I'm glad I don't have one. Experience has taught me it's more trouble than it's worth.
I do not intend to wax poetic on the virtues of the Bearded Clam, because from my point of view, besides being a convenient place to park a penis for an evening, I don't give much thought to it. It doesn't pay to do so from the Male standpoint because we have (mostly) one idea of what it's good for (see last sentence), and only two ideas on it's utility in either excretion or the birthing process.
Beyond that, I reckon most Men are content to let the old Sausage Wallet remain one of the Great Mysteries of the Universe, like why the Red Sox traded Babe Ruth, why you can only buy hot dogs in packages of 10 while buns come in packages of 8, why Mark David Chapman shot John Lennon five times and didn't even bother to aim at Yoko, and what happens to all those socks that go into the wash but never come out.
It's something we spend nine months trying to get out of, but then the rest of our lives trying to get back into.
Like spotting a unicorn, capturing a leprechaun, finding that genie in a bottle, or recovering the Holy Grail, the vagina, for most men of a certain age, becomes the focal point of a mystical quest, often fraught with extreme peril and unexpected adventure. Eventually, as we get older, it becomes a sort of second-rate Mount Everest (because it's there), until we've had enough of it -- and the headaches that it proliferates -- to either not think of it all that much, or to ignore it, altogether. The original urge to conquer the Pink Snapper was only driven by biology, anyway, and once the flames of the biological urge die down, it's simply there, like the curtains or the sofa...only attached to something that won't shut the fuck up until halftime.
Naturally, because they're disagreeable creatures created specifically to torment Man with a mixture of hormones and passive-aggressive, Women tend to view The Snatch in a contrary manner. Where Men see "sex", "babies" and "bodily functions" (because we're linear thinkers), Women see a multi-purpose tool to use in their fight to drive their male counterparts to murder, and have invented a variety of methods by which to use their Cooters to extract wealth, provide themselves with security, and ensure that insanity prevails.
By this formulation, having a Vagina, then, is sort of like passing a Civil Service exam: it entitles you to a good living while doing no useful work, it gives you an excuse to go on strike, it ensures that your personal pain and grievances are felt by the remainder of society, and it's a useful tool -- like a crowbar -- for carving out special privileges. Simultaneously, it's a fucking burden that inflicts slight mental disorder, a great deal of regularly-scheduled mild discomfort, and is tied to the politically-useful (but factually stupid) idea that possession of said Va-jay-jay relegates it's owner to a second-class social, political and economic status, arguments used, again, like a crowbar to pry money and privileges out of society.
Why, the Snizz just may be the most-versatile human organ ever invented! The Swiss Army Knife of Evolution.
But, it's time to get down to brass tacks, as it were. We're not here to discuss the versatility or the utility of the Furburger, just the insanity to which it drives some of those who are in possession of one.
This past week has seen a veritable flood of vagina-related stupidity wash over my internet experience. It must be discussed, dissected, and the perpetrators drawn and quartered. Because Your Overlord has OCD, and because some of it is simultaneously funny as all hell and disturbing.
The first example of Vagina-related tomfoolery comes courtesy of National Review. Yes, that was National Review, conveniently linked here for your reading pleasure and subsequent nausea.
Some comments on this particular brand of nonsense:
1. Someone got paid to write an article or do some research on the burning topic of exclusion of the trans-gendered in the practice of veganism. If you haven't read the article, think about that bullshit for a second, and try not to laugh or vomit.
2. The quality of the writing, the subject matter, and the style of argument that NR was once famous for have fallen dramatically. As for the original author, I wouldn't elevate what she puked up as "argument".I put it to you that the response to the original bullshit written by a millenial chick you wouldn't fuck with a stolen dick was -- surprise! -- written by a millennial chick you wouldn't fuck with a stolen dick, probably hired specifically to "appeal" to a younger generation of similarly-mentally-inclined and/or diseased people, and see if you can convince yourself that this is NOT a coincidence.
