Cartoon Child Pornography is Still Child Pornography

Let's begin with a principle about due process. A motive, in itself, cannot be prosecuted. The motive can lead us to the facts of a case, the facts being the things that convict us of a wrongdoing. But motives, in and of themselves, are not always prosecutable (poetic license).

Now, let's get a bit more theoretical. IF I indeed have a motive to commit a crime - and yet I don't - that motive doesn't make me a criminal. But it DOES indicate the sort of person I am. If I DO commit a crime, that motive can be pointed to in order to prove that I indeed committed the crime or to indicate what the severity of my punishment should be. If I never commit that crime, yet I had the motive, nobody will be the wiser, and I can live life as if nothing is amiss.

Onward to child pornography.

If you're attracted to children in a sexual way, there is nothing that you can tell me that will alleviate my disgust for you, as I indicated in my last salvo at this sordid community. I still find you to be a "disgusting, vile pig." To look at a child and think ANY thoughts of sexual gratification for yourself is sick.

So, when you write to me and say the following, Anonymous commenter, I have no sympathy or regard for your needs:

Watching animated child porn is the only way to do it without facing legal action. You can't blame us for finding a safe alternative.

You DO have a point. There is nothing illegal in looking at naked cartoons of a child. That is correct, though a fine line can be drawn at HOW cartoonish the picture actually is. But, the mere fact that you need to view naked children for a sexual release is where I, as a father of six beautiful children, draw the line.

No. I CAN and WILL blame you for finding a safe alternative. Why?

Because the day you decide to act on your urges in real life is the day I don't care one hill of beans for your existence.

The Dreams I Have: My Coming Out Speech

I dreamed a dream last night. A vivid dream. I woke in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, went potty, and came back to bed to cuddle up to my bride, happy that it was only a dream.

Enjoy my mind.

********

The room was dark and dusty. The heat of my computer monitor was pushing against my face. I could feel my lips drying out as I typed a comment on my brother Ted's Facebook status. I have no idea what the status was, but my comment has something to do with being the master of my domain, seriously offending his wife in the process.

My brother contacted the religious authorities who sent a woman to apprehend me and drag me to a church service at my old church, Normandale Baptist in Bloomington, Minnesota.  I put up a fight, which I am known to never do - and lost. She stopped my right hook with an open palm grab of my fist and lightly pushed my arm back, nearly dislocating my bum shoulder. Beaten at what was not my game, I willingly followed her.

Entering the large auditorium of the church, I was met with the smell of candle wax mixed with the salty sweat of the worship service. The woman who had brought me disappeared and I walked up the center aisle. People began to notice me, recognized who I was, and started to whisper, elbowing their kids and friends to get their attention. The volume of muttering into ears coalesced into a singular message:

Joe is back!

My chest swelled inside of me as I began to feel like a sort of celebrity. I knew that they viewed me with seething hatred. I was everything that was wrong with the world - an atheist. Someone who, in their view, hated their god, and wanted them to die a slow, horrible death. 

I sat down beside Ted, at the end of the pew and saw his wife and her extended family frown and begin to talk amongst each other. Then, the sanctuary became silent and a voice, unknown to me, began to speak about the forgiveness of God. 

He spoke of how God would forgive you if you confessed your sin to the congregation. Confessing to God in secret, while good, was not as effective at bringing about repentance, as telling everyone within earshot what a filthy, vile, rotten sinner you were, quickening the pace of peer-pressured assimilation.

Then, the gentleman asked if someone wanted to confess a sin. I couldn't make out his face, but his words were directed toward me.

I stood. Ted rose with me in unison. Laying my hand on his shoulder and giving him a light push down, I whispered, "Sit down, buddy. I got this."

Then, I said the worst words a sinner could ever say in a large church auditorium, seething with rage at his very presence:

I am not a Christian and I'm very happy.

Those nine words lit a fuse in that room. A collective gasp went through the crowd like lightning. Women screamed out. Men shielded the faces of their small children. I turned slowly around in a circle, gazing across the people that I had just affected, seeing the anger, the hurt pride, the sadness, the weeping, the pity. In the entire crowd, I saw only one person looking straight at me, a smile splitting his face from ear to ear - Pastor Chuck Raichert.

I continued. I began to tell the crowd about my journey. How I took my faith very seriously, then walked out of it, just as seriously, all the time, weaving a thread of humor through my life. Yes, I was very serious, thoughtful, and careful in my beliefs, and yet I had a lot of fun. I never settled for the status quo. My worst offense against me was that I didn't question enough. And now, my worst offense is that maybe, just maybe, I question too much. But, as I told them, I was much healthier and happier.

As I spoke, everyone got up. They began to leave the church en masse. Some were running, tripping over each other. Heads would turn, looking over their shoulders, sprinting for the door, their faces plastered with a fear that I had only felt once in my life. These people were legitimately afraid of me. I was death incarnate to them. The devil in sheep's clothing. A false angel of light.

At last, the auditorium was empty and my words continued spilling from my lips, echoing into the furthest reaches of the triple balconies. Everyone was gone. Everyone, save one man.

Pastor Chuck Raichert, now slouched comfortably in his pew, three rows behind me, across the aisle - still smiling. I stopped speaking as he opened his mouth.

Welcome home, Joe.

Reduce The Circles Under Your Eyes by 50%, Guaranteed!!

It's simple. Look in the mirror. They're semi-circles. And you thought they were circles.

BOOM!

Reduced by 50%.

No need to thank me. Consider this a public service from the kindness of my cold heart.

Love,

I. C.