Still, if I enjoy watching two totally fictional, pen-and-ink drawn men imagined by some artistic fangirl who is, no doubt, as twisted a pervert as myself, fuck each other raw, I believe that to be my business, and (more explicitly), my right.
The honest truth is this: I'm not the slightest bit surprised. I have been standing in the middle of the tracks, watching as the train of pseudo-respectability bore down on my beloved fandom. Yes, these wonderful artists and authors are finding an even wider audience and greater public recognition. But I never made the mistake of believing that this train would (or could) pass without crushing the gooey pulp from our bodies in an all too manga-esq manner.
Sometimes I can't help but think its goes against our very human nature to allow that others might have interests that differ so widely from our own, or that those interests could be anything other than hungry moth-bugs, aching to gnaw away at the fabric of honest (that is, our) human existence.
I know, I know, I am mixing my metaphors. But what can I say; yaoi has so rotted away my soul that the very flame of my human worth is guttered to the point that its continued existence is, at best, tenuous.
I suppose that this is where I should cry.