What a country. Montana lawmaker, State Representative David Moore, a Republican from Missoula, believes his state’s indecent exposure laws are too, well, skimpy. So, he proposed a bill that according to Yahoo would ban

all public exposure of nipples, both male and female, the bill would also outlaw any piece of clothing that “gives the appearance or simulates” the pelvic area, buttocks, genitals or female nipple, the Associated Press reported — meaning tight-fitting pants could be included.

“Yoga pants should be illegal in public anyway,” the Associated Press reported Moore saying. “I want Montana to be known as a decent state where people can live within the security of laws and protect their children and associates from degrading and indecent practices.”

Fortunately, Moore’s House Bill 365, in the words of the RT, “now lies limp on the committee table.”

Perhaps Rep. Moore might want to take in one of the five daily screenings of “Fifty Shades of Grey” at his local Carmike Cinema. If yoga pants are getting his undies in a bunch, Fifty Shades will send him into orbit.

Five screenings per day is modest compared to my small town here in the south, where the S & M Valentine’s blockbuster has 9 showings on the schedule. I’m not sure there were that many for “Hunger Games.” My guess is theater owners are going to be 50 shades of disappointed.  There were only 7 or 8 of us at the 11:30 screening.

Maybe things will heat up over the long President’s Day/Valentine weekend. After all, E.L. James sold millions of copies of all three installments of the Grey series. Granted, the sample from my movie audience was tiny, but it appears obese, middle-aged women are the ones who read the book and want to see what the tying and whipping looks like on screen.

I admit I haven’t read the book and went to the movie on a whim after reading A.O. Scott’s review in The New York Times.  He makes plenty of mention that the books are poorly written, but, “the ‘Fifty Shades’ phenomenon has spawned innumerable kink-themed think pieces, though the analysis has dwelt less on Ms. James’s psyche than on the fantasies of the tens of millions of women who have bought her books.”

Scott cleverly concludes with,

“Fifty Shades of Grey” might not be a good movie — O.K., it’s a terrible movie — but it might nonetheless be a movie that feels good to see, whether you squirm or giggle or roll your eyes or just sit still and take your punishment.  

Christian (Jamie Dornan) is a billionaire who had a rough beginning (we don’t know what) with the copter, cars, fancy offices, baby grand that he, of course, plays. But who knows how he makes his money.  The only commerce we see in the film is Anastasia (Dakota Johnson) selling him rope and other accessories at a hardware store.

On its face, there should be plenty in Fifty Shades for libertarians to sink their teeth into (besides Anastasia’s lower lip). The film is about a contract. Christian wants Anastasia to be ‘his’ but not in the normal way of being nice to her, by courting her, and snuggling up in bed with her to make her feel loved and wanted.

No, he goes for the fantasy-of-every-libertarian-guy approach of “let’s sign a contract” where she agrees to do this and do that upon his command. By now you have the idea of what this and that are. When she complies there are rewards and when she doesn’t there are punishments.

These two love (contract) birds even sit down to negotiate what she “heretofore known as the submissive” will do for him “heretofore known as the dominant.”   Ties and ropes–okay; tape–no way. “What’s a buttplug?” she wonders.

All of this negotiating gets Christian all hot and steamy, but the cool-headed Anastasia says she’s not ready to sign and on and on it goes. No he won’t sleep with her (anymore), or go out on normal dates (okay, once a week). Their relations are to happen in one of two rooms, neither of which is his bedroom. His red room, with all of the apparatus, is preferred.

Christian so likes to punish and believes the submissive will love it too. The rewards are good and punishment hurts even better. He figures it’s a win-win, but hey, let’s put it in writing.  However, for a guy who obsesses about his privacy and wants to operate strictly by a contract, he shows up everywhere like a creepy (but rich and handsome) stalker.

Does she ever sign this almighty contract to dictate the exact terms of their relationship going forward? After all, there’d be no story without a bit of whipping and whatnot. Surely, nothing happened that wasn’t called for in the contract. And if there was then it must have been a breach or trespass to be ajudicated by Walter Block or Hans Hoppe in some private S & M sex/relationship court.

It’s a good week in America.  The President wants open-ended approval to make war, but there’s so much good stuff to distract us. A lawmaker who thinks yoga pants are dangerous and millions of women fantasizing about being tied up and whipped.