Happy Thanksgiving to all My Minions. As a symbolic gesture of my grand beneficence, I will now provide you with commentary upon a subject certain to put you off your turkey dinner...
*Sigh* More disturbing noise from the world of "But it's My Vagina!".
Read first, puke later.
Let's begin by saying that this poor woman is, I think, doing something useful. In a world where anything even tangentially (as opposed to merely "genitally") connected to that species of brain disease known a "feminism" produces nothing of value, at least this feminist is determined to do something halfway useful with her life and make the attempt to debunk junk science and questionable beauty regimens vis-a-vis the Altar of Venus.
It's the other half that....ummm....stinks.
She is correct that "beauty" magazines, celebrities, quack doctors, and Urban Legend that lead women to mangle their Ladybits with industrial-strength chemicals, surgery, "natural" slop that may be toxic, and trendy stupidity spread by the internet, is an evil which needs to be confronted.
Far be it from Your Overlord to suggest that misinformation that leads people to do self-destructive things should be allowed to stand unchallenged.
After all, the author is a doctor and to judge by her bio, one with impeccable credentials, if you could muster enough ambition to care. A good portion of the article she's written is taken up with her impassioned assertions that she is the most Expertly Expert of All the Experts in the Universe regarding the Contrapunctum. If she says inserting moth balls into your minge in order to "tighten it up"or make it smell better is not the best thing to do, you should probably take her word for it.
However, we got it the first time; you're a crackerjack clam doctor. Get some perspective; it's not like you've climbed Everest without oxygen or sherpas, swam across the English Channel naked in January, or emerged unmolested after being locked in a room with Bill Clinton, Al Franken, Roy Moore, John Conyers, Anthony Weiner and Joe Biden.
I mean, fuck, Hillary's been there and done that millions of times. But, I digress...
So, I will stipulate that you are, indeed, Master of the Furburger, if you'll stipulate that you'll shut the fuck up about it. Anyway, where was I going with this? Right...the mental disorder. Bear with me.
After opening her diatribe with the statement that Males are something on the order of a disease, we get a tiny peek into the mental hell this woman lives in. A torment that has caused her to turn her entire life towards the obsession with what her own vagina smells and tastes like, and the attempt to brush off the concerns about same that she was confronted with. There's a sense in all of this that some great Cosmic Injustice has been done, that has to be redressed with the impassioned plea that "while that snatch might remind you of Sheepshead Bay at low tide, and taste as if it were marinated in fortyweight and old sweatsocks, this is "normal".
I know you are, but what am I?
This is a common theme among the aggrieved -- who are you to judge? (other than the guy who's smelled it and perhaps tasted it) -- which is followed by the campaign to "normalize" the abnormal.
There was a time when homosexuality was considered abnormal. Then gays complained a lot, insisted that others warp reality to agree, used the power of the state and media to make that wish come true, and voila!, competitive drag queen contests on TV, Gay Marriage, Ellen DeGeneres has a career despite no longer being funny.
Normalized.
And when we look at the blasted heath that used to be America, we find that all sorts of things that used to be considered abnormal, incorrect, not right, immoral, illegal, from pot smoking to men built like linebackers in dresses using the ladies room, to (alleged) pedophiles running for Senate, a lot of things that used to be frowned upon have either become accepted or are on their way to being accepted.
Why shouldn't the same process be applied to women who have toxic fuckholes? America will never live up to it's promise as the Land of the Free until nasty women with Love-Canal-like...erm...Love Canals...can be free to speak of their dirty Ladybusiness, and let the entire world know that while her nether regions remind you of a Gulf Oil Spill, dammit, she's still a lady, and you should Man up and overlook that which turns you off and fuck her anyway.
With gusto, too. Don't just go through the motions just because you don't want to do it; that's condescending, dammit.
Basically, the problems begin to flesh out in this paragraph:
"But while I may not have complete confidence in my appearance, I have professional confidence in spades. There are few people, if any, who know more about the lower genital tract than I do. So when this man began to tell me how my healthy vagina could be better, I dumped him."
Ah, the genesis of the disorder. A) you believe you're unattractive, and B) some cad criticized you in a very personal way. It's quite possible that B led to A, rather than the other way around, but I'm betting you had self-esteem issues to begin with and the criticism accelerated the downward spiral. Naturally, this creates an obsession with your snapdragon, turning this obsession into a career, the purpose of which was probably to figure out just what was wrong with your junk.
It's a common thing: many psychiatrists, I've heard, only took up psychiatry in order to discover what's wrong with themselves, and having made the discovery, pour themselves into their work so as to avoid thinking (or doing anything) about it.
You've met some cads with bad pickup lines or the poor taste to tell you about your own poor taste, so to speak, to your face. It's made you angry; it's hurt your pwecious feewings. Obsessing over the Tweenie is probably not a good way to get over it; in fact, the obsession is probably an indication that you haven't gotten over it and probably never will.
Probably because you didn't have a snappy comeback handy about his small penis. Therefore, all men must die, and the stanky pisshole must be turned into an unremarkable, common, everyday thing, like vanilla ice cream, sunshowers in summer, snow in winter, or yet another investigation of a Clinton or a Kennedy.
To make you feel better about it.
Not to belabor the point, but seriously, if a man tells you that your coochie smells, it's probably REALLY bad.
