By Stanley Milligram, PhD

CAMBRIDGE, Mass. – If you’ve been paying attention to the news lately, then you know the scientific evidence of pornography’s detrimental effects on the human brain is beginning to stack up like filthy cords of sexually explicit firewood.

From the groundbreaking survey work undertaken by my respected peer, Dr. Felipe Zamboni, to the increasing number of young men bravely revealing internet porn addiction as the root cause of their abject dweebishness, it has become virtually undeniable pornography is undermining not only the uncut moral fabric of Western society, but also the intricate paisley weave of the human psyche, as well.

What you might not know, however — primarily because Illuminati-run publications like Scientific American, Psychology Today, the New England Journal of Medicine and Thalamus & Stem refuse to publish my trailblazing work — is the frightening fact internet porn has been corrupting the minds of youth since the early 1960s.

Your first reaction to that claim probably is skeptical. After all, how can it be true internet porn was warping the minds of viewers before the internet existed? The answer, as implausible as it might sound to those uninitiated in the ways of advanced scientific thought, is as obvious as it is breathtaking: time travel.

Exhibit A in my thesis is one Theodore Robert “Ted” Bundy, the infamous American serial killer who once famously attributed his violent misogyny to a severe pornography addiction. When Bundy made this claim, many people in the psychological community found it dubious, in part because the pornography of the time was relatively tame, especially in comparison to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre-like nature of today’s porn.

What the skeptics did not know then, what even James Dobbins of Focus on the Family (to whom Bundy confessed his porn addiction) could not have known then, was Bundy had been viewing porn made in the year 2023. If you think the porn of 2015 is bad, wait until you see what kind of trash is being produced by the world’s one remaining porn studio, ManMadeMindWinGurk, by the time 2023 rolls around.

I know what you’re thinking: How was Bundy able to view porn as young man when that porn wouldn’t be made for another 60 years?

Readers of my Yugo-winning e-book, Time Detective: Back to the Twelve Terminator-Bandits, are already familiar with my theory of reverse temporal modulation. The idea first came to me during my college years, when I received a nocturnal visit from a thin, paper-pale and totally hairless man named Ardesto Pilgrim, the future Mayor of New Philadelphia, a city besieged by crime, shape-shifting alien city councilmen and all-powerful crime lords who run the city’s underground black market for the banned substance known as “cheesesteaks” with an iron, if somewhat grease-covered, fist.

According to Mr. Pilgrim and as related in my book (which certain foolish, narrow-minded critics have dubbed a “work of fiction”), sometime in 2019, the first successful time travel experiment was conducted. Using a device called the Trans-Temporal Fantasagazatron, future scientists sent a baby research gorilla named Neo back to the year 1971, where she would be born on the 4[SUP]th[/SUP] of July in a California zoo.

Before they sent her back, Neo’s handlers gave her a clear mission of crucial importance: Warn the good people of the past about the upcoming “Pornopocalypse” on humanity’s horizon.

Unfortunately, the people at the zoo and those who followed them in interacting with Neo were never able to properly decipher the sophisticated series of futuristic hand symbols she used to communicate. Instead of committing themselves to learning Neo’s language, they lazily renamed her “Koko” and sat around ogling her and offering her an endless stream of bananas, blissfully oblivious to her hand-signaled warnings about the ruinous nature of pornography, video games and Jane Goodall, and the looming waste of investors’ money in the soon-to-be-unveiled Betamax technology.

Ted Bundy, meanwhile, was himself a child of a visitor from the future, which is why there has been so much uncertainty as to the identity of his father. While Bundy’s birth certificate identifies his father as an Air Force veteran named Jack Worthington, Bundy’s mother has always insisted Ted’s father was “a sailor.” What she didn’t tell people, likely fearing she wouldn’t be believed, was Ted’s father was a sailor of time — sort of like a Jean Claude Van Damme character, only taller, more foul-mouthed and unable to do the splits.

Today, at the risk of making myself a target of The Agency, I will for the first time reveal the identity of Ted Bundy’s true father: Hank Qarlo Eloi Morgan III, the first human sent back in time, following in Neo’s simian footsteps as the next logical stage in the science of time travel.

I must also reveal that in addition to being a prolific traveler of time, Morgan also may have been the most porn-addicted man in all of New Philadelphia — possibly the entire future-nation of Amerimexada.

What made Morgan’s addiction even more troubling was in order to view his favorite porn from 2023, he had to violate the core ethics and protocols of time travel by bringing with him certain viewing technologies of the future. As we all know, that sort of behavior is bound to alter the past in unpredictable ways — not all of them positive, as related in another of my books, Jacuzzi Time Machine: Invasion of the Bikini Vampires.

Young Ted Bundy didn’t know any of this, of course, nor did he know the strange boxes his father left behind in the basement contained the seeds of his descent into serial murder. Fumbling with the advanced virtual-reality contraptions, he finally got them to function — and so found himself literally immersed in the demented world of future porn, watching hours upon hours of titles like Quadruple-Penetrated Hovercraft Hoes, Her First Topless Teleportation and Mistress Chelsea Clinton’s Interstellar Cruelty Cruise.

Over time, young Bundy gradually became unable to distinguish between reality and fantasy, right and wrong, good and evil, and butter and I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. From there, his downward spiral into life as a cold-blooded serial killer was as inevitable as an overwrought, string-bending guitar solo in a 1980s heavy metal ballad — and nearly twice as troublesome to society at large.

I’m sure my critics will continue to denounce my theories as unsupported, untenable or even delusional — but what should we expect from agents of a grand conspiracy to transform humans into porn-addicted slaves who are content to spend their days mining for scamdium, yngvietrium, malmsteenium, obliteranium and other rare earth elements?

When faced with fearless truth-tellers like myself, the only option the virtual porn-promoting Cheesesteak Overlords of New Philadelphia have is attempting to discredit the messenger. I know all too well they will send their agents back in time to defame me, mock me and harp on minor incidents from my own past — like the time I ate a large handful of psilocybin mushrooms and tried to break into the Museum of Natural History to liberate all the poor, subjugated souls trapped within its hellish diorama-prisons.

It matters not, though, because I know there are those among you with ears to hear The Truth.

To those steadfast few, I deliver a message of hope: Despite the profligate oppression of its citizenry, presence of sinister alien life and dominance by a profoundly criminal element, by all accounts the public transportation system in New Philadelphia isn’t half bad.

Stanley Milligram, PhD, is a social psychologist, an expert on the ways visual media impact the brains of consumers and winner of the 2015 Yugo Award for Best Science Fiction E-Book Available for Under $2.