Savage Love

Hey, Faggot:
I'm a forty-year-old well-endowed straight male into cockfights.
Considering my size--I'm almost eleven inches long and six and a quarter inches around--it is foolish for men to challenge me, but they do. I was in two fights recently. One guy was nine and a half by five and three-quarters, the other was eight by six. I easily won both fights.

Through the ads, I challenged a 39-year-old guy named Mike to a cockfight. He claimed to be ten by five and a half, but when he found out my size, he declined to go at it with me. Chicken? I also had a cockfight with a well-endowed 38-year-old married guy named Pete (ten and a half by six) who himself was undefeated in three fights. Pete was more of a challenge than most, but after an hour I came out on top, much to the surprise of Pete and his wife. I was wondering if you have ever heard of this kind of contest before?

Sincere Steve

Hey, SS:
I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. I've never heard of cockfighting contests, and I hope never to hear of them again.

Anyway, about Las Vegas: My research assistant, Kevin, and I just returned from Nevada, where we spent two glam days and one fab night with Janet Klein, winner of the Savage Love Trivia Contest. We were worried we might be stuck in Vegas with some weirdo--someone like you, Sincere Steve. But Janet and her lover/traveling companion, Greg, were presentable, personable, and loads of fun. I'd never been to Las Vegas before, and I'd like to share some of my impressions with you:

First, Las Vegas is an ugly place (tacky, loud, large) full of ugly people (tacky, loud, large) doing ugly things (gambling, smoking, drinking). Ugly things have their charm--there are things we appreciate for their awfulness--but Las Vegas's ugliness overwhelms. For Kevin and me, the ugliness began before we arrived. On our flight, we shared a row with an impossibly large man who announced he couldn't fit "this big ol' ass in that little seat." He raised the armrest and plopped himself down in his seat and most of Kevin's. Some heavy people have glandular issues, but this guy couldn't blame his genes: When Kevin and I turned down our breakfasts, Mr. Big demanded our meals from the stewardess and ate all three. That's not a gland thing.

When we got to our hotel, Circus Circus, our room wasn't ready, and we had to kill four long hours hanging out in Circus Circus's clown-themed lobby. Are there three words in the English language more disturbing than "clown-themed lobby"? Believe it or not, there are: Clown-themed elevator. Like most adults, I find clowns disturbing. I was ill at ease wherever we went at Circus Circus, as there was always some clown nearby imploring me to drink and gamble.

Hey, Faggot:
Your "Confidential to Millennial Anxiety" was factually inaccurate.
The ejaculate of a man who has had a vasectomy contains no DNA. Semen is made of sperm cells, which contain DNA, and seminal fluid, which is made up of protein. Protein contains no DNA, so there's no way to do a DNA test on it. Rapists who have had vasectomies are hell on sex-crime investigators.

Forensic Science Junky

Hey, FSJ:
Thanks for letting the sex offenders out there know they should get vasectomies before they rape anybody.

Another thing about Las Vegas: When you're hungry, you have three options: Stand in an hour-long line at a hotel buffet, pay next to nothing, eat huge amounts of crappy food; stand in an hour-long line at a hotel's low-end theme restaurant, pay too much, eat normal amounts of sub-Denny's food; or stand in an hour-long line at a hotel's high-end theme restaurant, pay too much, eat small amounts of decent food. What do all three options have in common? Lines. Now, I don't know about my fellow Americans, but I wouldn't stand in line to eat out of Brad Pitt's butt, let alone out of a Vegas buffet. Consequently, we didn't eat much.

We smoked plenty, though. Whether or not you're a smoker at home, you're a smoker in Vegas. People walk around casinos smoking cigars, women with small children smoke in elevators, restaurants don't have non-smoking sections. If you live in North America in the late Nineties, you may be unused to this. It's awful--like being in France, except everything is ugly (even the "beautiful" new hotels), the food is terrible (not that you can get near it), and you speak the language (compelling you to make small talk with the eighty-year-old woman hooked up to an oxygen tank pumping quarters into the slot machine next to yours).

Also disturbing: the very young (two-year-olds crying in casinos at three in the morning while their parents gamble); the very old (sickly octogenarians wheeled up to slot machines).

Hey, Faggot:
I have some information for the man looking for a professional video-production company to film his bedroom romps. MWI Productions, an adult-film company specializing in videotapes couples can watch together, offers the service he is looking for, for less money than you suggested.

Couples looking for this service should not only demand to keep the original tapes, they should also sign a contract specifically forbidding the production company from ever distributing the scenes in any way. Editing film or video footage requires making additional copies, and performers can never be certain that they have all the copies of a given scene.

The good news is that the $5,000 to $8,000 cost you quoted is very high. MWI offers explicit-video production for $500 to $1,000 and can produce very high-quality videotapes for that price. MWI can be reached at 425-226-1478. Thanks for a great column!

Ron Richardson

Hey, RR:
And thanks for a great letter, CEO MWI.
One last thing about Las Vegas: We could've shopped the entire time we were on this trip. At home, I could've gone online and shopped before the cab came; the airport we departed from was basically a shopping mall; there was an in-flight shopping magazine with an 800 number we could use on the phone embedded in the seat in front of us; our plane landed at another shopping mall; and we took a cab to a hotel with a shopping mall in it. Shop, shop, shop. The only places we couldn't shop were in the cabs we took to and from the airports.

The airport/in-flight/hotel malls all featured the exact same stores, all with the exact same merchandise. Is this what people travel for? I don't get it. Is there supposed to be something more interesting about shopping at a Gap in a Las Vegas hotel than there is about shopping at a Gap six blocks from my house? Or the online Gap I can log on to six feet from my bed? If everything is just the same wherever you go, why go anywhere at all?

Okay, I'm being grumpy. This reads like Janet, Greg, Kevin and I didn't have fun. We did have fun. We especially enjoyed our road trip to Hoover Dam, the hookers we ordered up from room service, Janet's airport catheterization and Greg's eating habits. But the fun was all despite Las Vegas, not because of it.

Dan Savage has been writing "Savage Love," a nationally syndicated sex-advice column, for seven years--enough time to become an expert on everything from women's orgasms to safe sex to abusive boyfriends to Hollywood blockbusters to gerbils. Have a question for him? Write: Savage Love, c/o Westword, P.O. Box 5970, Denver,

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