favorite porn shop worker!”

LC: “Thanks, and hell yeah I will! Next time you’re out boozin’ with the other kids around here, call [my cab company] and ask for me, I’ll pick you up if you bring me a brew for the ride!”

A college-aged lesbian couple, a May-December gay couple, and a transvestite were all in the store.

At first, I didn’t realize the girls were a couple.  I thought they were two girls from the nearby university that just went back in session, here to steal shit as a sorority prank or shriek at their own daring when they pick up a dildo.  I kept an eye on them for a few minutes, making sure they weren’t causing trouble. They were talking quietly, walking around nervously looking at stuff, when one of them gave the other a quick kiss on the cheek. They smiled at each other and held hands and browsed for a bit longer before leaving, with a quick wave goodbye to me as they walked out.

The gay couple consisted of a man in his late thirties and another in his early twenties. Generally that large of an age gap is a sign of either prostitution or desperation, more signs to keep an eye on. The two were completely at ease with each other and the store, talking and laughing and browsing. When they brought their purchases to the counter we had a pleasant conversation about the weather and traffic from the college, and they cheerfully wished me a good night as they left.

The transvestite was not a hot mess diva like Mr Ma’am, but an older male looking very put together in a modest blouse, khaki skirt, and a silver-gray wig. Like the young lesbian couple, she and I didn’t actually talk at all. She gave me a terrified look when she walked in, as if I’d kick her out immediately, and she relaxed when all I did was say “Hello”. She walked around idly looking at movies for a while, flipping through a few magazines, all very cautiously, like she would be attacked at any moment. When she left, she smiled and said goodnight.

A lesbian couple, a gay couple, a transvestite, and me, one straight female comfortable in her birth gender and sexuality. We all spent a half hour in the same space, breathing the same air, and…nothing happened.

Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened during that hour of my shift.

And yet, when others see a lone gay movie on display at the front counter, they frown at it like they’ve been wronged. Like they, personally, have been negatively affected by that movie.  They tell me I shouldn’t have it on display at the counter where everyone can see it, because “it’s wrong,” “it’s not right,” “it’s disgusting.” The bolder ones actually pick up the movie and turn it around in the display so they don’t have to see the front, hiding it from everyone’s view.

People who are different are not going to hide because you’re uncomfortable with it.

People who are different are not wrong, or “not right”, or disgusting.

People who are different are just as normal and ordinary as everyone else.

The rest of the world needs to realize that and get used to it.

***EDIT- One of my readers, the ever-lovely Charley across the pond at SpeakSlow just did a post about Manchester’s Pride Parade, and wrote a bit about LGBT issues at the end.  She’s super adorbs and wise beyond her years. Plus I imagine she has a real bitchin’ accent.  As a heterosexual, I can’t possibly even comprehend what this amazing gal must go through some days,  nor could I write about it. Go read what she feels and get a better idea of the world around you. Plus, Sir Ian McKellan in a rainbow feather boa- BEST THING EVER. Here’s the link:

Creepy looking dude: “Hi, I need a lube that won’t burn if it gets in my eyes.”


If your face is so far in somebody’s junk that you are literally rubbing your eyeballs in lube, YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR.

Three words for you. The most terrifying combination of words I’ve had to use in this blog so far:

Crossdressing trucker’s escort.


The Bouncer, my friend Momo, and Momo’s brother were all in the store. The Bouncer was returning some movies and browsing for more, and he always ends up staying for like a half hour longer, minimum, to just hang out. He is one of the few customers I don’t mind doing this, as he’s one of the sane and one of my favorites, much like Latin Queen. Momo and MomoBro, I’ve known for probably just short of a decade, and they were in town for some reason or another and stopped by to visit. Momo’s met The Bouncer several times before, as she lived with me for about a month and used to visit often.

So it’s about 10:30, and they’re all hanging around the front desk as I’m going about my work. I see someone approaching the front door and, seeing my eyes widen in terror, the others all glance over and look equally terrified.  In walks a skinny man in his fifties. In a tank top and waaaaay too short miniskirt. With a really bad wig and poorly applied makeup. Oh dear god.

Now, let me make it clear- whatever your gender/sex preference is, as long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual, that’s a-okay by me. If you’re a Hell’s Angel and wearing lacy women’s underpants is what tickles your pickle, go for it.  but in this case? This is what we’re looking at here:

oh dear god

Looks like Victoria's having a little trouble keeping her secrets.

I don’t care what your sexual preferences are. If you’re transgender, genderqueer, or a third gender, high five! Seriously, one of my favorite things in the world is people who are comfortable enough to publicly define and be proud of their sexuality.  But if you look like you did your makeup in the dark and your wig looks like you shaved a small dog and taped it to your head, I reserve the right to laugh my ass off at you. Especially if you act like Mr Ma’am here.

