Welcome to the first of many of my new Design Flaw Series. Today we’ll look at the woman’s vagina from a design and marketing point of view, weighing in its strong points, and its infinitesimally inexcusable flaws. And a point of information to you ladies: your pussy might hurt after reading this.
We’ve all been there. We’ve seen the elusive bearded clam before. Whether you’re a honey and currently own one, or you’re a brotha smooth enough to sneak a lil’ peek, everybody knows it looks like up close. So it’s no surprise that there’s such a resonant wave of dissent over the current design issues associated with the cootchie. 
It’s my goal to let God know about all the changes that should go into making the new Pussy2.0™. Like the new iPod, it’s all about the user interface, with the design the extra bonus. Let’s get started, bitches.
“Fur Burger". “Whisker biscuit". “Hair Pie". “Porcupine". These are words that shouldn’t be used to describe the vag. I can tell you from personal experience, it’s no fun going Downtown and seeing the sights and getting poked by stiff, bristly porcupine follicles. It hurts. I’ve had aquaintances of mine laugh at me because they thought I’ve broken out in a nasty fit of acne, when really I was just doing my duty as a man who loves performing cunnilingus. Is it so hard to shave? I keep a fresh pack of feminine razors under the bed. If an afro of love explodes out of her panties, I kick her ass out the bed and throw a razor at her as I chase her to the bathroom. I’m to the point where I get turned off by it, and I wonder if it’s really that much work to stay bald or, at the very least, neatly trimmed down there. Hell, if a brotha can keep himself looking presentable, shouldn’t the bitch at least return the favor?
Or how ’bout this one: you’re feeding the calf, and she’s ascending to the heights of pleasure. Suddenly you stop at the most inopportune time.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“Listen, girl, could you grab those tweezers over there and pick this pube out ‘tween my teeth right here? The fucker’s killin’ me.”
So if you’re reading this, God, here’s what I recommend goes into the design of the new Pussy2.0™. No hair. Smooth as an elbow, or my nephew’s baby ass. Granted, there won’t be any more bread crumbs to snack on while the fellas are down there, but I think that’s a tradeoff we’re all willing to take. Plus, any and all of the stank down there is doubled by the presence of the aroma-absorbing pubes. In the meantime, ladies, just do your dude a favor and go bald. See what he thinks. If you don’t see an increase in the amount of yodeling in the canyon of love over the course of a few weeks, you can revert to the beaver you’re used to. Who cares if you look like a 13-year-old? Your man certainly won’t, and your girlfriends will just nod with silent congratulation. You’ll thank me later.
If you know what “beef curtains” are, go ahead and skip this section. If you’re not in the know, beef curtains are most closely approximated by imagining curtains… made out of beef. I think we all get the idea. Although mostly predominant in girls of certain ethnic origins, it can happen to the best of ‘em. And when it does, it’s not pretty. God, if you’re reading this, do us fellas a favor and get rid of ‘em in the new Pussy2.0™. I know there’s guys who don’t mind their presence, but I think the human race would be better for it if you kept the outer labia’s size to a manageable zilch.
Every brotha’s been in this situation: slammin’ away at his ho du jour, and she explodes into a fantastic fireball of ecstasy as waves upon waves of relentless orgasms take over entire her body. But you ain’t got yours yet. And then the Four Words of Doom are uttered.
“Stop. My pussy hurts.”
Yup. I cringe when I hear those words, too. The garage is closed for business.
From a user interface point of view, this is a complete fuck-up.
Guys practice mentally holding their libido in check until the right moment. The mere accomplishment of this feat is amazing, considering we’re apparently just brainless pieces of meat with penises (thanks, ladies). If you knew what your man was thinking while he was balls deep last time, you’d be surprised. Schoolbusses, Swedish furniture sets, getting married, and (my personal favorite) naked Grandma… they all do the trick to keep our minds on other things besides desperately releasing the hostages. And when she does come back down from Big “O” Mountain, there’s a window of maybe –and I’m talkin’ tops, here – three seconds where a brotha’s gotta recover from seeing his Grandma’s sagging tits and hurrying the fuck on up that Mountain.
It’s not easy, and try as we might, we fail more often than not. And God forbid you get yours first, bro. Unless you’ve got that blue pill helping you stay stiff as a tire iron, there ain’t no hope in finishing her off. And when you don’t, God help you.
The new Pussy2.0™ should not become oversensitized after orgasms. It should still stay sensitive, no doubt, but not to the point where it hurts. Maybe – and I’m really diggin’ deep here, God – numb it up a little so that my fellas can really throw their backs into it. You can do it.
Tuna.
Need I say more? Probably.
It’s not that I don’t like the way it smells down there, God. OK, yea, I lied. I hate it. If a girl’s not fresh outta the shower, it’s really hard for me to fully enjoy eating at the Y. I’m looking in your direction here, ladies: it’s a hygiene issue, really. No matter how you serve it, stale clam juice from three days ago is still not my definition of eating out. The new Pussy2.0™ will still have the proper lubricants, but it should have replaceable flavor cartridges in a wide range of fruit and berry flavors. No more Fish Taco flavor (now with real fish!™).
Every twenty eight days, the red tide comes in and ruins a perfectly good sex life. It’s a fact of life, whether you’re regulating with the pill or not. From a marketing perspective, how are you supposed to sell your product when it breaks down and leaves spots all over the bed one week out of four? And then it turns your product into a raging uncontrollable ticking time bomb of bloody discharge, estrogen, and misdirected emotion given the slightest chance? Why, God, WHY?!
Instead of flushing it all out of the tunnel of love, the new Pussy2.0™ will dam it up at the source and slowly mix in trace amounts into the colon spread over the course of all 28 days. Her ass is stinky anyways, God, and I know that one’s probably impossible to fix. Keep her love pouch free of debris, and men everywhere will love you for it. Excess estrogen and other hormones will be burned alive in a compartmentalized internal combustion chamber, and the fumes will be discharged as queefs at the most inopportune times such as family dinners and opera theatres.
“Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.”
Ouch. I’m assuming childbirth involved no pain before Eve fucked it up. The new Pussy2.0™ will go back to SPEC version 1.0alpha (pre-Fall). As long as the baby doesn’t come out of the breadbasket, we’re OK. The temple of delight needs to stay as taught as possible, with no security compromises. Whatever design you had beforehand, I’m all for it, though, God.
That completes the specifications for the new proposed Pussy2.0™. Although, as with any good product, it’s all about customizing with accessories. That’s why I devised a line of complimentary products that enhance it’s performance.
A special strain of the natural array of microorganisms that live down there will be genetically engineered and replace the existing flora. Those fuckers will break down semen like it’s nobody’s business. I’m talkin’ ’bout in the range of five to ten seconds flat.
Any remaining waste products will be mixed in with Accessory Numero Dos, a built-in frappuccino dispenser. Extra shots of vanilla, hazelnut, and carmel can be obtained from the replaceable flavor cartridges mentioned above.
Finally, the last accessory (for right now) is a one million candlepower LED that glows red when a bitch isn’t interested, and green when she’s horny as hell. Strong enough to shine through any combination of panties and jeans, so a guy’s sure to know exactly what signal she’s giving off. I call it the I’m Horny Light™.
Can I get a patent, bitches?
By Robert Shagwell | Dec 14, 2004 | Permalink |