3. Try the following thought experiment: ask yourself, would a Man write anything like this, both original article and response, and if the logical conclusion you come to is "No, all of this could only be produced by a dumbass in possession of a sexual organ awash in uncontrollable hormones", you win.
Our second example of the Destructive Power of the Hair Pie comes to us, of course, from the recently ubiquitous Chelsea Clinton, who has become the official spokesdonkey for those who will say and pretend to believe anything just to be accepted as a human being by people you wouldn't otherwise follow through your own front door.
A World-Wide recognition of "Menstrual Hygiene Awareness Day" is another one of those useless gestures which the Left engages in all the time. Like wearing Vagina Hats. or hashtag anti-terrorism posturing. Or those Save the Planet rallies that usually leave behind a trail of trash, discarded water bottles, broken glass, burnt-out buildings, used condoms, joint ends, thrown away fliers, and excrement, after the people who attended got back into their SUV's to ride 100 miles back to the suburbs to enjoy central air and post their selfies on Facebook to virtue signal to other suburban assholes.
The point was never to achieve anything of consequence; it was to attract a crowd of other questionable mentalities for the photo-op, and to give Clinton The Younger an opportunity to engage in pretense to relevance. Because, you know, until a Vagina occupies the White House this is just a country full of oppressed slaves, and it's gotten to the point where those who most fervently pursue the cause of a Female President have obviously decided that just WHO that First Female should be is not even fucking important.
All that matters is Vagina.
The proof of that assertion? After having backed two-time loser Hillary, or the Presumably Retarded Jill Stein, or even having expressed a preference for Elizabeth Warren, some seem extraordinarily enthusiastic to plunk for Hillary's Demon Spawn, who it must be admitted, has achieved even less than her mother (who never achieved a damned thing that Bill didn't break arms to get, or buy for her, naturally, because vagina).or any of the other above-mentioned non-entities, who have but one qualifying feature (allegedly), which is "Vagina".
Another thought experiment: assume Chelsea Clinton manages to be elected the First Female President (stranger things have happened). Could you ever get the mental picture of Alfred E. Neumann with (alleged) breasts out of your mind? If the answer you've arrived at is "Fuck NO!", then congratulations, you've won.
Our final example of Twat-inspired Twaddle concerns two of your Overlord's Favorite Things of All Time.
The first favorite is the quixotic quest for Eternal Youth, and the sheer amazement at the extent to which people will go to find it, the insane amounts of money they will spend to achieve it, and the absolute ridiculous bullshit they will swallow in it's pursuit.
The second is the reference to "experts". Three things about "experts":
1. You never knew who these people were, and would never be inclined to actually care, if they were not occasionally quoted or featured in an article you've only read because of the headline. In this case the headline reads"Doctors Warn Women Against Putting Wasps' Nests in Their Vaginas".
Yeah, try exercising the discipline NOT to read that one. I fucking dare you.
2. Some of the topics these "experts" usually are trotted out to discuss are exquisitely obscure or vague. Which leads you to question the mental state and motivation of someone who would become an "expert' on all things Vaginal and Wasps' Nest. Are they actually teaching this sort of thing in universities?
3. It's a good thing there's an "expert" to help me because if I were a woman, I would sign up in a heartbeat for anything that had both the words "Wasp" and "Vagina" in it, so long as it were presented to me as a beauty regimen. Because...all together now...vagina.
Of course, the article is nothing of the sort: there's no danger of hearing about the horror story of the poor unfortunate who had her Poontang perforated like an Apiary Pincushion, and ultimately, it all resolves itself in a dense muck that is one part Holistic medicine bullshit, one more indication of Cultural Suicide, and an excuse to reach for the Jim Beam.
But therein is another example of the Power of the Pussy: it's mere juxtaposition against the word "Wasp" led me to read utter dreck, and the obsession which many women have with what goes into it or comes out of it, will lead them to the extraordinary attempt to preserve it by drying it out.
Like it was a fucking Mummy.
I'm glad I don't have a vagina. It seems like such an albatross: it's high-maintenance, no one takes you seriously when you talk about it, and it breeds an unhealthy and potentially-deadly obsession.