During a conversation with a friend last night I came to a realization and now life makes so much more sense. Bros are always saying that chicks are crazy, and I totally agree. Its a rare day that I find a female that I’d like to hang out with for more than thirty minutes at a time. Bitches be trippin’ after all. But after this epiphany last night I’ve come to understand why. It’s not crazy estrogen just driving our brains hog wild at the drop of a hat. It’s entirely because we have vaginas.
Not solely because of the fact that we have them. But more so because of all the different names for it. I don’t know who thought that the basic names weren’t good enough and thought they had to go above and beyond on a naming rampage, but it was super unnecessary and most of them make me cringe and have no positive effect on my state of arousal.
Have you ever Urbandictionaried the word vagina? I lost it. Clam Burger? Crotch Waffle? Honey Pot? Whisker Biscuit? Fur Burger? …I appreciate you trying to appeal to my love of food, but… what?! Then there’s the people who went the more romantic route, Altar of love. Cupids Cupboard. Love Glove. Lovebox. Then there’s the down right unnecessary. Yo Yo Smuggler? Brazilian Caterpillar? Bubblegum by the bum?
I’m not the type of person you bring to a sex store in any case. If you’ve seen The Office, the episode where Michael Scott and Ryan go to the sex store for Phyllis’s bachelorette party and he just giggles the entire time. That was real life for me. I have the maturity level of a twelve year old in health class the day they start talking about penises and vaginas in these scenarios. I can’t take them seriously in the slightest. Most of my time was spent going around the store going, ‘….why? Why is this a thing?’ or giggling like a little girl. It’s not so much because i’m uncomfortable, because it takes a lot for me to be uncomfortable in most situations in life. I just cant help but giggle. I’m capable of mature and intellectual conversations but I also laugh at fart jokes and giant pink dildos with eighteen different settings and functions. This is my life, this is how I operate.
Basically, what I’m trying to say here is that if dudes didn’t want girls to be crazy they shouldn’t have given our nether bits so many ridiculous names. All I have to say is where do you think all these crazy different personalities come from? Our vaginas. That’s where they originate and I blame every single person, male, female, one eyed one horn flying purple people eater, whatever, that has created a new name for vaginas. One Eyed One Horn Flying Purple People Eater could actually be another name for a vagina, although I hope your lady bits are not purple, you may have an oxygen deficiency. I don’t know if that’s how it works, I don’t know if people thought to look what with being too preoccupied with other life saving activities when you became cyanotic. I suppose when you’re dead it would be the same effect so you could find out then… Now i’m curious. But I digress… It’s pretty accurate any how, for the most part, and now i’m starting to think that that whole movie was some sort of metaphor that was child friendly. Kind of. It’s been many a years since I’ve actually seen that movie, so i’m not sure how I would argue this point, but I can only assume that’s what they were referring to when they wrote the song and later the movie.
I’m really just pumped because now I can use the hashtag #becauseihaveavagina again.
And for the record, my lady garden is not named John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. But I would prefer it to be called that over hot pocket… Have you seen the inside of a hot pocket? I know i’ve stressed to you all before to never ever look at the insides of a hot pocket if you’re ever forced to eat one, but either way I would never want my cooch to be referred to as all that nasty. …it could maybe be the polite way to tell someone they have a nasty cooter but in any other setting it should be frowned upon.