What Braveheart and Porn Should Have in Common

Imagine if, before you watched a thriller, you had to see Camera Dude asking Bruce Willis how he felt about the movie he was about to act in. Imagine if you had to sit through five minutes of Arnie telling you, using seventy twelve synonyms, that he consented (he really, really did, he swears) to doing his own stunts. Imagine if you had to listen to how he felt before filming those stunts… And how he felt during them… And after them… And about his hopes for the scene … and whether they were realised at the end…

… so why do we have to do it with porn? We usually only want five or 10 minutes of action fergodsakes. It’s not as though we have the luxury of time on our sides here. Magic wands don’t stay charged forever.

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I can understand that the powers that be feel the need to tell the perpetually offended that Miss Subby Slut consented to being a part of that crazy gangbang, but surely this can be done in seconds rather than minutes? I mean, it doesn’t take 30 seconds to say, “I consent to this rape scene with 10 hawt men and a glass dragon dildo.”

I don’t care if she’s been wanting to suck 10 cocks at once ever since she was 16. I don’t care how she feels about what’s about to transpire. Most of all, I truly do not give a fuck about her goals for the scene. Maybe we could put that at the *end* of the clip alongside the part where we, for some reason, need to see her sitting under a blanket talking about her feelings yet again.

I realise I’ve just about seen the inside of her vagina and that this is an un-feminist thing to say, but I don’t care how she feels. I don’t care how Mel Gibson felt running around in blue face paint in Braveheart either.

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