Dong is back, with musings inspired by the disappearance of the “lightly pornographic Abercrombie & Fitch quarterly catalog”:
I remember as a child of 15 with no older siblings or cable to supply me with filth, catalogs you could masturbate to were, literally, not very easy to come by. I often had nothing to get through a long winter’s night with other than an Orvis catalog and a warmed can of frosting. Orvis. Even when you’re 15 and nothing but a throbbing erection with toes, Orvis is a very hard ride. The few women it does offer in between the monogramed dog beds and obviously gay airline piloty guys in khakis tend to look something like a Norman Rockwell painting of a PTA meeting taking place in Martha Stewart’s barn. Reading The Crucible. During a depression. In Vermont. Sex is definitely not what Orvis is selling.