A handful of my friends and acquaintances have a fascination with all things trashy. The fetish includes the obvious, like those scummy Mötley Crüe T-shirts dredged up from the bowels of the local Goodwill, but it also extends to crappy apartments fashioned out of cinder-block walls and cheap linoleum and a preference for intentionally cliché-ridden nights of debauchery spent, for example, sniffing coke off a girl's ass cheek, or, as my friend Jolynn's favorite war story goes, being drunk enough to leftover-surf off of... More >>>