…shame … is the one bad thing we need more of.

shame

I’m 33. I was earning my slutty shame when some of you were buying your first Britney Spears CDs. Sorry to destroy all your illusions about my church-going formative years, but the closest I got to a church between the ages of 14 and 26 was weddings, funerals, and that time I traded a pack of Newports for a joint from a tranny prostitute in front of some cathedral in Manhattan.

I read pornographic literature, and I wrote erotica. I experimented with harder drugs. I stole another girl’s boyfriend on purpose. I fancied both men and women.

I was going to go into a lot of detail in this column, but I think that’s enough. I keep writing about all the slutty things I did between the ages of 15 and 26 and then deleting it, because I am ashamed of it. And – this is a weird sentence – I am proud to be ashamed of it.

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