I was watching Sesame Street today at lunch. (Yes, I am a grown man watching Sesame Street at lunch. What’s it to you? I happen to like letters, numbers and Muppets.) I noticed something disturbing that I hadn’t noticed before. More disturbing than the theories that Bert and Ernie are gay (they’re not . . . they were found naked together once, but it was hot and the building doesn’t have air) or the fact that Mr. Hooper was actually a CIA hit man.

No, the truth is that Sesame Street seems to have taken a turn into the erotic. You don’t believe me?

First, Big Bird and Snuffy were having a genial conversation out on the street. Now, disregarding the fact that everyone can now see Snuffy has destroyed the mental stability of children ‘round the world (think about it . . . when the regular inhabitants of Sesame Street started seeing Snuffy, it proved to children that their imaginary friends were real and it was EVERYONE ELSE that had the problem . . . of course everyone else on Sesame Street talks to a giant bird) something truly disturbing happened.

While strolling down the street, Big Bird gently asked Snuffy if he’d “like to play a game of In and Out.”

The world stopped at that moment. I’ve seen A Clockwork Orange. I’m up on my double entendres. I know what that meant. Big Bird just asked Snuffy to have sex with him. Snuffy’s response, “I’d love to Bird!”

“Great,” said Big Bird. “Oscar can help!”

Dear God. What did I do to deserve this? What has happened to children’s television when you can turn it on to see a giant yellow bird ask a once imaginary wooly mammoth thing to have sex. I mean, I always knew. I just didn’t . . . know.

By the way, I’m not making this up.

So, I’m getting over my trauma when they cut away to the next scene. There’s Elmo walking down the street in his usual moronic self-imposed stupidity based on his frozen development at the age of six. I know monsters are different than humans but, for crying out loud, get the fuzzy little kid some help! He’s a moron! Despite all the touting of education and knowledge on the show, Elmo hasn’t learned squat. What sort of sign is this of the effectiveness of this program? Deaf, dumb and blind kids sure can play pinball, but Elmo the monster is a diploid that can’t seem to remember a simple sequence of twenty-six letters.

Anyway, Elmo’s walking down the street and then starts jumping up and down. I can only say that he was emotionally erect. He was excited because his friend Edie Falco was coming down the street. Yes, Edie Falco. Carmella Soprano herself. Mob boss’ wife.

They greet and exchange pleasantries. Suddenly, Elmo gets sullen. When pressed, he reveals that his hand hurts. Edie kisses it. Elmo then states his arm hurts. Edie kisses it. Elmo states that his cheek hurts. Edie kisses it. Elmo says his leg hurts. Edie suggests that she just hug him (oh, we’ve all been there, haven’t we?). Again, this all really did happen and I’m not making it up.

Then it hit me. That little furry runt isn’t a kid at all. Not in the true sense of the word. He’s pretending to be a child to gain the sympathy of beautiful women so that he can nuzzle in their buxom areas. He’s a scam artist! My god, the women he’s probably groped over the years. He’s a furry pervie.

I’m traumatized. Truly. Now I have to decide whether or not I should expose Baby Gertrude to this or . . . Let her watch David Lynch movies. Which one will give her the truer picture of the real word? Midgets that talk backwards or furry monsters trying to pick up the ladies?

I do know one thing for sure. I’m going to hell for what I’ve written

This post brought to you by the letter X.