All I need is a copy of "Atomic Vixens," and yet what I do not have is a copy of "Atomic Vixens." Last week, after all the pornographers in the known universe returned from Las Vegas, I contacted LFP and asked them would they please send me a copy of "Atomic Vixens." I need the movie to finish my nonfiction book proposal about Porn Valley. Sadly, "Atomic Vixens" has not arrived. I contacted LFP, but the secretary said the video had been delivered. Here is the tracking number, she declared. There is a signature on file, she sniffed. I called FedEx, and they agreed the package had been delivered. To my address. On the next street over. I considered walking around the corner, knocking on the door. Excuse me? I would say, standing on their porch. I believe you have my porn? I told FedEx this package is very important. The FedEx lady asked what was in it. I am not at liberty to disclose that, I said for reasons I cannot explain, although probably due to the fact that saying "porn" would not have "helped," per se. Probably, she thought it was a bomb. She said she would tell the driver this matter was URGENT, and he would go to the house and, unbeknownst to either of them, he would ask for my pornography back. I am doubious. It is altogether possible that the occupant of the green, polite looking home I drove by this morning on my reconnaissance mission in the cop car-style land yacht I drive these days for reasons I will not go into opened my package, marveled at its contents, and has no intention of returning my pornography to me. So I sit, waiting for my pornography, declaring the death of DVD, knowing, before too long, I'll likely be falling into the open arms of VOD vixens.
