Solving the Gun Control Problem in Five Easy Steps

We in America make everything WAY too complicated.  Here at Bestbathroombooks we solve almost any problem in minutes.  Here’s the Gun Control Problem solved.  You can thank us later when you’re still alive.

Ted Nugent’s Gun Control begins in his pants

Number one: Identify the smallest penises.  These are the men who have spectacular fantasies of saving everyone with their guns.  The painfully obvious phallic symbolism of gun worship balances their lack of endowment and helps to soothe their psyches and tiny boners.  These are the people who believe the government is dangerous, ineffective and the absolute enemy.  Even though they believe the government is laughably inept and inefficient, they conversely believe the government is so adept and efficient it will storm their bunkers and remove all three million of their guns.

Solution: Free penis enlargement and more guns

Save the world? Sure, just give me a minute.

Number two: Identify the narcissists.  These are all the people who believe—in the micro-sliver  of time that represents their lifetime in human history—that the zombie apocalypse/race war/end of days is going to coincide with the exact moment of their spectacularly important lives.  Never before have all the elements of history pointed to you—the most important person on earth.  Only you can save the world.

Solution: Free Mayan Calendar and more guns

Also, they want to control our bowels

Number three: Identify Conspiracy Theorists:  These are the people who believe that guns are going to be outlawed because the government—who is inept and believes we are all fools!– wants to control us, and what better way to control us than to take our guns away?  In case you’re wondering, the reason they want to control us is because it’s way easier to control 300 million individuals individually than to have a democracy.  By the way, once the government controls us, it will make us watch TV, eat junk food and waste lots of time remembering the past, when things were so much better than they are now, with the government controlling us and stuff.

Solution:  Electric nipple clips and more guns

Crazy people can look like you and you

Number Four: Identify all the Mentally Ill: These are the people who get guns and shoot everybody.  These are the people whose fault it is that guns are getting blamed, when it’s not the guns, but the crazy-ass people.  While everyone else should have enough guns to fend off a government who wants to control us, the crazy people need MENTAL HEALTH HELP, something that the inept, inefficient government should supply.  Anyone who owns a cache of guns can tell you that if the government, which is inept and inefficient, would fund lots of programs to treat crazy people, then they too could be responsible gun owners and only kill the right people.

Solution: Mental Health Help and more guns

Look at me when I’m talking to you Young Man

Number Five: Identify the People from Backwardland:  These are the people who wear their clothes backward, walk and talk backward and believe the way to solve a problem is to add more of the problem to the existing problem to solve it.  If your dog has fleas, go out and get more fleas and put them on the dog.  If your house is on fire, throw gasoline on the fire to make more fire.  And if you are overweight (hopefully morbidly obese) the best way to solve this problem is to eat way more food.  If you hate the government and think it’s going to attack you, then use all the government’s offerings, including their roads and bridges and government services and protections, but prepare to kill the government because if you don’t, they will come kill you, but you will have a gun, so, at least for a little while, you will fight them off, and they will eventually kill you anyway, because how could they pry your cold dead fingers from your gun if your fingers weren’t cold and dead?  Unless, because you’re in Backwardland, you put your fingers in ice and then fire the gun at yourself (which is backward, but not in Backwardland!)

Solution: Buy a gun and fire it backward

The End of Real Things and the Beginning of Fake Stuff!

Fake stuff, for lack of a better word, is good.

For those of you who don’t know, I recently took some time off from blogging to work on my second book with partner and artist Joe Mielke.  Don’t get me wrong–as the Founding Father’s rightly pointed out in the Declaration of Independence, blogging is our right and we should fight to the death for our right to talk about ourselves and bore the living shit out of everyone with tedious daily recounts of our own personal interests, especially if they include recipes and the book we’re reading right this very second!   I really loved blogging as you can tell by my posts Blogging Tips!, and Demotivational Posters for Bloggers.  But because blogging is in my blood, I decided to “cut my wrists” and let that blood flow into the new book, the cover of which you see above.  This book is a cynical look at everything that is fake in good ol’ America, and there’s a wealth of material here Kids!

So please feel free to read my one hundred posts and comment about what an a-hole I am or agree that we are insignificant but slightly amusing Blinks of the Cosmic Eye.  I will return pushing the new book Fake Stuff! And Why You Like It and try to further my stature in the publishing world with quality products that exploit buff gay eighty-year-old farmers on the moon.  That is some good Fake Stuff!

