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HOO BOY. I don't even know where to start with this one.
So, um, you remember how I wrote a love letter to your vagina? Well, yesterday, Madeline alerted me to this "response" posted on a site called Howl, self-described as "home of the nouveau bourgeois and zeitgeist" and part of the Vice Blogging Network. The response is titled "A Love Letter To Your Penis," which sounds harmless enough. I love penises! They're so smooth and fragile, like little baby birds.
But then I read the first paragraph:
"I’m gay and horrified by meat wallets. I’d still be horrified by the pudding hatch even if I wanted to put my willy inside of one. They look like face huggers and probably have the same plans for me."
REALLY? THIS OLD THING? A gay man who claims to be disgusted by women's vaginas? It's 2012; you can let this shit go. Just because you don't want to put your penis in my genitals doesn't give you license to act like it's some kind of maggot-infested garbage cheeseburger that you're going to like, get on you somehow.
It's offensive, but it's not new, and it's definitely not "edgy" like the author seems to think. The whole "Ugh, vaginas" thing is as gently cliched as an episode of "King of Queens." But then this m-fer started to go after my specific vagina, which is when he really went TOO FAR.
"At first I thought I’d make a witty comeback, much in the same way as Frankee’s ‘Fuck You Right Back‘, critiquing all of the points put forward in the original love letter, but probably not in the form of a R’n'B pop hit. I mean, ‘You look great, you’re shaped great, you smell great’ – has this chick done as she was told during sex education, and actually looked at her junk while bending over and looking behind her into a mirror? Or actually given her axe wound a sniff? That shit nasty, ain’t nobody got time for that."
He goes on to list the reasons men "have the upper hand here in this eternal war called Penis vs. Vagina." Can't penis and vagina be friends? Why do anybody's genitals, you know, the reproductive organs we all just happen to be born with, have to be better than anyone else's? Why must our genitals ram against each other like battling action figures? Why do I scream and scream but when I stop I still work on the Internet every day?
Look, once and for all: My vagina is not the little girl from The Ring. It's not going to like, get you. It doesn't pop out of corners or scurry across the room like Chucky. It's not a creepy clown who pulls you through a sewer grate. It doesn't suck you into a mirror and keep you in there for the rest of your life. My vagina is not a jump scare.
It's also not rotted meat. It doesn't make you gag like when you have to pull gross bits of food out of the disposal to drain the dishwater. It's not that smell that wafts out from a freshly removed Band-Aid. It's not a graphic surgery video or a smashed, headless dead bird by the side of the road. It's definitely not an "axe wound," a "pudding hatch" or any other stupid degrading term you can borrow from a straight-to-video sex comedy that's all "LOL BONERZ AND FARTS." In fact, I would like you to have seen the face I made when I read the phrase "axe wound," because I think it would have withered you.
And, honestly, I don't think you are GENUINELY frightened of vaginas at all. I don't even think you're really disgusted by what's in between half the world's population's legs. I think this piece, and all the "EW VAGINA" humor the world over is just a "funny" way to say that you don't like women very much. And that's scary.