Columns
SEX ON THURSDAY | A Eulogy for Print Pornography
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Yesterday my friend bought a dirty magazine from a gas station in Cortland. Smut, as my grandparents would have called it. Later, while poring over it in a semicircle of four or five rapt gentlemen, I caught a wave of nostalgia for the bygone days of print pornography. The magazine itself was printed on paper, of all things. There were no play or pause buttons or volume sliders, either.