Written in 2007.

My friend Darla used to be a bad-ass animal rights activist. She’s still vegetarian, but since hangin’ out with some trendy graphic design lezzies, she now wears a blubberload of leather. And though she’ll mumble a couple explanations as to why this is should I guilt-trip her, her main reasoning goes: “It’s just that leather is so SEXY.” I guess sexiness is a matter of taste, but I need to remind y’all that during nazi Germany, a lot of folks thought “Jew skin lampshades” were pretty exotic, too.

Personally, when it comes to skin and my rockin’ sex life, I prefer the flesh involved to be alive rather than dead. I want that hot, sweaty, skin-on-skin action. I don’t wanna introduce a corpse into the equation.

These days, within a Gay Pride parade, you can find a sub-group of carcass-wearing men and women who stand behind a banner reading “Leather Pride.” Now, Gay Pride makes sense to me, cuz it’s about who you are… but what role did you play in the making of your leatherwares for which you could possibly claim pride? You didn’t hunt down and kill a buffalo, tan its hide, and cut yourself that leather jockstrap – you just whipped out a credit card and bought it. Are you just “proud” that you can afford a six hundred dollar jacket? Then take your ass over to “Rich Pride” or something, hang out with David Geffen. He’s Jewish, though, so don’t try to interest him in your lamp.

Now, if somebody had made an item of clothing tanned from your skin, I could see you taking some leather pride in that. “See that leather Jerry’s sportin’? It’s nice, right? Yeah – it’s me. It’s why I don’t have a back no more. That jockstrap is made outta ME!

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