I am Woman! Hear me act submissive!

I was watching the news today and I saw a chipper young female named Michelle Bachmann (it was misspelled on  the television. Um, Michelle has two "l"s. I learned that in the my last year of school: The third grade). Well, Mrs. Bachmann is running for President of the Americas. She better pay attention to Chile. Can you say swing País? No you probably can't because you don't speak Mexican, as I do. 

Michelle Bachmann (Left)

 Anyway, I find it repHreshing like a pH balanced tampon that she as a woman(?), realizes that her husband is her master. She stated that  the Lord says, 'Be submissive wives; you are to be submissive to your  husbands.' Now, I have  never been married but I suspect that it is wonderful. For the woman, it involves no thinking. Your husband tells you what to do! Thinking is so hard for me, ever since the moment of the accident. My Mom likes to call the moment I was conceived "the accident." Thinking was hard at first because I was a zygote and then because I was a baby and then because I was a born a female. 

If God (she was not specific about the God so I will assume it is the Hindu god Shiva, the Destroyer) wants Mrs. Bachmann to be submissive, she will do it. All I hope is that when she bombs Canada, or some equally evil place, she will give credit to the First Dude, whatever-her-husband's-name Bachmann.

Transforming My Dark Poon

In celebration of the new Transformers: Dark of the Moon, I decided to shave my around my Vulva, whatever that is! I have waxed my bikini area before, but no one told me that you don't pour hot candle wax all over your lady parts, cut canvas off of your old pair of Vans, apply said canvas to vagina area and then put like an untamed steed at the reins of a cruel master. That was one embarrassing trip to the E.R.! It went something like this:

"It" is similar to this color

Nurse: You have pieces of black fabric stuck to your inner thigh

Me: I know, right! I got a big date tonight and I had to clear cut like a lumber company, if you know what I'm saying! By clear cutting, I mean tearing out my pubes with candle wax and shoe canvas.

Nurse: You need a mental health evaluation.

Me: Can my psychiatrist be sexy with a dark past?

So, in order to avoid another stay in the psych ward, shaving instead of waxing seemed to be a much better option. I purchased a razor blade from this cocaine dealer down the street. (Razors are so expensive these days! It was like $200! But he did throw in some complimentary cocaine).

As I shaved, I started to wonder why men want women to be as hairless as a young gerbil in the lady bits area? Is it because they are secretly desire women to look like prepubescent children? Do they want a smooth ride-and-glide? Do they want to fuck gerbils?

Whatever the reason, I am happy to oblige. Through all of this pain I've gone to for men, it was always worth it in the end. We would go to dinner at a fine establishment (Applebee's please!) and after we had had our fill of earthly pleasures, we would go to his apartment or mine or an unlocked car. After he saw my area, he would shriek in delight and run away. Thank you, my Dark Poon. We will enjoy our Applebee's alone together, as God intended.

A Second Chance at True Love

Yesterday, I found a dog on the side of the road. He was smelly, had patchy black hair, and was furiously chewing a corn cob. And that's how Jorge, my old boyfriend, and I got back together.

My Mom warned me about Jorge when we first got together. He was a bass player and I have a misplaced vertebrate in my back, so carrying his upright bass into his Chevy Traverse was very difficult. She said to me “Virginia, how are you ever going to shoulder all of that responsibility?” But this was during the 2008 election, so she may have been referring to the crucial role that the state of Virginia played in deciding who would win the electoral college.

But Jorge was kind. He once gave me 2 dollars to buy him a hamburger that he let me have a bite of. I loaned him money and he paid back 62% of it within 3 years. And I didn't even have to ask!

And his body. He was so pale and had a large lumpy belly. It was as if he was a Prince from the 16^th century, proving his wealth with his enormous girth and his lack of exposure to any form of sunlight. This sort of power was intoxicating. He projected this power in his powerful scent. A mix of garbage, Axe body spray, and sidewalk chalk. This was the smell of success.

Our relationship ended on a positive note. He had to be evicted because the landlord could not understand how cool he was and he moved to a rehab facility. And it wasn't even court ordered! I asked if he and I could continue our relationship. What he said radiates with honesty and beauty in its truth: “Valerie, those sluts in rehab are desperate and I have to get at that while they are still kind of high.”

My Jorge! How I missed you! Ever time my back didn't ache, I thought of you and your sweet-ass Chevy Traverse. Your natural body perfume wafts through my 200 square foot studio apartment and I can resist no longer. My air mattress will squeak with the sounds of passion.