Soon (2019) we will begin the FAKE THINGS, not FAKE NEWS podcast.  Meanwhile

Genital Gymnastics

I think it’s safe to say that the typical thirteen-year-old American has seen more genitalia than a Bangkok bidet.  America, Land of the Free Internet, produces more porn, both professional and amateur, than any other country in the world.

Yes, we are awesome.

Before I get any further in this post:

ATTENTION MOTHERS AND FATHERS:  IF YOUR LAST NAME IS TALIA, DO NOT NAME YOUR DAUGHTER JENNIFER.  JENNY IS SHORT FOR JENNIFER, AND YOU JUST NAMED YOUR DAUGHTER JENNY TALIA.

This Jenny Talia won a Lifetime Achievement Award for Humiliation

We love to film genitals.  The only thing we like better than filming genitals is actually viewing them in action.  The major hotel chains-Hilton, Marriott and Westin– make billions  off of genital films.  The US government allows this because they receive tax money from the hotel’s genital movies.  Genitals are conversely the most hidden aspect of our bodies and yet the most integral parts in producing human life.  Genitals are the elephant in the room (especially if the elephant is pink and has balls for ears).  We are outwardly ashamed of our genitals but inwardly obsessed with them, much like wearing our favorite fanny pack in public.

It helps to exude confidence.

Male genitals are consistently altered in the form of circumcision for men for religious purposes but also to enhance visual appeal.  For some reason, uncircumcised genitals are considered less filmworthy, which is odd considering the recent popularity of anteater movies.

Natural, yet still popular with the ladies

Similarly, women who have absolutely no plans to have their genitals filmed insist on shaving them as a necessary routine of daily hygiene.  It’s like buying a bazooka and never getting to shoot down an airliner.

These pecans had no idea they were being filmed.

Genitals play an important part in the tenets of every religion in the form of procreation or the afterlife.  The Ten Commandments, God’s epic Blogpost from the Mountaintop, reminds us “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife”  because “Thou shalt not obsess over thy neighbor’s wife’s genitals” just sounded too wordy.  In modern culture, anything labeled sexy is ultimately a reference to genitals, i.e. sexy cars, sexy clothes, sexy buildings, sexy music.  In other words, genitals play a pivotal role in pretty much everything we do.

As Einstein once said:  Sit with a pretty girl for an hour and it seems like a minute.

This is where he came up with his famous theory (and I’m paraphrasing):

Energy=My Crotch (2)

So what does it all mean?

Make sure your audience is laughing for the right reasons.

It means that when I go to a theater and see a man wearing nothing but a cape, stretching his scrotum sail-like as he stands on a skateboard with a fan blowing him across the floor while women scream and my wife decides to buy his picture book and I’m hoping the guy washed his hands when he signs the book and he gives it back to my wife while in the book it shows other fun ways to make male genitals look like a Hamburger, a Wristwatch or the Loch Ness monster and I go home and try to recreate the Hamburger and hurt myself, it is part of what we like to call the Digital Age.

Traveling the country and making money from Genital Gymnastics is not that different from blogging.  Being in Genital Movies or Puppetry of the Penis reminds us that we all generate from the genitals.  You use your fingers on the keyboard to expose the most vulnerable parts of yourself.  And these guys make hamburgers and way more money.

Can you be Too Good-Looking?

I wish this was my problem but it’s not.  It’s someone I know.  He actually asked me to do this blogpost, to write something about him because he reads my blog faithfully on the train as he commutes to SF for work.  This is a departure from the usual bestbathroombooks  hijinks,  but WTF.  He didn’t know I would be writing on this subject.  He didn’t know that I would be going into detail about his life and how his life interacts with mine.  He does know, now that he’s reading it, that I think he has a problem.

His problem:

He’s too good looking.

I have known this kid since he was a drooling little toddler sh*tting his pants and eating his own snot.  I’m good friends with his mother and father and sister.  He and my son are close enough in age that once they were grown we’d go on trips together.  We took a trip to Breckenridge CO and skied on hangovers until his father broke his leg.  (I wrote an article about this experience for the SRV Times).  We partied in Mexico until it ended in glass and blood and me holding a dish towel over a gash in the kid’s leg until the medics could sew him up.

He’s been to my house and I’ve been to his a thousand times, and I we’ve drained several hundred kegs and laughed about things that weren’t funny because we were hammered enough to think they were.

In other words, we’ve been through a lot of life together.

But I worry about him.  The reason:

He gets laid way too much.  I think this may have something to do with his unfortunate symmetry and bone structure.

