We all know why it’s there, this den of secret passions and forbidden pleasures.
Although temporarily situated behind and underneath a vast web of scaffolding, and permanently located in the less fashionable end of M Street, Key Bridge News appears to be chugging along today as the same model of utopian urban efficiency and inauspicious prosperity that it always has been. Unbeknownst to the first-year or similarly greenhorned reader, those lots around KBN that are now home to derelict or razed buildings were once sites of modest commercial activity. I’m speaking, of course, of the smoldering crater that was once the old Philadelphia Cheesesteak Factory, the creepy ghost of Eagle Liquors and the gaudy, yellow monstrosity that was the legendary Sunny’s Surplus. One might speculate that these businesses were swept away to make room for such stores as the reprehensible Bo Concept (which is more in line with what our fair Georgetown has become), and that Key Bridge is the last to go because, as a simple, inoffensive newsstand, it still retains some utility for the roving bands of Euros and yuppies that plague our streets. After all, what self-respecting Euro would want to rub elbows with the type of person who eats at a greasy cheesesteak place or even worse?a person who wears (shudder) second-hand clothes? But our Euro still needs his Marlboros and a copy of the Frankfurter Allgemeine, so the newsstand stays.
So it is in spite of the scaffolding and the location that Key Bridge News succeeds. And the beauty is that every man and woman in attendance at this university stands to benefit from?and, in turn, perpetuate?this success. Because there is a product at KBN that’s much more interesting and edifying than any foreign-language newspaper, something far more amusing than the picture of Osama bin Laden behind the crosshairs of a gun that hangs inside?now a standard decoration in businesses run by people whose shade of skin puts them at risk for being the victims of inbred American hysteria and ignorance?and something of absolute necessity. I’m speaking, of course, of pornography. As many of you already know, they have tons.
As is always the case with buying porn, however, there are certain hurdles that need to be cleared before you can walk purposefully up Bank Street with an inconspicuous brown paper bag at your side. These hurdles are largely internal, and as such can be more accurately classified as anxieties. However, in observance of our school’s fine Roman Catholic tradition, this guide does not offer advice on how to address one’s sexual anxiety, but rather, how to bypass it. Properly executed, these instructions should guide the reader’s sexuality from the darkest reaches of the mind, out into the world of commerce and then back into the hovel of the private and perverted, without ever having to confront anthing uncomfortable. This is how one does it:
Wait until a low-traffic period. As you enter the building, keep your eyes riveted to the left side of the store, where the porno is NOT. Don’t worry, there’s a strategy here. Flip through some celebrity mags. Move steadily down the left side, as if you don’t even know that a right side exists. The point here is to convince your fellow-shoppers, the clerks and whomever else you’re deathly afraid will discover that you are a sexual being that you are legitimately interested in every issue of Dog Fancy and Better Homes and Gardens that you pick up. Remember, if you didn’t care about what they thought, you could just waltz in and pick up a small library of erotic literature.
Once you reach the end of the left side, turn around slowly. You are now facing the fabled right side. The guiding principle for perusing the titles on this side is fascination with novelty. Having completed what you entered the store to do (i.e., read a story or two in a short fiction journal), you’re now killing some free time by marveling over the novelty of the magazines on the right. “How bizarre they all are! How gauche! Normally I wouldn’t look at this mean sort of literature, but the sheer grotesqueries bound therein tug at my intellect. Truly, these na?fs are our generation’s master-architects of irony!” Emitting the occasional giggle or sarcastic comment should convey this sentiment well.
The staff’s arrangement of titles on the right side, from the back to the front, is ideally suited to facilitate a smooth transition from slightly eccentric magazines to garden-variety hardcore pornography. First there are some motorcycling titles?imagine the psyche of the reader! Then there are some tatoo ‘zines?hmm, how postmodern! Then there are the hybrids: magazines that feature busty, tatooed babes on motorcycles. These are also the direct precursors to the porn. It’s important at this point to exude an amplified mood of amused captivation, as if you have never seen anything so strange. Carry this attitude into the porn. Peruse a couple of titles, never dwelling too long on any one picture. The reason for this point is twofold: First of all, you’ll appear less perverted, but also?and this point applies mainly (well, entirely) to guys?you run less of a risk of conspicuous shapes appearing in your pants. On that note, while tight jeans and the like are always preferable to sweatpants, duct tape is a bit excessive.
Pick your title quickly enough that your fetish does not become suspicious, but not so quickly that it is obvious to everyone that you knew exactly what you wanted when you stepped into the store. Laugh sarcastically as you carry it to the counter. The implication behind this laugh is that you’re buying it so that you can share the magazine’s utter hilarity with your equally-ironic roommates and friends.
Pay and leave. Before you know it you’ll be striding up Bank Street with an inconspicuous paper bag at your side?and you’ll be striding with purpose. Key Bridge News’ position on M Street, even if it is nestled between a a cell phone outlet and black pants store, is secured well into the future.
