Glory Shone Around

vicemag:

Cliterature - Wet Goddess, a dolphin sex memoir

A memoir about a man’s steamy love affair with a dolphin has been churning around the global media hype machine this week, with everyone from Gawker to the Hindustan Times squawking about how it received a five star rating on Amazon.

While I immediately dismissed the asinine journos who had based their stories on a measly SIX reviewers (most of whom also admit to harboring crushes on guinea pigs and giraffes), the bio for this cetacean suitor, which I found on his website, caught my attention for running the gamut on the freak checklist.

Not only was Malcolm Brenner molested as a child by an orgone doctor who was trying to harness the universe’s sexual energy, Brenner is also a neo-Pagan who lives in a trailer with his anole lizard friends. Oh yeah, and he toe-fucked a dolphin.

But that’s not the weirdest part. Delving into Wet Goddess, I realized that the lamestream media had missed the crux of the novel entirely. Of the last few social taboos remaining, inter-species screwing ranks low on the LOL potential (skull fucking is soo much cooler!), especially because the perpetrators are usually mega animal lovers who’ll wax poetic about their paramour’s attributes, saying shit like, “Darling, you do have the cutest way of twitching your sinuses when you say you love me. I love the shape of your vestibular sacs.”

But halfway into yawning my way through Wet Goddess, the thin plotline took a rapid turn. One minute, an adolescent Malcolm is happily snapping photos of the dolphins at a local marine park and batting his eyelashes at its feature star, a bottlenose named Ruby. The next, he’s toking a joint while listening to Johnny Cash, and suddenly realizes he can communicate telepathically with his crush. But only when he’s really, really blazed.

CONT’D