by audrey rush
There was a time...
Long before the internet offered us a bevvy of complimentary boobies (or premium boobies, if you are willing to pay a small monthly fee), horny young humans eagerly awaited that time of night when their parents were too tired to stay up themselves but had no problem leaving said young humans alone with the family television. It was then- with the lights turned off and the volume set in between 3 and 4, depending on your OCD numeric preferences- that the forbidden channels offered up their wares.
As labor-intensive as it was acquiring my salacious stories (real talk: I've put less thought into science projects than I put into negotiating getting the right time and conditions to view channel 87), it was never something I thought twice about as far as the work-to-payoff ratio was concerned. I loved it. It was dirty. It was sneaky. And it made my jungle rumble.