The Curse of Pornography

An Illustration Around forty years ago, I picked up a truck load of material at a plant in Toronto. It was lunchtime, so I sat in the office where the shipping department workers gathered for their lunch break. Several other truck drivers were there, and as so often happens in settings like that, the conversation turned vulgar. Various men tried to outdo each other in describing the raunchiest, dirtiest scene they could come up with. They were discussing their favorite “performers” and some of the strip-tease sights they had seen in their favorite night clubs. Eventually, the discussion became too rancid for me to handle and I stepped outside until they had finished their lunch.[1]…

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