Considering the trouble men go to in order to find (and keep) regular sexual partners, and how often we strive mightily to avoid saying something downright insulting (but true) in order to keep them regular sexual partners, I find it difficult to believe that this man told you that you had a rancid spermcatcher in order to oppress you or destroy your self-esteem. He was telling you a painful truth. It might even, for his part, have been an unselfish act -- if it hadn't had been for all the other negative shit he had to say about you. Boy, you must be a mess.
In fact, I'm getting the impression that everything he told you was a painful truth; the only question was why he waited so long to let you know your labia was past the expiration date.
It must be emotionally damaging to be told that your Sausage Wallet is the source of an unpleasant effluvium, lack the ability to get past the embarrassment and shame of being told you brought tears (of disgust) to his eyes, and then get dumped -- because I don't believe you dumped him; women who will endure being serially criticized for their hair, appearance, weight, and even the inadequacies of their sexual organs etc. typically either fall into some sort of Stockholm Syndrome of acceptance, or just completely snap and murder the motherfucker. I mean, that's where you -- finally -- drew the line?
Normal chicks cut the sucker loose after the first unreasonable demand.
I can see how all that would really sting.
And here's the part which tells me that you're either some sort of masochist (although I do have to admit, the pretend cluelessness and apparent lack of guile you wrap it up in is a lovely touch), or an expert at beating a dead equine for continued profit -- and eternal victimhood.
Seriously, I do not know whether to have you committed, or applaud your wonderfully-nuanced scam wherein you're a victim of the patriarchy for having endured sexual criticism, bravely fighting against misinformation, while simultaneously courting even more abuse that both reinforces the victim mentality, and which puts more money in your pocket talking about it.
Brah-vo.
From the article:
"And then the men came. They came to share their opinions regarding my vagina, writing on my blog and at me on Twitter. They flocked to my Instagram and my Facebook. One group of gentlemen, in at least their 40s, even decided that this story of me being dumped supposedly because of my vagina was worthy of a laugh on their podcast."
OH MY GOD....you expected to talk about your cooter in a public forum and NOT get the inner 10-year old in every man listening to it to come out? You must be fucking stupid, or more likely, spending too much time mesmerized by your clam to even be aware this was going to happen. Assuming your bio was correct, and you did go to medical school, how did you NOT know this was likely to happen?
It's almost as if you're BEGGING to be "victimized" again...and perhaps you were. It's how people like you get attention, by making themselves professional victims. And then you cash in on the attention you get.
It's part of the pathology of turning your inner pain into an apparent positive while continuing to nurse the grievance, which has become, oddly enough, a great mental comfort. Like when black people call one another "niggah".Embrace your pain.
"To the rash of mansplainers and The New York Post, thank you. This experience proves that shaming women about physiologically normal and functioning vaginas is epidemic."
Perhaps the problem isn't a "normal and functioning vagina" as much as it the owner who might have (or had) a personal hygiene issue or medical condition, can't admit it, and thus nursed the seeds of a variety of minor disturbances. It happens. Don't blame half the human race for it. Besides, he didn't criticize your function or physiology, according to your own story, he wondered why it stank on ice, as we say in New York.
Nice deflection.
If the "rash" (if I may appropriate your jibe, Doctor) of vagina-related quackery you complain about in your article is, in fact, as widespread as you say (and I have no reason to doubt the self-proclaimed foremost authority on the Hoo-ha), it is most likely the result of people like you -- who have been so insanely manic about what goes into and comes out of a Quinny, and often so strident in your feminist bullshit -- that you've confused and frightened a generation of women into doing the very stupid things you're fighting against.
Women were always insecure, and feminism made them feel even more so (show me one who's breathing and I'll show you one who gets upset if hubby looks at another chick, is constantly asking "does this make me look fat?", considers silence an indication that you're planning to kill her and so asks "What's on your mind, Honey?" or "Do you feel okay?" just to get some reassuring noise, or who is constantly referring to other women as "bitches" out of some, petty jealousy or other).
Considering the amount of feminist douchebaggery (if you'll allow me the word) in orbit around the Muff, it's hardly surprising that the Modern Woman may be inordinately and abnormally pre-occupied with all facets of her cooze to the point where they'll even do obviously unwise things to it.
I mean, just look at what they have to deal with:
Feminism tells them, on the one hand, that the cunt is a wonderful thing, and on the other, something that marks them for a lifetime of oppression.
A pussy is either a source of great joy, or a bottomless pit of suffering.
The Cumbucket is a means by which to attract a man to serve as your co-equal soul mate, or a means by which to cynically manipulate one in an effort to enslave him.
It's the Key to a Treasure Trove wherein just bearing one entitles one to have everything -- money, success, power, fame -- handed to you, and alternately the means by which you will be prevented from achieving any of these, no matter how hard you work.
It is a source of caring, nurturing, and life, or a weapon of mass destruction
It's a symbol of a superior community of powerful, elevated beings, and alternately a symbol of an eternally victimized doofus who can't help but blindly and powerlessly follow the visceral emotional instincts it stirs in you.
Make your fucking mind up, already.
Wonder why they're rubbing Vapo-Rub on themselves? I don't.
But please DO go on writing articles about your stinky vag, pretending you aren't embarrassed by it , and feigning shock about the public reaction to advertising it as such, as an attention-grabber.
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