At 27 year old, he’s about six two, a hundred and eighty pounds of Adonis.  He’s got dark hair, tanning skin and bright blue eyes.  He has a casual, sporty sense of style, no tats, and hair that forms some kind of a mini-mohawk with a symmetrical dove tail at the back of his neck.  His grooming and appearance are typically casual and clean, but he can hold his whiskey and your attention when he’s talking to you.  He’s an excellent golfer.  He’s a phenomenal snowboarder.  He works in an office that’s probably 60% gay.  He’s just slightly the rugged side of a pretty boy, and his teeth are white when he parts his lips for an easy smile.  As his father’s friend, we will occasionally discuss his latest female friend parade.  At my age of 56, it’s hard not to notice these women—even when my own beautiful wife is sitting next to me at the dining table.

At Saturday night’s dinner, his latest friend arrived from her job in finance–a brunette beauty in her new Mercedes wearing six inch patent leather heels and business attire.  After being introduced, we shared dinner and wine, and I began to marvel at the complexity of his conundrum.  The conundrum is this:

This has happened to me at least ten times.  And every time I meet her, the woman is stunning, often a few years older (he tends to date older women), and they never seem to be around for very long.  The last woman I met—this one was a blond equestrian—he met on the train to San Francisco.  He’d noticed her and decided to approach her and ask her for her number.  The next week we were all sharing dinner together.  Another charming, beautiful woman I haven’t seen since.

When I get together with his father—and it’s often—I try to elicit a resolution to the problem I see:  The kid is eating a gourmet meal every night, but, just like a Stephen King novel or some Biggest Loser fantasy, he never seems to gain weight.  And by weight, I mean have a relationship that sticks to his ribs beyond the benefits stage.

At one point, he was dating three women at once.  The physical and emotional stamina involved in spinning this many plates alone is admirable, and yet, when I spoke with his father about all of them, he said something I found hard to believe:

His son wasn’t interested in any of them, because they all slept with him too easily.

This reminded me of a conversation I’d had with my son, when one of his buddies–we’ll call him T–broke up with his high school girlfriend.

Me:  Why did T break up with M?

My Son: He said he was getting tired of her blowjobs.

I wanted to record that to play back to T in thirty years.

So I continue to watch this plate-spinning, wondering if the plates will ever stop coming, and whether the ease of non-stop gourmet meals will make choosing one meal to enjoy the rest of his life impossible.   I can’t imagine what it would be like to have this problem.  I can’t imagine why it’s so difficult to choose a woman who might make a good partner.  I’m wondering if the process of sampling becomes so enjoyable that the kid will never sit down to a real dinner at all.

I don’t have this problem, but I know someone who does. 

Since I know you’re reading this on the train, I just gotta ask you Kid:

What you gonna do?

How Racist is this?

Good news:  President Obama brings lots of people together in America

Bad news:  Lots of them are racists

We like to think we’re a colorblind society.  The people who claim to be colorblind are always white, and typically blame people of color for suggesting that they–the colorblind people–are racist.  It’s a pretty good argument, because very few people have the word racist tattooed to their foreheads.  And besides, it’s not really racism if it’s funny.  It’s just joking around and maybe dragging people behind a truck until they die.

In order to really understand racism, it helps to get into the minds of racists—which is pretty easy because there’s lots of room in there.  And the best way to get inside the minds of racists is to look at their phenomenal artwork.

Let’s start with something easy—watermelon.  The beginning racist starts with something seemingly innocuous, just a little fun and games so he can still go to church after he posts this on the web.  Even the racist likes watermelon, so how much could it hurt?  His kids think Dad is pretty clever.

Since that watermelon picture was such a hit, the racist hopes the kids will get a real kick out of this one.  Since all Negroes like fried chicken and grape soda, the racist’s next masterpiece really hits the spot.  As with all black men, Obama is after white women so the caption adds fantastic humor to the racism.  Mixing humor with racism makes hating people funny, which is the best way to hate people.

Here’s a funny play on words.  The alternate spelling for renig is renege.  What’s really funny about this bumper sticker is that it actually endorses Obama as President while hinting at the N word.  Hilarious!

See, renege or renig means “failure to carry out a promise”.  So if you say  “don’t renig” you’re saying “don’t not fail”, or, more simply, “Succeed in your Promise” in 2012.  It literally means “Re-elect Obama!”  kind of like saying “You aren’t not ignorant!”

Racists are funny and clever and really good with words.

