As usual, it started with a stroke of Gideon Slu’s genius.  The man may not know a rotini from a rigatoni, but he’s craftier than a box of Mac ‘n Cheese:

• Girl: “I can’t go to lunch, I’ve got a gyno appointment.”
• Gideon: “I may not be a gyno… but I’ll take a look.”

 

He was forward, I was floored, and she was frowns.  His comedic seed was planted, then watered by my sarcasm, and finally raked with her displeasure.   Five minutes of unfiltered fun and a tasty fruit did grow:

“I may not be a gyno, but…”

• … I’m certainly a guy-Ho
• … I’m better, I’m a guy-Yes
• … I still want to take a stab at it with my tool
• … I’ll ram it like a rhino
• … I studied lots and lots of cunt in college
• … I have had my hands on some herpes
• … that doesn’t mean I haven’t devoted my entire life to pussy
• … I can hit your ovaries with sperm from three counties away
• … I’ve been to the dentist dozens of times and I can borrow my dad’s power drill!
• … I’ve watched over 1000 hours of vagina on the internet
• … how hard can it be?  Just prop da legs up, pry da pussy wide with a vice, stick-in a variety of objects, then have her turn da head and cough
• … we’ll handle your itch with rubbing alcohol, five safety pins, and some sand paper
• … only because they tried to say I raped somebody or some shit
• … dey know, dey know, dey know

Etc, etc, etc; on and on and on we went.  Later that evening Gideon gave her a second opinion while I busily read Naruto at home.  Sometime during chapter 459, I began to realize how little Chakra I’ve invested into understanding the physiology of female genitalia.  Sure, I could wiki my way to a cunt PHD – but it’s like I always say:

If vagina isn’t filled with my penis, it should be filled with mystery! 
Cause half the fun of having hoes
 is sticking dick in holes unknown; 
It’d slice the slit’s prestige in half
 to study clits in school with math!
 I hate her denying my love of warm womb
with its questions that smell of perfume in full bloom… 
Isn’t half the real reason we pray to a God
because He doth control in strange nature what’s odd?

That doesn’t forbid me, however, from describing what I see and taking an educated guess, or two, about that lil’ son-of-abitch’s inner workings…            

Aesthetically, I suppose vagina is similar to a mouth in that it has lips and slickly salivates when it’s hungry; then again, it could just as easily be a fragrant vertical roast beef sandwich filled with the freshest, bloodiest, cut.  It forms in an infinite variety of internal and external shapes, sizes, tints, and textures; lubrication in all manner of smell, slipperiness, and volume; and temperatures ranging from frigid to feverish.  Personally, I prefer enormous labia because I’m preposterously fond of pigging out on pussy lips.  In fact, on the slopes, I’ve unsuccessfully searched far and wide for a female capable of camel toeing a pair of snowboarding pants.  I’ve recently been curious about whether one can easily acquire a freshly severed camel foot in Egypt – you know, for the practice.  I hope not; I’d spend all my money on dromedary appendages and be broker than Christopher Reeve’s neck.

Once a month the entire female reproductive system swells with agitation and anger before hulk style smashing all sheets, panties, and relationships it runs across.  I’ve reveled in messy menstruation, especially when taking the tarnished tampon out pre-coitus and then finding it on the floor the next morning.  I once left a bloody super saturated super-plus out for a week just to see what would happen… it grew eerily similar to a rotting banana peel as the days passed.  I’d love to have a hoe whose cycle synchronized with the Moon phase; I’d basically be banging a were-gina! That would be the illist, most fresh to death, sicker than swine flu girlfriend.

I’m often aghast at how expeditiously pussy transmutes into a totalitarian bitch; for example, the inexplicable Yeast infection.  Yeast has something to do with bread and the female womb is essentially a baby oven, so perhaps a Yeast Infection is nothing more than souring baby ingredients?  Then there’s the perplexing Toxic Shock Syndrome.  What’s so “shocking”?  You left a cotton ball and a string in your cunt, what did you expect to eventually happen?  Were you hoping to mummify your ovaries?  If you decided to eat the contents of a bathroom drawer, would your subsequent poisoning be a shock?  These absent-minded women are more obtuse than a boomerang, thus I propose we change the name of “Toxic Shock Syndrome” to “Down-there Syndrome”.  Retards.

I’ve never met a clitoris I didn’t want to kiss, which isn’t surprising considering it’s the only consistently affable part of a woman.  A joyous, jolly, clit loves to love life, loves to be loved, and loves love.   It’s very similar to a Tolkien hobbit: at first shy and comfily hidden in its hillside hole, covered in its Elvish cloak; but easily piqued into merriment at the prospect of multiple meals.  I absolutely adore those sneaky little hobbitsies!!

The G spot’s treachery, however, knows no bound.  I have no idea whether it murdered its entire family (spots A through F), although I suspect nothing but guilt could drive one to such an obscure location.  Poor, poor, women… what sort of evolutionary fuck up would hang female orgasmic gold up high, on a wall, in a cave?  It reminds me of those electronic devices with tiny indented reboot buttons that require a pen or pin tip for access to protect them from accidental being pressed.  Why would God hide the G spot if it were integral to a woman’s procreation pleasure?  Something, besides the pussy, smells fishy here.  I’m staying away from repeatedly G spot rebooting women until science verifies that it doesn’t damage their Hoe drives.

How do women wizz?  Rest assured, I’ve swam for hours in the depths failing to find the hole.  I may need to out-right camp out in the bowels of an outhouse with goggles and a spot light to figure out this pee plight.

The hymen?  I know it uselessly breaks on first use, “Hi-men, bye men”. 

The vulva?  Perhaps vulva is the Latin for valve, therefore it’s the vaginal juice regulator integral for proper perineum and pussy plumbing.  Vulva also sounds like a pasta shape for Velveeta – Velveeta Vulvae or, simply, Vulveetae.  This makes sense since, like ever other pussy part, it eventually ends up covered in a white creamy sauce. 

The Uterus?  I know it’s primary function, and I once read that women come with over 100000 eggs.  This is very spider sounding and, coincidentally, I’ve found many a vagina in possession of a dreadfully poisonous bite.  I’ve also chanced across more than a few with cobweb connected labia – each time it was grosser than the domestic product.

The cervix?  Sounds important.  Cervix, cervix… cerveza?  During sex it must get hammered. Cervix, cervix… linux?  Perhaps a fork specifically coded for smooth cunt operation.  Cervix, cervix… Cervantes?  Don Quixote?  His quest, his madness, and his worlds – is the cervix a warning?  Don Quixote’s devotion to chivalry…

… my devotion to philandering.

I’m not an expert, let alone a gynecologist, however I’m completely satisfied with my pagan perception of pussy: it’s magic.  To touch it, smell it, taste it, or feel it wrapped around my cock: magic.  To think upon it, write about it, discuss it, and love it: magic.  It’s a black box that requires one ingredient to create life; you put some goo in and out pops a human being: magic.  What are men compared with such power?  We’re nothing more than hammers; women possess the remaining necessary tools and materials to build the entire house.  Gender roles in creation scale to any sized system: men are nothing more than icy comets; women are the beautiful planets creating, nurturing, and evolving life.  Humanity owes everything to the cunt’s infinite mysticism and its incompressible connection with Mother Nature.  Pussy is the only deity I’ll ever need to center myself and justify my existence – I shall live from it, for it, and by it as I always have.  Is it wrong, with my religion, with my beliefs, with my allegiance, to worship as many Vaginas as possible in the raw dog manner I see fit?  Right now, I feel more pious than a perfect circle.

 

The great Vagineye!