When I started freelancing for Parents.com, more than a year-and-a-half ago, the editors told me I could write whatever I wanted, without restriction, save four exceptions:

1. No drugs.

2. No "pornography."

3. No profanity.

4. No making fun of the parent company.

Well, I can understand number four, particularly when the company in question is the fine Meredith Corporation, which would never do anything like distribute a syndicated "lifestyle" program that includes space for three-to-five minute segments on childcare produced by companies like General Mills and Johnson & Johnson. Why, that would be borderline unethical!

However, the first three restrictions pretty much shut out 80 percent of my life. Now that I've cashed my final check from Parents.com, I can finally tell the world the truth that the Meredith Corporation has tried to suppress for too long now. I'm a dad, and I love cussin', jerkin' off, and gettin' baked!

As for the drugs, though I'm kind of on a budget-related weed hiatus at the moment, I've spent the better part of the last three years stoned, thanks to the fact that pretty much anyone in Los Angeles can get a medical-marijuana card, at any time. The only time I'm not stoned is if I have to drive somewhere. Admittedly, that's pretty often, so I'm not stoned all the time. But it's enough. Now that I have an office with two lovely toking porches, I can choose my stoner's view. Downtown L.A., or the San Gabriel Mountains? Both make lovely backdrops. Most of the time, though, I open up the French doors overlooking downtown, fire up the Silver Surfer, and vaporize myself to oblivion.

But this activity remains hidden from the boy.

Once last year, around the holidays, Elijah saw a pipe sitting on the stairs.

"What's that, daddy?" he asked.

"It's for a snowman," I said.

"But there's no snow here."

"I'm mailing it to a friend where there is snow."

And thus ended the "talk to your kids about drugs" portion of my life. Am I proud of my stonerhood? Probably more than I should be. Does it affect my fathering? It doesn't appear to. Will you judge me negatively because of it? Possibly. I have no control over your point of view.

*****

Now then, as for "pornography": For god's sake, I work at home, all day, every day, so of course it's a big part of my life. Don't get all self-righteous. If you sat around in your underwear and/or stretchy yoga shorts until 5 PM, you'd be horny most of the time, too.

I've actually never been a huge fan of straight-up porn, though I do, from time to time, buy a month-long subscription to Beautiful Agony, which features wonderfully erotic videos of women's faces while they masturbate. I skip the dudes, and some of the New Zealand hippie chicks don't do it for me, but some of the videos work really well.

The mainstay of my auto-erotic life, as always, is Wonder Woman, about which I revealed too much in this painfully-detailed Nerve.com story. Did I really write that five years ago? Where has the time gone? If anything, my ability to indulge my shameful superheroine transformation fetish has increased since then. Pretty much everything I want and need is available on YouTube at all times, and can be easily accessed in those empty afternoon minutes between doing nothing and doing less than nothing.

This also remains hidden from the child, though it's harder, as it sometimes intersects with his own interests.

Recently, Elijah's been going through the Justice League: Unlimited catalog on Boomerang. I usually watch the shows with him, to answer continuity questions. Then the episode "To Another Shore" appeared in the queue. This features the best Wonder Woman transformation scene ever put to celluloid. I had to recuse myself.

"Where are you going, daddy?" he asked.

"I have work to do," I said.

As I staggered through the kitchen, Regina said, "What's the matter?"

"Wonder Woman...on....TV...." I gasped.

"Oh," she said, knowingly.

I went upstairs, took a freezing shower, and said five Hail Marys. Elijah watched the episode by himself. However, I did later consume it alone, after midnight, while all the creatures in the house slept, unaware of stray perverted thoughts.

*****

As for the final forbidden item, profanity, all I can say is that Jesus sucks Satan's shit-stained fuck-cock in hell.

Thank you.

May God bless America and the Meredith Corporation.

It's good to be back.

Posted by at 11:45 AM | Permalink