The mane vein

The problem with addiction is that no matter how many rules you create to keep yourself under control, you always manage to find a way to bend those rules. This is my life right now. I make up rules to keep myself in check, then I bend them. I bend the shit out of them. In fact, right now I’m doing more bending than that Cirque du Soleil guy who died trying to eat his own ass (I made that up).

But addiction is an ugly thing. I should have seen the signs coming. It all happened so fast, but a few days ago I took stock of my behaviour and realized I had all the symptoms: the obsessive planning for my next fix, the lack of control despite all the negative consequences, the denial. Totally textbook. I never left the house—heck, I hardly left my room. I’d spend days on end with the blinds drawn, and every moment that I wasn’t feeding my addiction was spent wondering when I’d get my next dose. When I finally did get a hook-up, I went overboard and got extra, telling myself it’s “just in case,” then I’d just blow through that right away too, leaving me empty and alone.

But now I’m in the final stage of addiction, and in the first phase of recovery: I recognize that I have a problem. This is the first step in getting rid of the hideous affliction that is totally fucking up my life. Right now, at this moment, I feel strong. I have the distance, maturity and presence of mind to step back and say: My name is Rafael Katigbak and I’m addicted to call-in advice podcasts.

Not just any call-in advice podcast, but specifically the Savage Lovecast, in which Seattle-based writer Dan Savage doles out advice for everything from the general “what to do if you just got dumped” to the specific “what to do if you just puked up a little orange soda while performing fellatio.”

Certainly one of the reasons I am completely addicted to it is Savage himself: a whip-smart no-bullshit fag who isn’t afraid to say “you should totally fuck those two girls who want to have a three-way with you even though your friend has a crush on one of them.” But also fascinating is listening to the people calling in: love, hate, betrayal, anguish, insecurity, lust, confusion—these people are looking for guidance as they try and navigate the complex mini-dramas constantly playing out in the world. I listen to the Savage Lovecast to hear real stories that take place behind closed doors, the true face of our modern society.

Also, I like to hear about fucked up shit like the centaur fetish.

Responding to an Old Spice commercial where a buff half-man/half horse lathers himself in the shower, Savage recently mentioned that he felt bad that centaur fetishists would never get to realize their fantasies (at least for another 10–15 years until sexbots are created) and that the commercial would spawn a new generation of frustrated centaur fetishists.

Now when I call the centaur fetish fucked up, I don’t mean it as a judgement. I could care less if you want to fuck or be fucked by a horse. But I just have to ask why? And I suppose, how?

Strangely enough, I was mentioning my confusion over the centaur fetish at a loft party last Friday when, out of the blue, a friend (M.) told me that she had just been analyzing that very subject not two days earlier in a completely unrelated context. She then proceeded to break it down in the most logical way, mentioning something about grace and beauty mixed with power. But at that point, the half-gram of mushrooms I ingested kicked in and all I could do was obsess about how perfectly centaurian I would be if I just merged with the Great Dane that was casually milling around the party. Then I would know for sure what the deal was.

I suppose if I’d wanted to figure it out earlier, I could have just gone to Boytaur.net, the Internet hub for all things half-horse and horny. Boytaur.net has everything for your man-horse needs, from sexy centaur fiction to images of oiled up beefcake torsos poorly photoshopped onto horse nether regions, sometimes with added human genitalia just for an added dose of realism (?!). Sadly, I found no links to live centaur porn videos. Nothing with names like Bareback Mountain or Hot to Trot where “a stable relationship leads to unbridled passion.” No mention of films featuring “pony players feeling a little horse” or movies that “let forbidden passion rein despite the neigh-sayers.” So perhaps I’ll never understand. But I suppose that’s okay too. Recognizing I have a problem is the first step to overcoming it.

RIFF-RAFF@SYMPATICO.CA