Since the watermelon and the chicken worked so well, combining the two, along with old time “Black Face” shading and dialect really brings it home.  The kids will really find this one entertaining, and the fact that both stereotypes have been combined makes it what the racists like to call “stereo stereotyping”.  I hear you loud and clear, racists!  Lawdy, you’s funny!

Having pretty much depleted the food tool, the racist likes to turn to the next tool in his well-worn toolbox of three tools-cultural differences.  Who needs to get fancy?  Let’s dress the president in jungle bunny gear and make him look like a real ooga booga.  Since we all came from Africa, the racist is pointing out that he is more intelligent than he appears, as he has some knowledge of plate tectonics and migration theories of the human species.  He is aware that his ancestors were once hunters and gatherers too.  He is honoring the President while giving him a good-natured ribbing and hating him.

One of the great things about being a racist is that you can devalue people by comparing them to animals.  Hitler did it with the Jews.  He likened them to rats.  That’s pretty funny–people being rats. Oh, Hitler!

So here’s a funny example of using a monkey theme to suggest that our president has not developed into an actual human and has deficient or inferior brain capacity.  This photo was used in a real campaign and I’m sure lots of kids got to see it.  Since they probably don’t teach Evolution in the schools they attend, it’s going to be very confusing for them to understand how God intelligently designed a monkey who rules over their parents.

Sometimes the racist develops the ability to do two things at once.

Even his kids were amazed when our racist friend went to the mall wearing this teeshirt.  Two things happened:

1) It reminded those around him of our dark history resulting in civil war which eventually proved the practice inhumane and un-American.

2) He got his ass kicked.

Finally, there is the N word, which is the racist’s secret weapon.  He usually uses this word in private.  It makes him feel powerful.  Sometimes he forgets it’s his private word and he puts it on a sign outside his failing roadside business.  By using the N word he is suggesting that a man who lives in the White House is inferior, while he, the superior one, lives in a shitbox behind his failing roadside business.

Racists are funny, and we thank all of you for making us laugh.  We know your hate is what gets you up in the morning, and the last thing we’d ever want to see is you celebrating diversity or accepting people as individuals.

That’s what your kids are for.

Your Legacy

Here’s what happens:

Your sperm, the fastest swimmer in the bunch, finds your egg.

And now, lo and behold, you’re reading this.  You won the lottery.  You did.  You start piling up all the stuff that makes you you.  You go through school and draw a picture.  You make an ashtray out of clay, the orange mud of the earth, the lines of your palm like a leaf or a snowflake.  Your tiny hand.

The pixels pile up, the digital media starts humming, videos on the web, something you said.  You start a blog.  And Facebook.  Search Google.

I’ll post my picture for the world.  Everyone will know me.  Everyone.

And the ones and zeroes just keep growing and growing and growing.  You aren’t just flesh and blood anymore, you are pixels in the cloud.  And numbers.

You are numbers.

You might get married and have kids.  More zygotes.  Yours.  You might just create enough that your vapor trail, your meteor tail, your wind in the sail is readable forever.

Forever. 

And someday, someone reads this, reads you and watches you and gazes into your eyes long after you’re gone.  And the world has changed enough that what you created has a new meaning, a meaning you cannot now imagine, but it means something to the new ones.  The new ones think they understand what you mean.  They think they know.

Do they know?

Every word, every search, every image, every comment, every keystroke is you, all you and your life.  And you are gone, but you are here, to experience, to explore, to react to, to confuse and confound and delight and turn on.

Who is this?  Who was this?  What was she thinking?  What did he mean?    Is that how people were?  Is that what they thought?  Is this what society was like?  Why did they do this?  Why did they say this?  What does this mean?

Is this true?

Your son

Your daughter

And now, an Original Music Video by the Author!

Modicum Scroticum-Getting an Angle on your Writing

The ability to write something is not that difficult for most of us.  If you read this blog at all, you know that the distinguishing factor is whether what you write is any good.  For those of us who attempt to write something with a modicum of quality (it helps to avoid words like modicum), we’re all about the angle.  When I first started writing at a very early age, I was aware that the subject matter had to be presented in a way that wasn’t boring.

By writing about something boring–like say staplers for instance– I realized early on that if the stapler was explained as an office device that connected two pieces of paper together, even at the most detailed level of engineering, it would never be as entertaining as if I put the word “scrotum” near the word stapler.

The difference between stapling two pieces of paper together and stapling someone’s scrotum to a wall is an example of angle.  One is technical, and the other one hurts your scrotum a lot.  Introducing scrotum humanizes the stapler experience and produces a wincing pain reaction, thus imprinting the stapler in one’s mind while perforating the scrotum in one’s pants.

