Denial is a river that flows into the Styx

When I heard about the proposed Egyptian “reform” which would legalize sex with corpses (of recently deceased spouses, although of course multiple spouses might mean multiple corpses), my initial reaction was “Talk about stiff!”

Nyuk nyuk.

But maybe I shouldn’t have been so flippant. After all, this is a serious legal reform in a supposedly progressive, “Arab Spring” country, right?

And if prevailing standards are applied, my attitude might very well be considered not only Islamophobic, but necrophobic.

Not that I am necrophobic. Seriously, some of my best friends are dead. So how could I be necrophobic? Perhaps that is not the right word. I do not fear the dead; I just don’t want to have sex with them. Having sex with dead people turns me off, OK? Surely it isn’t bigotry to not be turned on to that sort of sex. Sex with dead people — even with dead people I once loved — is just not where I’m coming from, regardless of what may have once come.

Call me old-fashioned, but if it is necrophobic to not want to have sex with the dead, maybe it’s time to rethink our terms.

But hey wait! What if my real fear is that I might eventually be dead too? Suppose that by living I am keeping my inner corpse in the closet?

This is worse than I thought. I need a stiff drink.