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Exqueef Me? – Throwback Humpday Post 04.17.11

Because I am still hungover from last night over a drink called Darth Vader that they should’ve called the Death Star instead, here’s an old post that you may or may not have read. I promise to get back to it when my brain stops being mad at me for giving it a 12 hour headache.

There are some things in life that I will never understand. Like light beer, ordering a non-fat, sugar-free, soy latte with whipped cream, or why some women become hookers (and I’m talkin ’bout the kind u’ll see on an episode of COPS, not a congressmans “escort”) instead of trying out stripping first.

And then there are things that I feel are sooo unecessary. Things that the world could’ve totally done without. Things that I swear exist only for the purpose of being nothing more than sheer entertainment for God or Mother Nature (or fill in the blank with the religious/spiritual/scientific creator of ur choice). Things like ass crack hair (or pubic hair in general for that matter), Tila Tequila, and pussy-fart.

jaklsdjflkajsdflajsf.

It pained me just to type out that word. Why does that word even exist???!!!

And thennn, they try to make it sound more scientific and shit by calling it a “Queef.” See, this is why I believe God is a man. ‘Cuz only a man would take the word “Queen,” replace one letter and then fuck it all up! A queef is defined as “vaginal flatulence (faltus vaginalis in Latin), an emission or expulsion of air from the vagina that may occur during or after sexual intercourse or (less often) during other sexual acts, stretching, or exercise … “ I define it as possibly the most embarassing thing (next to the obvious of shatting) that can ever happen to a woman during intercourse. And my angst stems from the fact that is has no purpose asides from making me want to get up, run to the bathroom, and lock myself in there until my man either stops laughing or drives to the other side of the country. And I’ve only done it a handful of times! But still – why? WHYYYYYY?

See, I have this long-standing theory that God checks my ego with pimples. Like, “Aye bitch, humble urself or ur getting a monster on the tip of ur nose.” But wtf is the lesson learned or moral of the story with a queef? Stop being a whore? Ur not a big enough whore? It’s not like a regular fart where ur expelling gas, it’s just AIR for crying out loud. Air that comes outta ur vag and sounds disgusting and totally ruins the moment for me. And I say for me, because every single dude I’ve asked said they didn’t really care. But that’s because air is not farting out of their penis hole!

OK fine. Maybe I’m doing too much. Maybe queefs aren’t that serious. I mean there are more dire issues out there. Like the recession, the current state of Haiti, and Brad Pitt getting back with Jennifer Anniston. BUT COME ON! We already get cramps and dispense blood outta there once a month, and the only time that doesn’t happen is when something the size of a melon is getting ready to force it’s way outta there. So please – give the vag a break. God/Buddah/Freud – if ur reading this, rid us of the queef once and for all … or at least don’t let the cause be from too much “hittin it fromt he back,” ‘cuz that’s my favorite. And that’s just CRUEL.

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Intimacy. Licking your brain, while massaging mine. Exploring you inside and out. Becoming one then two then one again. Feeling you. Tasting you. Loving you. Lingerie and tailored suits, sundresses an

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