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Chastity 

Lock yourself down, or fry trying.

Throughout the centuries, it has ever been thus: If you truly love Jesus, you’ll ignore the guttural whispers of that furry, disconcertingly shaped organ that somehow colonized the space between your legs. It’s a trespassing homesteader, a little deposit of Satanic plaque that says "Stick me in something" or "Who needs a hymen, anyway?" It's not your friend. Late at night, when the sheets are sodden with the residue of your uneasy dreams, it detaches itself, takes the number 43 line to Big Mama’s juke joint, and gets together with its cronies to throw back a few suds and laugh at your anguished cries.

On the other hand, salvation beckons at you from behind the security bars of that divine gated community, the primest of primo real estate known as Virtue, formerly Lower Chastity. Keep yourself pure, mortify the fleshy bits that chortle at your discomfort, and Jesus Christ -- He Who Had It a Lot Worse Than You So Quitcher Bitchin -- will welcome you into his antiseptic bosom. Just don’t fuck up.

Alas, the flesh is weak. Studies show that abstinence-only sex education is next to useless. The Bible Belt has the highest rate of divorce in the country, as hornified red state chicks marry the first hick who combs his hair and brings ´em all twelve books in the Left Behind series (and what girl can resist the divine dodecameron?). The Roman Catholic Church is ensnared in an unprecedented sex-abuse scandal. And let’s not forget all the infants buried in the convent courtyards. Sister Maria Teresa, I’m looking in your direction. John Calvin told me all about it, you whore.

Let’s face it -- you need help. You can’t do this on your own. All the willpower in the world won’t save you from your animal appetites. Only leather and steel will do the job. Fortunately, the East Bay is chockfull of dominatrices all too happy to slap a chastity belt on your perditious pelvis, lock the key in a safe-deposit box, and finally give your persistent libido some overdue discipline. More than two dozen gals will accommodate you at Fantasy Makers, a “playhouse” of BDSM and other sicko pastimes, just north of Berkeley (FantasyMakers.com). They mostly prefer plastic chastity devices, as the steel ones have an annoying habit of setting off airport metal detectors, and who needs that hassle? On the other hand, it’s bound to be worth it if you can just get right with the Lord.

In case even technology can’t keep you from indulging yourself, and certain procreative consequences arise, there’s always your friendly abortion clinic! Women’s Choice Clinic in downtown Oakland employs both medical and surgical procedures to terminate unwanted pregnancies, as well as providing HIV testing and a host of gynecological services. Planned Parenthood operates clinics in Oakland, Hayward, Concord -- hey, there’s probably one on your block. They won’t save you from the Fire, but at least they’ll help you take care of those cervical warts.

Now get down on your knees and pray. You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? You had to touch it. Maybe we’ll just cut it off, solve the problem once and for all, huh? Not so fun anymore, is it? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Awww, it’s okay, it’s okay. Jesus knows what you did, but he forgives you. Maybe. -- Chris Thompson

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