(In response to a ridiculous article on the Guardian where Suzanne Moore told men what to do with their penises)

Penises have been in the news a lot, recently, most notably dropped into wine glasses and photographed by appropriately-named politicians. But let’s not forget about the elephant in the room, ladies: VAGINAS. Weeks and weeks go by without the mention of a vagina in the papers, which would lead many of us to believe that there’s some sort of cover-up conspiracy going on; anyone would think we were trying to stop the word being used in official discourse.

But it’s all too easy to be reckless with your vagina, so I figured that I’d help out by throwing together a quick rundown on what to do – and what not to do! – with your lady-garden. No need to thank me.

ONE. Don’t take pictures of it!

Hey, we can all imagine what a vagina looks like, anyway. Is there any need to photograph the damn things? Certainly not. Of course, there’s not the inherent future career and reputation risk of doing, say, topless shots – unless you have a particularly memorable-looking vagina, I don’t know what you’ve got going on down there – but, to be frank, disembodied pictures of ’em turn us on about as much as disembodied pictures of erections do you, on average. It’s all about CONTEXT. Vaginas on their own mostly just look like sad old ham sandwiches.

(Right, yeah, that’s the vulva. I realise it’s different. “10 rules for managing various parts of your sexual organs, ladies and other vagina-havers” isn’t quite as snappy a title)

TWO. Wash it, but don’t go crazy.

Hey, you’re washing your whole body, right? Wash it too. No need to use specialist wipes or themed cleaning agents or, god forbid, spray stuff up yourself, that’s horrendously invasive. But, you know, if someone’s poking around down there, make it pleasant to do so. Even if they’re not. Wash your body! It smells when you don’t.

Don’t look at me like I’m some horrendous Patriarch. I like it when humans wash themselves. That’s positive.

THREE. Don’t stick household items or groceries up it.

There are a WIDE variety of objects that you can legitimately and safely whack in there with gay abandon (or straight abandon, whatever) – just pop down to Soho and you’ll be blown away by the array of neon mechanical pseudowangs ready for insertion.

So don’t put bottles up there; that’s dangerous, to be frank, and about as unerotic as a tax return form. Leave food out of it, too: don’t put bananas up there, or courgettes, or any of that nonsense. You know there’s a global food shortage on, right? And there you are selfishly jamming produce up yourself and ruining perfectly good eats.

FOUR. Give birth out of it if you want.

That’s what it’s for, right? I mean, that’s what it’s supposed to do. Still. It sounds pretty horrendous to me, so I can understand if you don’t want to push kids out of the thing. There’s a level of utter symbiotic Alien-level revulsion to it, and then you have to take care of the little bastard for the next 18 years. You can’t just let it run off and implant someone else in the face like you could with a chestburster. Gross.

FIVE. Stop being so mysterious about the blood that comes out of it.

You’ve seen ZOO, right? And NUTS? Those magazines are one part breasts, one part football, and one part unsettling levels of gore. Go for a quick game of five-a-side when you’re on your period and you’re basically the living embodiment of a discount Lad’s Mag.

What I’m saying is: we can take it. We can deal with you discussing gore, especially if we’re going out with you. We’ve watched people saw their own legs off and dig around in stomachs for keys in horror movies. We can stomach Shark Week.

SIX. Name your vagina.

Do it! See if we care. Call it something cool for bonus points, like “The Cock Gauntlet” or “The Pink Duchess” or “The Pleasure Pit” or “Fuckbucket One” or “The Baby Flume.” Call it whatever the hell you want. Call it a name that can only be replicated with a high-pitched screeching noise. That will not put us off.

(actually maybe don’t do that screeching thing, that would be terrifying)

SEVEN. Have ladies do fun stuff to it, if you like.

That’s all. Do that, if that’s what you’re into. I’m not going to tell you not to be gay, even to make a point about the Winter Olympics. On that subject, though, Russia, what the hell. If you’re going to beat someone up, beat up bears. And not big hairy gay dudes. Actual bears. You’re Russian, for God’s sake, you shouldn’t go around picking on alternative sexualities that are, by statistical averages, smaller than you.

(Beating up gay bears, though, like actual bears who happen to like bears of the same gender in that way, is a difficult middle ground. Just make it about the Bear and not the Gay and we’ll be fine, I reckon)

EIGHT. Don’t pierce it yourself.

Don’t pierce anything yourself. Next.

(To be honest, I’d refrain from knocking holes in genitals and sticking metal in those holes because, shit, you only get one set of genitals and you want to keep them away from penetrating needles, I’d have thought. But apparently metal add-ons are fun, so, you know, fine.)

NINE. Don’t change it for anyone but yourself.

Does someone not like your vagina? Tell them to get lost. Don’t get bits lopped off or stuck on or what-have-you just to make it more visually appealing to some loser. I’m not going to say your vagina is beautiful just the way it is, because, well, previous statements as to sad ham sandwiches should explain where I stand on that. But surgery is never the answer, unless the question is “how am I going to remove these bullets from my arm” or other, similar questions like that.

(I mean, I guess, if it makes you happy? Fine. Do what you want to it, safely. Have an Extreme Home Makeover down there. Put in an extension. Make the whole thing look like Richard Nixon, but Richard Nixon after someone’s thrown water on him, and he has a weakness versus water like the Wicked Witch of the West and he’s mellllltttttinnngggg. If that’s what floats your boat, make it happen.)

TEN. Have fun with it.

I’ve not got one myself, but research indicates that vaginas are TOP FUN for both the owners and those that the owners and operators graciously allow access to and use of the facilities. So, you know. Have fun with it, if you like how it feels. Don’t feel you have to be mysterious about the whole affair. We all know what you’ve got going on down there.


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3 thoughts on “10 rules for managing your vagina

  • Dookie Howser says:

    If there were a male version (by which I mean ‘for men’) of Cosmopolitan magazine, you should surely be editor in chief.

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