This brings me to the point of this post.  A better writer would have gotten here sooner.

Joe and I are now working on our second book.  We’re very excited about it.  We’re excited we won’t be talking about poop so much.  We’re so excited, in fact, that we almost stapled our scrotum to a wall.

Here’s the title:

Phobias from A to Z

We are still working on the tag line, something like “Know the Fears that bring you to Tears”.  This will be our second book to compliment “Toiletry from A to Z, Something to Do While You’re Taking a Poo”.  As you can see, we are still shooting for a Pulitzer, or Poolitzer if you like bad puns.

I don’t. 

The book will be in the style of our first book–die-cut and gifty and a little bit snide.

So here’s the question.  What’s the angle?  How do we approach the visceral subject of phobias so that the book is the most entertaining, readable and marketable?  The book will be funny (we hope) because the books presently in the marketplace are all relatively serious or self-helpy.

Here are two videos to give you a feel for the range of angle on the project.

The first is of a man—a scary looking gang member type—who is terrified of dogs (cynophobia), or in this case, an adorable pit bull puppy.  This guy is really afraid of dogs.

The second is a comedy group nailing it with a skit about phobias.  Amazing timing, clever and funny.

Two different angles on the same subject.

Is writing all about the angle for you?

What angle would you take with phobias?

And now, an Original Music Video by the Author!

Demotivational Posters for Bloggers! from Bestbathroombooks

As most of you know, besides my incredibly successful blog bestbathroombooks, I work for WordPress.  They hire me from time to time to show other bloggers that writing a blog is easy, fun and not a complete waste of their lives.  I think we can all agree I’ve done a spectacular job.

Well, actually, too good a job.  The WordPress servers are overloaded with bloggers.  WordPress executives are depressed.  So they hired me again.   This time they asked me to write a few demotivational posters, and, because the money is ridiculous (I’ve already retired six times off of this blog and WordPress fees), I said I would help.

There’s nothing that breaks my heart more than depressed multi-millionaires.  So here are ten posters that will live on in cyber-space forever and help WordPress stay afloat.  I hope they demotivate enough bloggers so that you—the important ones–can keep blogging forever.

Love always,

bbb

AAn

 

 

Foto Friday-Butts, Bellies and a Beautiful Bay

Yep, I work for a living.  I had four calls in San Francisco at the International Terminal yesterday.  I started off at SFO (logistical nightmare) and got the guys unloaded and working.  Terrazzo restoration this time if you care. Next stop, the Castro, where I snapped this photo:

Ah, the sweet smell of summer!

Bay to Breakers is this weekend, and these two well-hung gents decided to show the world what God gave ’em.   I was driving and texting and eating and listening to a book on tape about how multitasking is unhealthy, so the picture isn’t perfect–but I did manage to grab my phone, find the camera button and snap this one as a Muni-bus, taxi, three bicyclists and four pedestrians ran interference.

You can (not so) clearly see two naked guys with hats and sunglasses and boots and white socks (okay, you can’t see the boots and white socks, but their feet were safely protected) walking down Market Street.  My father would worry they didn’t put enough sunscreen on their schmeckels, but I’m sure they helped eachother with the Coppertone before they stepped out the door.   Just another day in our glorious City by the Bay.

Then I was in Pac Heights.  If you’re not aware, this is where the rich people live, including Nancy Pelosi,  on the corner of Divisadero and Broadway.  This is a picture of a trucker having a bad day.  What happened?

He forgot that San Francisco is steep, and how long his truck is.  He was heading up Divisadero towards Broadway from the Marina when he bellied out on the hilltop.  This happens from time to time because there are such steep hills in the city and such long trucks in the world.  Whenever I think I’m having a bad day, I think about all the other people in the world and realize there actually is an ultimate bad day for everyone.

If you’re a doctor, your patient may die on the table.  If you’re a porn star, you may find out  that all the ‘roids you took have finally shrunken your balls and rendered your appendage useless–all on film with five people standing around laughing and pointing.  If you’re a blogger, you write a blog like this.  At least this trucker didn’t run over Nancy Pelosi with ‘roid balls while his wife died on the table (she was having surgery that day).

Then I was over on Greenwich off of Hyde.  Sweet spot with a view of Coit Tower and  Alcatraz.  This pic doesn’t do it justice and I should have Photshopped out the wire, but it was a beautiful day.

Look for the cylindrical object at the top of the hill that in no way is suggestive of a useless appendage.

