Anxiety Porn

Anxiety Porn

Sometimes, on dinner break, there’s nowhere to sit but too close to the TV.

Tonight I had to sit too close to the TV.

In our break room, there’s no turning the TV off. There’s no changing the channel. There’s no turning down the sound.

Tonight, for the entirety of my break, I was exposed to a full hour of anxiety porn.

The TV was on cable news. In that hour I was told of at least a dozen ways in which our country and the world is going to Hell. Our president is senile and either stupidly or maliciously dragging us into war and spitefully ruining the economy through inflation, wrecking millions of American lives. The lawless environmentalists are hellbent on sabotaging the nation. A Supreme Court nominee is soft on pedophilia. The gays, the irreligious and the illegal aliens are out of control and on the rampage like Godzilla and his fellow creatures on Monster Island. And the indignation over women that were once men competing in women’s sports. And laptops. And hush money. Gasoline. Fighter planes. Massive brush fires. Witch hunts and cancelations. The outrage and disgust went on and on. In that hour I was exposed to a dozen ways or more in which everything is going straight down the fucking tubes.

I sat there with my sandwich, trying to turn away. Trying to ignore it like a gay or fat or old lady video accidentally clicked on a different sort of porno channel. Am I prejudiced? Yes. But I’m also prejudiced against myself as i don’t like seeing old men like me fucking young, beautiful women. I suppose I’m to watch and get turned on, imaging myself as the old man doing the fucking. If him, then why not me, right? But it don’t work that way since I figure I, instead of him, ought to be the one getting the real piece of ass. Again, if him then why not me, right? If anything, the unfairness of that fat, bald, old waste getting some real ass is reason for outrage. But I’m neither upset nor outraged since I choose not to watch it.

Sorry. Got sidetracked. Point is, I know a thing or two of what I’m talking about. Like they say, I may not be able to tell you exactly what smut is, but I know it when I see it. And that stuff on the TV was definitely smut. In this case, smut in the form of anxiety porn. Salacious anxiety porn just like regular cock, balls, dildo and pussy porn. There’s all sorts of anxiety porn (religious, economic, cultural, sexual, pandemic, military, ethnic) as there are as many flavors of the other stuff (big ass or tits, cuckolding, lesbian, BBC, gay, Asian). And it’s all equally vulgar.

After that full hour of exposure to the smorgasbord of anxiety porn, I went back to my job feeling filthy. Feeling dirty. Feeling corrupt. Feeling ashamed. I stopped at the restroom and scrubbed my hands as thoroughly as I wished I could scrub my conscience, realizing that anyone else might feel righteous instead of filthy and corrupt from ingesting all that contrived outrage. I washed and went back to work feeling as dirty and ashamed as if I’d just jacked off to a hairy lesbian clip on Pornhub, something I realize I’ll probably do in a few hours, once home and alone. It is Friday, after all.

I went back to the lab and sat at my bench imagining most people on that TV channel would morally object to most forms of pornography. At least that’s what they’d probably say. They’d probably say smut is bad. Except for their own, of course.

I went back to my job thinking, from their side, they probably believe my porn is gross and morally corrupting. While from my side, it looks and feels a lot like theirs is too.

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