 BUILDING A BETTER BROAD
I wrote a little article last week where I revealed my secret love for breasts to you all. Sure, I can go for the easy funny and say that it was like a weight had been lifted off of my chest, but I won't stoop that low. It was a pretty liberating experience though. I'm glad that I'm no longer living a lie. I'm out of the closet, as it were. Free at last, free at last. Great God Almighty, I am free at last. I'm pretty sure that my long-time readers noticed the subtle hints I've dropped over the years about my love for women. Thankfully, the readers I've slept with didn't ruin the surprise. But my newer readers might have been shocked, and I apologize for that. I should've eased into it a little more gracefully so as to ease the blow. I couldn't be more sorry and only hope that no one was hurt as a result of my personal journey as a Straight Canadian. Yes, I'm here to say that I love women and always have. The smartest people I know are women. My best friends have always been women. Indeed, even my mother was a woman. The most engaging conversations I've ever had have been with women, and I'm sure that I've learned far more from women than they could ever learn from me. 
For a good part of my life, certain women have considered me "one of the girls." This is how I learned so much about women, what they feel as they do and how they think. It also helped "dress-up day" more than you can ever know. One of the things I learned from women is that they will enjoy a good belly laugh if you don one of their sun dresses. This is even more true if you're 6'1" and she's but 5'5". And you're not wearing underwear. After all of the insight and pleasure I've gained from women over the years, I reciprocated in the only way I could - by opening myself up to their ridicule. Oh, and I almost forgot, giving them life-changing oral sex. Giggles will only carry you so far. My life has served but one purpose, to be a more perfect gentleman. My understanding is that there are two paths to having incredible amounts of irresponsible sex with staggering numbers of anonymous women. One is, of course, to be a perfect gentleman. The other is to be an abusive misogynistic asshole. And I gave up trying to top O.J Simpson many years ago. So I did what anyone with poor breeding, limited intelligence and a horrifying visage would do; I read Esquire. I needed to learn how to properly dress, what fork to use and how to properly quote Saul Bellow in conversation. If I could not learn these things from Esquire, then where? I don't think there's any question that Esquire failed me. And that's how I became the man who stands before you today. I am nothing if not a monument to men who abandon their dreams and start a blog to fill the overwhelming, empty void that is their lives. And yes, my mother is every bit as proud as you would suspect. I also found that if I followed all of Esquire's advice, I would very quickly become homosexual. And frankly, I have more than enough problems without that happening. Even it though it shattered my dream and broke my heart, I still read Esquire from time to time. I only ask that there be something really cool in it to quell the pain the magazine's masthead brings me. Since that pain is considerable, the contents must be considerably cool. Accordingly, I don't read Esquire very often. The August issue is one that I heartly recommend to you all. Firstly, the is a profile of the man I believe should be president, Arizona senator John McCain. Given the proper resources, I would have bought multiple copies of the issue just to bolter McCain's ego. But it gets better. Much, much better. You see, Esquire has a regular feature called "What it Feels Like To..." which gives first-person accounts of various adventures, relationships and conditions.  This month, we learn what it feels like to eject from a fighter jet, be colossaly obese, be in a S&M relationship, kick heroin and be a drug mule. And I learned something very important. Indeed, I learned something that will change not ony my life, but the life of every man who reads this.
I learned what it feels like to have two vaginas. Can anything be more important than that? I didn't think so either. Our teacher is an anonymous record company executive, aged 41, who might jest be the Greatest Girl in the Whole Wide World. Let us see what we can learn from her, shall we? I didn't know anything was different about me until I was fifteen. I was having all sorts of pain -woman stuff - but I'd get it checked out, and they wouldn't find anything wrong. I guess the eighth doctor was more thorough. I remember I was lying there, and I heard her say, "Oops." Oops, Indeed! Our first lesson appears to be that fifteen year-old girls don't spend nearly as much time exploring their genitals as their male counterparts do. What I've got is a rare condition called didelphic uterus - two vaginas, two cervices, and two uteruses. I look completely normal from the outside, but there's a septum inside where everything branches into two. My doctor says I'm one in a million. You sure are, sugar tits. You sure are. For a while I thought I was a total freak. I lost my virginity twice. The first time was when I was eighteen. Then I lost the other side two weeks later. To the same guy. You'd think I could have saved one of them for marriage. Admit it. You're just as turned on as I am, aren't you? If you're not, then you're simply someone I don't want to know. When I was dating, I'd just say, "So I have a little something to tell you." I never got any other reaction except, "Oh, my God, that's so cool," because they'd want to have sex in both sides and see what it felt like. Apparently, the right side is, well, more normal. The left side is a lot smaller. But they're both tight. That's a plus. I've got two G-spots, too, so I've always appreciated men who were extra dexterous with their fingers. I get to have two orgasms at the same time. Did I mention that I used to play guitar? My fingers are very thin, very long, very skilled and very dexterous. You try playing a barred F chord. Go on, I dare you! There's something else our anonymous two-twated friend isn't sharing with us, ladies. That would be the fact that if a lady friend is packing double barrels, it keeps a man's mind off of taking her anal virginity for..... oh, maybe two or three weeks. See, even my female readers can learn something from this! I have to wear two tampons when I get my period. It was harder to get pregnant, too, because it's hard to know which side the egg is on. That, and I had to have a C-section when I had my first child recently. Every time I go in for a Pap smear, the doctor's like, "Do you mind if I call in a few people, 'cause you know we've all heard of this but we've never seen it." You get used to all the questions, and I'm not really shy about it. Every once in a while I'll tell a guy and he'll say, "No way! I have two penises!" That would be fantastic. We also learned that no matter how uncomfortable a woman's vaginal condition might be, a given man will be able to lightheartedly turn the conversation back to his own genitals. And that's what life and love are all about, isn't it? 
I think that the single greatet lesson that can be gleaned from this story is that didelphic uterus is proof that evolution can co-exist with a higher power. God and nature are working hand in hand to build a better broad, and it is a beautiful thing to behold. Men of science are bewildered and fascinated by this medical condition and the things that can be learbed from it. Their baser brothers are enthralled by the more romantic possibilities it presents. Indeed, it might soon be possible to get two vaginas for the price of one dinner. The sexual cost efficency is something that is sure to make men everywhere smile. Of the two categories of male cited above, I am decidedly of the latter class. Were I to have a single complaint, it would be that didelphic uterus doesn't go far enough. In a perfect world, the condition wouldn't befall just one in a million women, but all of them. Also, they would have three mouths and fourteen assholes. Then - and only then - would I think to myself, "what a wonderful world." And it is that kind of thinking that will forever prevent me from becoming the Perfect Gentleman. EDITOR'S NOTE: I actually read this story in the hard-copy issue of Esquire last week. Because my experience with the magazine's website has never been pleasant, I gave up hope of ever writing this post. Okay, I was too lazy to even check if Esquire posted it. Thankfully, the Ace of Spades HQ and Gawker did check, and I ruthlessly stole the link from them. Frankly, I can't believe I put this post off for day so I could write that stupid article about New Orleans. Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Down in the Hole By: The Rolling Stones From: Emotional Rescue Permalink Labels: Laughter Joy and Lonliness and sex and sex and sex
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