The Shame of Smut
I am of the mire too dirty for swine; I am of the filth that incinerators cannot destroy; I am of the stench that God’s own sun fails to purify; I am of the corruption that lies at the most dismal depths of man’s mind; I am the slime and slew that pervert the divine gift of speech;—I AM “SMUT.”
I am the foul breath of disease; I am the tainted hands of sin; I am Thought strangled by Shame;—I AM “SMUT.”
The muddied waters of the Ganges are to me as the rippling mountain brook.
I am the refuse that Hell discharges.
I AM “SMUT.”
And it is to me that the great Master of the Motion Picture has turned for succor.
I am selected as the tool to lure a vile profit.