So Mr Ma’am flounces in, shortly followed by Trucker Dude. Trucker Dude heads up to the counter while Mr Ma’am sashays immediately into the arcade. Big no-no here. Store policy is that you need to buy tokens before you head back. I immediately lean over the counter and say loudly, “Excuse me! You need to come out and buy tokens before going back.” I hear silence. Oh hell no, bitch, I KNOW you heard me.

I walk over to the doorway and say it again louder. Still nothing. I brace myself, hold my breath and step in to the back room. “EXCUSE ME. THE LAST PERSON WHO WALKED IN HERE, YOU NEED TO COME OUT AND BUY TOKENS.” Mr Ma’am peers out from a booth, all “Who, me?” , heaves a big sigh and follows me out. Then the following exchange happens:

PSG: “Thanks. As the sign says on the front desk, you have to buy the minimum tokens before you go in the back.”

Mr Ma’am: accompanied with a hair flip and a flourish, “OBVIOUSLY you’re new here-” Oh hell no. Don’t you even try to pull that shit. “-because this trucker here is going to buy my tokens for me.”

I look over at Trucker Dude with eyebrows raised, as it didn’t appear they were together when they walked in. He nods and hands me six dollars.

PSG: “That’s fine, but regardless, you need to have purchased tokens in your hand before you go back. Store policy.”

Mr Ma’am rolls her eyes and sashays back again, Trucker Dude in tow and tokens in hand. The Bouncer, Momo, and MomoBro are all sitting there stunned. The Bouncer, since he’s seen a lot of stuff like this before, recovers first with probably the best summary: “Welp, just another night at the circus, I guess.”

Fifteen minutes later, Mr Ma’am and Trucker Dude walk out and start wandering the store. While Trucker Dude peruses the magazines, Mr Ma’am grabs a bottle of warming lube and heads up to the counter.

Mr Ma’am: cheerfully now that she’s clearly gotten her rocks off, “So what’s your pretty lil’ redhead name?”

PSG: Fantastic. “It’s pornshopgirl. What’s yours?”

Mr Ma’am: “Well hello! I just love that song!” My real name is one of those that’s featured in a popular song from back in the day. She started singing. Badly. “I’m Jack, but when I’m dressed like this I go by Jill. Here, I’ll let you see what I look like!” Begins to take off wig.

PSG: That’s really not necessa- okay, that’s terrifying. This isn’t awkward, not at all. “Ah, thanks?”

Mr Ma’am: resettles wig, perches head on hand like we’re BFFs at a slumber party. “So when did you start working here? I’ve never seen you. I normally come in during the day when Neoboss is here, though.”

PSG: “I’ve been here a couple months.”

Mr Ma’am: “That’s nice! Say, do you know anybody named Lauren that comes here?”

PSG: “Nope, sorry.”

Mr Ma’am: “Darn! I’ve got an ad in a back of the men’s magazines here-” Gag. Did not need to know that. “-and somebody named Lauren keeps calling and saying she saw my ad here. Oh well. When my truckers are in town, I like to bring them by here since it’s so nice.” Turns to Trucker Dude. “Isn’t it nice, sweetie?”

Trucker Dude: Nods and goes back to his magazine. Apparently Trucker Dude doesn’t like to talk.

Mr Ma’am: “Well, we better get going! Nice meeting you honey, see you soon!”

And she flounces out the door again, Trucker Dude following.

Welp. Just another day at the circus, I guess.

Late Friday night, an old dude walks in. Big guy, suspenders, pushing 60. He walks over to the DVDs and pokes around for a half hour or so when I heard a loud BANG. Next thing I know, he’s standing front of me with his hand covered in blood.

Edward Bloodyhands: “Sorry, I bumped into your DVD rack over there. Do you have a bandaid?”

PSG: HOLY FUCK HOW DOES HE HAVE MORE THAN A STUMP WITH ALL THAT BLOOD “Yup, here ya go. Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”

Eddie BH: cheerfully, “Nope! I’m on blood thinners, it looks a lot worse than it is.”

PSG: Awesome, so you’re just gonna shrivel up and die here. Great. “Okay. Let me unlock the bathroom for you so you can clean up.”

Eddie BH: taking out a handkerchief, “Oh, no thanks, I’m fine. This’ll do.”

PSG: Don’t you walk around my store with bloody hands, old man. “Are you sure? That’s an awful lot of blood…”

Eddie BH: walking away. with bloody hands. motherfucker. “No. I’m fine.”

He walks off, and as I watch from the counter, he shoves the bloody handkerchief in his pocket. His hand, though bandaged, is still covered in blood. He proceeds to PICK UP A MOVIE. WITH HIS BLOODY HAND.

Eddie BH: “Can I preview this, please?” Sets the now blood-spotted DVD case on the counter.

PSG: Oh god so much blood oh god “Okay, you NEED to go wash your hands off, I CAN. NOT. have you walking around my store touching stuff with blood on your hands.”

Eddie BH: Looks at me bemusedly, “But it’s dry. It’s fine!”

PSG: You cut yourself A MINUTE AGO. It can’t already be dry. Plus dry blood still has the AIDS in it. “I don’t care. Wash your hands, or leave.”

