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Monday, February 27, 2006
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 "HYMEN LOVE WITH YOU, SO I GOT US SOMETHING SPECIAL!"
With Valentine's Day now a rapidly fading memory, I think we all face a very special challenge; how to keep the passion going for the rest of the year. If you're different from me, and get involved with people that you don't like very much (which seems to be about 83% of the couples I've known in my life), this will be particularly difficult. It can't be easy expressing your love to someone that you'd like to see eaten alive by a pack of rabid dobermans, can it?
Well, medical technology wants you to know that it has the answer. It can nip and tuck your problems away. Christ, isn't science special. It does all kind of neat stuff. Let's say that you're really depressed. They can give you a happy little pill and all of a sudden you're great. Well, not exactly great. You can no longer have an orgasm or anything, but you're just so thrilled to be alive that it doesn't bother you all that much.
Science seems to have even perfected a face transplant, which would solve most of my problems. Now all I need to do is take enough sleeping pills that I won't notice the dog chewing my current face off so that the Ontario government will pay for my transplant. I already have a sexy new face picked out. The problem is that it belongs to Larry King and he might not want to let it go that easily. Would you? If you know of a sexier motherfucker than Larry, I'd like to meet him. Then I could go homo, which would solve my remaining problems.
But I'm making this all about me again, aren't I? This is supposed to be about you, my loyal world-wide audience. If there's one reason that I spend the time I do writing this blog, it's to make your lives better. You're not likely to find a more altrusitic blogger than me. And if you know of one, let me know so I can kill them. Murder suspects get a shitload of hits and then my archives could help even more people. I'm continually amazed that the Church hasn't had me canonized yet.
If there's one uneasy truth in life, it is that "till death do us part" relationships are unrealistic and silly. Some people might point out that this hasn't always been the case, but I would respond that life expectancy is a lot higher than it used to be. Pledging to "forsake all others, till death do you part" is pretty easy when there's a statistical likelihood that at least one of you will croak before your 50th birthday. In an age where people stubbornly insist on not dying young, the passion tends to disappear from a relationship.
In the industrialized West, this continued respiration is often accompanied by lots of money. So passionless couples often to seek to buy some excitement. There's a mathematical formula that has yet to fail me; "boredom + money= a wealth of stupidity." This is where medical science comes in.
If we know anything about doctors, it's that they simply don't make enough money. You know, for people who spend their Wednesday's golfing, they're shockingly put-upon. They also tend to get depressed easily. C'mon, it can't be easy listening to people whining about their stupid cancer all day, can it? How often do you think you could hear, "I'd really rather not die, but I'd also like to keep both of my lungs if that's okay with you" without wanting to punch them in the face.
 And that's how cosmetic surgery re-invigorated the medical profession. After all, treating a malignant cancer is hard and, quite frankly, boring. But putting obnoixiously big tits into somebody so they can make extra money on the lap dancing circut couldn't be more fun. Basketball sized titties are the gift that keeps on giving, their own reward. And, at about 7 grand a set, they're highly profitable, too.
Big fake knockers were a boon for middle-aged women with too much money and too little imagination for about 20 years. This is because middle-aged men aren't very smart. It took us awhile before we figured out that if an old broad will get giant hooters to keep us, then getting a young broad with giant hooters shouldn't be that difficult. And that's why breast implants have become the exclusive domain of girls between the ages of 16 and 30 in recent years. All the condoments in the world won't make a meal taste good if the "best before date" was three decades ago.
This has meant that old, rich, fearful women have had to take the next step in destroying their self-esteem and the bank balances of their husbands. They're having their hymens surgically re-attached.
When Jeanette Yarborough decided to give her husband a gift for their seventeenth wedding anniversary she wanted it to be special. Really special. She decided that conventional treats such as Mediterranean cruises, gold watches, cars, a murder-mystery weekend, or even a boob job just weren’t going to cut it. She gave him something much more personal — and painful. Her virginity.
Well, sort of. Mrs Yarborough paid $5,000 (£2,860) to a cosmetic surgeon to stitch her hymen back together so she could “lose her virginity” all over again and her husband would have that thrilling conquest at the grand age of 40.
He did, and after that very expensive moment the ecstatic couple spent a passionate Valentine’s weekend last year having the kind of sex that they had almost forgotten about. Now they are busy telling family, friends and strangers that it is the best money they ever spent and everyone should do it.
“Now my sister is thinking of becoming a virgin again for her 45th birthday to surprise her husband,” says Mrs Yarborough gleefully, as she sits in her modest family home in San Antonio, Texas, talking unabashedly about such intimate matters.
She is not the first to choose the operation — a hymenoplasty — to repair the fragments of skin forming the traditional “gateway” to the vagina, years after originally losing it.
That might be the single creepiest thing I've ever read. But it serves as further proof that everyone's dumb but me, so I love it anyway. Hey, that's just the way I roll and you love me for it.
Ladies, any discerning gentleman will tell you that there are two kinds of men who love virgins; child molesters and fools. Yes, we will want to dress you up as a naughty little schoolgirl from time to time - okay, all the time - but that's because we know that you already know how to act like a filthy little slut in the boudoir. Real virgins are a big pain in the ass and given to asking questions like, "Do you love me? Will you respect me after?" We prefer dressing you up as a passable facimilie because you're worldly and experienced enough to know that we don't and won't. The idea of deflowering a virgin is to men what rape fantasies are to women, a lot more fun in theory than it ends up being in practice.
Having a virgin is a lot like having a dog. Sure, it'll impress your friends, but who has the time and energy to hit it on the nose with a newspaper until its trained enough to do what you want?
I won't lie to you, the procedure isn't all bad. As is true with most things, there is a bright side.
They usually opt also to have one of the new “designer vagina” procedures, such as tightening up of the vaginal canal slackened by childbirth, or the cosmetic trimming of enlarged labia.
I happen to like enlarged labia, but you can't go wrong with "tightening up." And the possibilities of the "designer vagina" are endless. I want one with neon tube lights and spinning rims myself. Again, that's just the way I roll.
The part about the whole spectacle that I like best is the motivation of the women who go through with it. The Times article repeatedly references the woman's desire to "surprise" her man. As you might have assumed, I'm something of a student of the all things vaginal. If there's one thing that I know from my years of scholarship, it's that vaginal surgery requires hospitalization, hurts like a motherfucker and takes a few weeks to heal. May I posit that if your man doesn't notice that you're gone for a few days, covered in bandages from the waist down and constantly crying that you might have deeper relationship problems than your snatch alone can fix?
Then there's the cost. Five grand is a good deal of coin for something that only lasts a couple of minutes. Then there's the small matter than if your man is so in love with virgins, he can get three weeks worth of them in Costa Rica for about the same price. Women really should start being a lot more careful what they ask for.
But I'm nothing if not helpful. I figure that if you're so determined to do this to yourself, I may as well help. Let's say you want to be "re-viginized", but you're on a budget. Five grand and a flight to New York is beyond the means of my average female reader. Well, thank your lucky stars that I'm here for you, because I have the answer.
The practice is quite common in sub-Saharan Africa. And because redundant things like doctors aren't involved it's much cheaper. And I hear that Sudan is nice this time of year. Okay, there is one tiny drawback - you might get your clitoris removed in the process. On the other hand, you can't beat the price and, if you're doing it for you man, he probably won't notice anyway.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: I Still Miss Someone By: Johnny Cash. From: Live at San Quentin
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