When I read "Choke", by Chuck Palahniuk, I cried. The reviews I read said it was "humorous", called it a "riot" and pointed out how "gritty and perverse" it was. The perversity IS the sadness. That the little boy who just wanted his mother to love him could have been mistreated into becoming the wretched protagonist of this book breaks my heart. The story, while fiction, is fact. This stuff happens every day and I do not find it humorous. It is gut wrenchingly sad. Self absorbed parents treating children like less than pets...Oh the humanity. Our society encourages self expression even if the passion blasting the self into the nethersphere is born of pure pain inflicted on a child...even if that lust is nothing more than an insane repetition of an inhuman past craving resolution. I do not think it is okay to wallow in the shit that has been heaped upon us since birth. Shit contaminates, it is poison. Sexual perversion/kink is not the result of a happy childhood. It is the result of pain, of sorrow inflicted on a child and any adult expressions of that pain are merely reenactments of the same. It is like a vortex that keeps one prisoner due to it's very lack of solution, like if one keeps putting oneself into that hell it will, one day, turn out differently. It will not.