Eddie BH: Sighs heavily, “Fiiine.”

I walk him to the bathroom and unlock it for him, then head back to the counter and start scrubbin’ that shit like Aladdin rubbing the lamp. Only this lamp is covered in some old dude’s blood, and rather than excitedly waiting for my wishes, I’m trying not to vom.

I’ve usually got a pretty strong stomach. If someone I know is bleeding, I can help them get the sink or hospital and be fine. I watched the scene in Zombie Strippers! where a dude gets his dick chomped off and I laughed merrily (oh, how I laughed. Fuckin’ love that movie.) It’s the fact that I don’t KNOW this dude and he’s tromping around the store putting his possible diseases on my shit. There are at least three patrons I know of who are at least HIV-positive. Since they all hook up with clean people regularly, I have NO idea how many of our customers might have it. We go through hand sanitizer like a motherfuck at that store.

So I’m frantically scrubbing harder than Monk on this counter when Edward Bloodyhands walks out, with hands still wet, dripping water everywhere.  He sees me scrubbing this mother down and honest to god GLARES at me. Oh HELLLLL nah. Don’t you be givin’ me the eye because YOU bled all over the damn place. I am NOT going to let some 28 Days Later shit happen up in here.

PSG: “Thanks. That’ll be six bucks even.”

Eddie BH: Hands me the money, then shoves his hand near my face. Snidely, “All clean, see?”

Whatever, dude. Go pull your pud with your bloody herp hands.  We’ll douse your booth with bleach and set it on fire after you leave.

You probably think that the reason I get a bunch of creepers is because I work mostly nights. You silly, silly goose. You are sorely mistaken.

I work 4 shifts a week, and three of them are night. Lately, I’ve been exclusively at night while I was taking a few summer courses. Now that they’re finished, I picked up my one midday shift again, from 1p-5p. I can confidently say that the creepers are just as prevalent in the daytime as they are at night.

Take yesterday, for instance. Just after Neoboss left for the day, around 2, a older dude walks in. Heavyset, suspenders, big mustache, the whole nine yards, probably between 55-60. He had a plastic bag with some groceries in it (a usual occurrence, since we’re right next door to a grocery store) and left it up near the counter while he browsed through magazines. He would flip through a couple pages, glance at me, then read a few more pages, then another glance, and continued on in this manner for a good fifteen minutes. This isn’t uncommon; lots of dudes check to see if I’m watching them or something, since they all think I’m judging them for perusing this month’s issue of Beaver Hunt. Most of the time, I’m not, and I leave them be while they read to do my own thing.

Older Dude finishes browsing, comes up to collect his grocery bag, and the following happens:

Older Dude: glancing between my boobs and face. “You wouldn’t happen to be in any of these here magazines, now, would ya?”

PSG: Hey guy, the face is up here. “Nope.”

Older Dude, now leering: “Well, that’s a durn shame.”

As he walked out, I realized all that glancing was probably him filing me away in his Spank Bank. BRB, VOMITING.

Take now one customer I call Twitchy MacGoogle. He’s real pale with that flat, no-color hair, and super twitchy. Twitch walks in for the first time one afternoon, twitching merrily away and looking through the porn. He comes up and asks about sex video games. This also is not uncommon; there used to be a pretty popular sex video game, similar in operation to The Sims. Only sexy, apparently. We don’t carry it, but we do have a handful of people who ask about it.

Twitchy MacGoogle: “Do you have, um, sex games? You know, for Playstation?”

PSG: “Nope, sorry, just videos. You could try looking on the internet, though.”

Twitchy MacGoogle: “What about, um, for the computer? Any computer games?”

PSG: Dude, I just said, only videos. Way to use  your ears. “No sir, I’m sorry, we don’t carry video games of any kind. You’d probably have to look online for that sort of thing.”

Twitchy MacGoogle: “Oh. *long pause while he twitches away and processes this* Well, um, what website can I order those from?”

PSG: “I’m not really sure. Try Googling it, that would be your best bet.”

Twitchy MacGoogle: “Try what? What website?”

PSG: I talk kinda fast and sometimes stumble over my words, so I repeat myself clearly. “You know, Google. Try searching on there for sex games.”

Twitchy MacGoogle: Slowly and twitchily, like the word is foreign to him. “Goo… What’s that?”

PSG: ….What. “ The search engine?”

Twitchy MacGoogle: Blinks and twitches. No response.

PSG: You have GOT to be kidding me. “It’s a search website.  You go to and type in what you’re looking for, and it’ll find pages that are about that subject.”

Twitchy MacGoogle: “Wow, that’s awesome! Can you write that down for me so I remember it?”

He then proceeded to study that slip of paper as intently as a surgeon performing a brain transplant. Then he walked around in circles, talking to himself for ten minutes. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but every once in a while he’d look at the paper again, trying to memorize along with his ramblings.

First world porn problems. They exist.