Here’s a pic of the cable car on Hyde:

Once again, driving safely and taking pictures and texting and eating a three course meal of Rice-a-roni

The brakeman (in the yellow jacket) is really working the brake.  If you’ve ever ridden the cable cars, you know how much fun it is with the breeze blowing through your hair and naked people’s scent blowing through your nose.  The brakeman was having a good day.  No one fell off the cable car and got cut in half.

So that was my day.  And now I’m back at work so I threw this together just for you because I know you wanted to see some pictures of SF and hear about my day.

Remember, everyone has a bad day now and then, but if you take off all your clothes and put on sunscreen and walk down the street, you will always feel better.

At least if you live here.

And now, and Original Music Video from the Author!

Hey Vagina!

I spoke with my female editors and we came up with this title.  We considered:

 Hey, Vagina!

but decided to leave the comma out.  We had a long argument about whether or not to keep the comma.  We thought the comma might make it sound like we saw a vagina on a roof or in a mailbox and we were pointing it out.  Then we thought if we left the comma out, it would mean we were talking directly to the vagina.  We almost forgot what we were talking about, which is, of course, the most amazing invention from God ever:

Hey Vagina!

It’s at the top of the legs. If you reach the bellybutton, make a U turn.

As with my previous post “Who died and made you Penis?” when speaking about the vagina we must first reference the Bible.  This allows us to blame the vagina for pretty much everything bad that has ever happened.  Eve did, after all, listen to a talking snake (God’s subtle phallic symbol) and the Serpent talks her into taking a bite of the apple.  Then of course, being evil and having a vagina, Eve offers Adam a bite, and they both become embarrassed by their nakedness.  So now, with the invention of shame, they need clothes.  Also, just to make women feel worse about wanting to eat a healthy diet full of pectin and vitamin C and other things I looked up on Wikipedia, God explains that women will have to birth babies.  He specifically wants Eve to remember, when the kid comes out, it’s not His fault that it hurts.   

Thanks, Eve, for making women have to birth babies with pain, and for making all of us wear clothes.  If it hadn’t been for you we’d all be playing volleyball in one big happy nudist colony.

So, very early on, women and their vaginas are portrayed as evil, or bad, or at least defying God.  That’s a great way to start the history of womankind.  It’s like buying a puppy and putting it in a box and burying it alive, and then telling your kids it’s the puppy’s fault because your back hurts from digging.

But don’t worry.  Even though that was a long time ago, things are different now.  Women are not oppressed anymore and are seen as intellectual equals and first class citizens everywhere, except:

The vagina is mysterious, which, even today, makes people angry.  They are angry because they don’t understand the vagina, much like when you go to the store and the cashier has double D breasts and whiskers, and you become angry because you don’t understand.  You want to know what the whiskers have to do with it, but you can’t ask and no one is going to tell you.  As an American, you feel it is your right to know exactly what those whiskers mean.

But you will never know. 

Similarly, the vagina is too mysterious and confusing for certain people.  These people usually have the word “fundamentalist” preceding their religious beliefs.  Because the vagina is mysterious to these people it is simply terrifying.  Sexually, it does not send up a flag that says, “I’m satisfied!  Your work is done here!  You can go pray now!”.

This is very threatening.  This is just another whisker or double D breast that makes no sense and yet is somehow so alluring.  For most males, the vagina has an extremely strong magnetic quality.  Men are drawn to the vagina like internet users to the word “vagina” or “anal” or “blogging tips”.  It is so magnetic and inspirational that certain religious men are inspired to fit themselves with explosive underwear, board a plane and blow off their testicles.

It takes two balls and 72 vaginas to wear these things

They do this so that in the afterlife they will be surrounded by 72 vaginas.

They believe these vaginas will be brand spanking new with absolutely no mileage on them.

But in reality, the vagina is not an evil organ and women are not evil.  The vagina is an amazing organ that is the portal for all human life.  The vagina provides much pleasure for the entire world.  The vagina is why the internet was invented.   The vagina is why buildings are built, wars are fought and Oprah Winfrey doesn’t call her private parts her “Penaynay”.

Simply put, more than half the population on Earth has one, and roughly the other half of the population wants one.

At least for a few minutes.

So, Hey Vagina!  Here’s to you.  Don’t let people put you down (or in a mailbox).  Don’t let the bad stories of the past taint your true importance to society.  You are one of my favorite organs, and I salute you.

After all, if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here.

And now, an Original Music Video from the Author!