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In This Issue

• Kicking Your Hamster in its Teeth
• X-treme Zoos Target Market
• Resurrecting the Chili Cheese Burrito
• Sonic in Bad Shape
• Journey into the Land of the Leopards
• Finding Boys Into Whom to Put Love
• Lions and Tigers and Bears, Go Buy!
• Murder Spree Continues
• Art With Dead Mice
• Puppy Love, the Wrong Way
• 19th Century Nursery Rhyme!
• Tender Moments with Bill and Reona
• Bibu the Baby Elephant
• Rob's Relationship Corner
• Marauding Interviewer: What's Your Spirit Animal?
• THEY WATCH
• Letters to the Feditor
• Thyroid Boy
• Interspecies Intellectual Masturbation
• Stickman Theatre

Stephanie Quan

While stretching Google's legs the other day, I came across the website for NAMBLA. To the uninitiated, that's the North American Man-Boy Love Association. This is our continent's leading advocacy group for sexually adventurous young boys and the men who love them. An intriguing concept, to be sure, but what does it mean exactly? If I love little boys, why do I need an advocacy group? Where does NAMBLA fit in? As far as I could tell, NAMBLA fits in by making sure that men know where to fit into their boys.

A few minutes spent perusing the group's Internet home turns up some interesting information. They're good enough to adorn their homepage with an "Entrapment Alert," giving tips about how to figure out whether or not the guy you're buying kiddy porn from is a cop. Oh, and they put the term "kiddy porn" in quotes when they mention it, because if it's somehow wrong for a man to view sweaty copulation between a hairy IT specialist and his half-willing nephew, then this Bush Administration has really gone too far. It's a slippery slope, and next thing you know it'll be illegal to get an erection while watching Sesame Street. Speaking of which, NAMBLA tells us all about simple, easy-to-see evidence of man-boy love in children's entertainment.

In an article entitled "Is Harry Potter Gay?" the author, Emu Nugent, opines, "Of course Harry is gay. He grew up in a closet under the stairs; only allowed out to be useful around the house, and certainly never when visitors came...At school Harry learns to fly, and meets the lovely red-headed Ron Weasley; fairy-boy and tight companion. Harry seems doomed to court the clever if manipulative Hermione, but don't be fooled, his true love is for Ron." The article's message? Women use their cleverness to destroy you, and what you really need is an impressionable, red-pubed boy-tart.

Like any respectable organization, NAMBLA doesn't have a corporate headquarters, instead maintaining a P.O. box in San Francisco. Not content to remain so distant from the object of my studies, I decided that I should somehow infiltrate NAMBLA. Perhaps I could attend a meeting, talk to some members, you know, standard little-boy-nabbing procedure. After a couple inquisitive e-mails and an under-the-table bribe with tickets to Finding Nemo on Ice, the group's president, Kurt (all names have been changed to make them sound more pedophilic), invited me to a group meeting.

On the way to the meeting, scheduled for 1 o'clock in comptroller Alvin's basement, I started getting nervous. At nineteen, would I be admitted as a man or a boy? I guessed (correctly, it turned out) that I'd be let in as a man, because believe it or not, the group doesn't have any boy members. It makes sense when you consider that most twelve-year-olds aren't dying to join a club whose mission is to find men four times their age to pound their anus twice a week.

I walked in eager to see what awaited me. My excitement wasn't borne of my burning desire for a nubile, thirteen-year-old sex slave, but rather out of a simple curiosity regarding the course of your typical NAMBLA tete-a-tete. Most organizations probably have a lot of dissent and debate over their direction at meetings. My guess was that a NAMBLA meeting is two hours on a Tuesday evening of forty-something men standing around with cocktail glasses going, "You like having sex with young boys? Get out, so do I! [Long pause]. Listen, do you know where I can find a young boy to have sex with?"

My guess was right on. As I strode through the doors, I felt a dozen eyes pierce my physicality to gaze long and hard at my soul. By "physicality," of course, I mean layers of clothing, and by "soul" I mean penis. The flurry of attention quickly dissipated as my modicum of facial hair became apparent, shattering the fantasy that kept these men coming here week after week, hoping against hope that finally, at long last, a marginally pubescent boy would walk through the doors and declare open season on his ass. Mingling for a while, I exchanged tips on how to make a genital fondling seem inadvertent and hot trends in children's underwear themes. Around 4, I left with the newfound knowledge that kids who wear Batman won't let you get away with anything. Find a Spongebob-wearer though, and after an hour all the bona fide pederast will need is something absorbent and yellow and porous to clean up with.

NAMBLA wanted me to make it clear that life as a pedophile is no cakewalk. Constantly evading law enforcement, finding ever more obscure hard drive folders in which to bury snuff videos, and testing the newest candies for bait efficacy can take a toll on a man. That is why NAMBLA provides counseling services, as well as a prison support network to help its members on the inside deal with learning to like their own medicine. To this end, the group has just announced the formation of a splinter faction, the North American Giant Rapacious Lifer/His-Waifish-NAMBLA-Member-Bitch Love Association. Hopefully they'll admit me as a rapacious lifer.