Thursday, November 8, 2012

That not-so-fresh blog ~ Madam, please put your Va-Jay-Jay away.

Gentlemen, I would like to apologize in advance. The following blog is going to be very vulgar, but please understand I am typing this in sympathy to you.

Ladies, if you can read this. Then I have a request.

Madam, please put your Va-Jay-Jay away. Thank you.

A while ago, I got a Roku box, and with Roku I got into Netflix. I've been watching plenty of stand up comics lately, but I couldn't get through too many of the female acts.

Now judging by my last few political posts, you might find this to be curious, and indeed you would be right in thinking so. I'm a firm supporter of women's rights, and I try to be a little more open minded each day. But there's a fine line between a woman who is sure in her femininity, and one who's just being vulgar.

Some of the acts started off pretty funny, but then midway through, took a very unsavory tone.

Without warning, and for no reason at all, the comedians start talking about "Underpants Village". 

And I don't mean that in the way that a male comic does. Most male comics talk about sex, but stop after a while.

These "ladies" went beyond that. They started talking about what they smelled like, how they stretched, what other ones are like, if they can cram it like a clown car, and after 15 minutes of some rambling blonde comic named Amy, kvetching about it like it's a built in purse with the handle broken off, I had to switch over to the Netflix menu.

On Netflix, whenever I watch something, it pops up 50 "suggested" titles. Most of the time they have nothing to do with each other, (I watched White Christmas, they suggested Xanadu. Correlation? NONE!!) but since I had just watched "Amy's" Va-Jay-Jay monologues, it auto suggested a movie titled "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues". 

Luckily, before I had the chance to watch it, my friend Bill stopped me. He actually has a review of it here: and there was one line I just couldn't get past: 

"I did learn that one can take over a ranch by dropping your drawers and letting the oppressors catch a whiff of the unique aroma caused by unwashed private parts.

... What can I even say to that?? This was a concept so absurd, so out there, I simply had to Google it. Sure enough, 55 entries came up right away from sickened movie buffs, all claiming to have seen it.

And much like the unwanted story you hear from a drunk, ring rat, bothering you while you're waiting for your appetizers, you just can't UN-hear a story like that either. Try as you might, it is now burned forever into your cerebral cortex. Years from now, you may forget your name, your favorite movie, maybe even your dog's name. But somewhere in your mind, you have a permanently etched story of some random woman's Va-Jay-Jay.

I blame the old feminine care product ads I grew up with. The ones that made no blithering sense, and yet made it seem "okay" for random women to start talking openly to people about what they do with their panty platters:

Most people use soap and water, not vinegar. I very much feel that if you are having an odor problem, salad dressing is probably the last thing you'd want to clean yourself with. Most people also don't talk about their nasty under-britches in public.

I wish I could have been a fly on the wall, the day some random television producer stood in front of a group of his peers in a board room and said

"HEY! I have a great idea for a douche commercial. Let's have two women sitting down for tea, and one of them says *I have that not-so-fresh feeling* and THEN-"

"Hey Ted, why do we call it that not so fresh feeling? Nobody says that."

"It's better than saying STANKY KITTY!! Anyway, she's got that not-so-fresh feeling, so the other girl says to her *Well have you tried Massengill?* then we pitch the whole idea of using vinegar and water to make you feel like a fresh lane after a summer rain."

"Ted... a lane after a rain... isn't that like mud?"

"...SHUT UP! We roll in fifteen!"

None of these commercials come across as realistic, and yet sadly, I fear many have bought into the hype.

What may have been a gentle way to sell a potentially dangerous product in the name of women's health (Hmm... wait a minute..) has led to several generations of women, who now not only feel privileged to talk about their Va-Jay-Jay's, but they also feel the need to give you their full life story with who's been in there, and they tend to jump the shark in terms of vulgarity.

And it's sad that they feel they have to. If you really feel that you have to go as far as talking about how far the secret baconator stretches just to get taken seriously, then maybe it's time to tweek the act a bit before hitting the stage.

There's always room for it, and a cultured way to do it. Honesty can be done tastefully.

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