Savage Love

I'm a 25-year-old male. I'm a zoophile and always have been. I'm a longtime reader (I'm sure you're thrilled), so I know my interests aren't on your approved list of sexual activities. Not trying to argue that point. However, it's clear what turns my head when I walk down the street and it's never the person holding the leash. I know from your column and many other sources that once your brain is "wired" a certain way, "rewiring" it is unlikely (snowball's chance in hell), so this isn't going to go away. My question is, what do I do?

Currently, I don't date. I was married once, briefly, never had sex, marriage quickly annulled. I currently have no sexual attraction to any human, male or female, so I don't feel the need to date. Also, sharing this information with anyone I attempted to date 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'm assuming that you want to be fucked by dogs, of course, 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, most importantly for reasons of safety for the animal, so I don't smile on man-on-dog. (Actually, I don't smile on the dog-on-man, either—it's more like "grimace, cover eyes, look away," but, hey, that's the reaction I have to cunnilingus.) Take a torn-up girl dog to the vet, RUFF, and you're going to wind up talking with the police and having to cross a PETA picket line to get back into your house—and it'll serve you right.

For the record, I'm con bestiality (and very much pro cunnilingus). 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 most recently came out 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, Antonin Scalia, 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. But 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—hell, he could be out of it before this column gets printed.

But just in case Huckabee is the nominee—hey, you can't be too careful—I'm going to invite my readers to send their 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?

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