At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Thursday, May 18, 2017


Courtesy of Kavin Senapathy and Ask An Entomologist, I am now aware of two things. One: Americans are quite startlingly batshit crazy, well some of them at least, and Two: People will put all kinds of things up their hoodiddliwhatsis.

I now also know more about chunky white discharge than is strictly speaking necessary, but we shan't go there.

A medical professional from Canada (Jennifer Gunter MD, FRCS(C), FACOG, DABPM) begs to inform that certain "stuff" may not be the best thing to put in a certain "place". I would have thought that this was obvious, but as a rational man and a life-long cynic I am naturally more objective about 'stuff' and 'place', than a mystical creative spiritual person or Gwynneth "Jade Hump-a-Lumps" Paltrow.

We live in the age of twinkie heads.

From Dr. Jen's wordpress blog:
Don’t put ground up wasp nest in your vagina

"This product follows the same dangerous pathway of other “traditional” vaginal practices, meaning tightening and drying the vagina which is both medically and sexually (for women anyway) undesirable. Drying the vaginal mucosa increases the risk of abrasions during sex (not good) and destroys the protective mucous layer (not good). It could also wreck havoc with the good bacteria."
End cite.

In all honesty, I found the essay a bit hard to read. Primarily because of a fit of the giggles, secondarily because of other distracting things. Someone reads tweets in a William Shatner voice? Someone aims to elliminate 'Vaginal Shame'? There are pinecones? Bourbon cocktails?

Mostly, epic fit of the giggles.

The phrase "good freaking lord" definitely came to mind, but wasn't ever uttered, or hollered out in a maniacal cackle, because my apartment mate was already asleep in her room, and I didn't want to risk waking her up.
She had already ranted for twenty minutes about President Orange Face MacFingletwatt, so I needed a break, and I was smoking small cigarillos in the television room, which I am strictly not allowed to do but I can get away with late at night because the stink barely travels.
When she's asleep she doesn't notice.

Still, good! freaking! lord!

Oak gall up yer whatsits.

The woman who does that probably wears meaningful fabrics, eats all organic, chants mantras, and tells everyone about her spiritual beliefs and reincarnations. All frizzy hair and ethnic jewelry.

And owns a yoni egg.

It's magic!

Why the hell am I up at three in the morning thinking about hippie twats?

Read the article.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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