Menstruation enjoys the unlikelyi distinction of finding itself wrapped tightly in a considerable ball of taboo, awkwardness and generally speaking culturally constructed insecurity & anxiety, which should evidently mark it as a prime target for humor and assorted amusements. Because what is laughter, after all, if not the art of making someone very uncomfortable ?ii
Now consider an enchanted place where women are always naked. This means many things, but as to the topic at hand it means that should a little accident occuriii, it will occur on youriv couch as opposed to the usual place -- their underwear. What fucking underwear.
Obviously should this come to pass the misfortunate but well meaning and loving character will wash the cushion back into its original state (or fancy a cover replacement for the cover with her own two cute little hands -- though the incredible performances of the chemical industry to date rarely make this necessary). Among the sane this would also be the end of the story, but why be sane ?
You could treat the girl to a lecture as to the importance of holding in her liquor, old style, like respectable gents used to give to teenaged sons two centuries ago -- understanding but firm. You could even spell it "ichor" in speech, and then ask her to transcribe the word you said. She'll write down "liquor" if she's new, which will be funny. She'll know you did the speech spelling trick if she's experienced enoughv, but she still won't fucking come up with ichor because who the fuck keeps that in their basic vocabulary of a foreign language, so she'll sit there vibrating in slavish agony, and you get to mock her for being so anxious.
You could also forbid her the use of furniture for the remainder of her incontinent days, which is a lot greater a dealvi than readily meets the eye, not to mention it opens her up to a lot of very beneficial comparisons, such as what is, nudely speaking, the difference between her and a dog ?
Yes I'm aware the entirety of "female culture", if you can call that sorry pile by such lofty words, is dedicated to avoiding the consideration of that simple point through any means available. It "should never" be the case that girl sits naked in front of the vanity mirror with dog sitting on the bench right next to her and she's to examine and explain the meaningful differences, meaningfully.vii Then again, there's no room for "female culture" in my household.
Nor shouldviii there be any room in yours.———
- I use condoms. This has not only the advantage of sparing me any ad-hoc bedside drywall, but it also renders "that time of the month" broadly irrelevant. What the fuck do I care she's bleeding under the wrap, or which specific hole is doing the bleeding ?
But to revisit briefly the "wtf do you do, eat it out of her" point -- yes it could be said that this is a killer argument in the pairs version of the sport, but somewhat of a disingenious argument in my case. I could just declare my semen sacred and mandate it's always eaten no matter where it ends up, right ? So then I ejaculate inside one, another eats it out of the fortunate, blessed oriffice and all's gravy, to borrow an inadequate expression that doesn't work well in context at all.
The limits to this approach come from the unfortunately peptic qualities of saliva. It's not great for your glans, though it's not terrible. It's certainly not great for the vagina (as distinct from the vulva!), and fishing out semen from a well fucked cunt is slow, difficult work. The cunt hides it! Don't ask me why -- it should be evident fucking why.
So no, even should you decide to take one further step on that primrose road to clamored divinity that'll lead you straight to hell, the condom'll still be a better solution to practical problems than available alternatives. What can I tell you. [↩]
- It is. Laughter as a group behaviour well predates speech, and unlike speech serves a single function and it serves it well : group formation and consolidation through exploiting the differences between the individuals. Every time we laugh at a fat girl we're not just helping her die a quicker, more painful death -- as fat girls deserve, by virtue of being fat girls -- but we also mark each other, for our individual and each other's benefit, as members of that hallowed and most respectable group which recognizes evil and helps it on its merry way towards untimely, painful demise. This much was sufficient for selecting the early war band, and what a grand old time that was! [↩]
- As it will, as it must, because you're talking of an inch-wide hole with an approximately fitting cotton cork bleeding profusely while lubricating itself randomly throughout days. There is no way in hell a drop's not making it out of there.
Unless, of course, the girl's a frigid neurotic wreck with sand in her vagina. See, now you're no longer considering the engineering involved, you're worrying whether your cunt may be reality-inadequate. Don't worry about it : of course it is. [↩]
- That naked women can't own any property should be a matter of the most self-obvious evidence. As Jerry Seinfeld of the US Department of State used to say, "in any difference of opinion, pants always beats no-pants." [↩]
- Only takes a few years, what! [↩]
- The diagnosable, evident infirmity of modernity is that you at the same time immensely depend on artifice and, with the unearned panache of a great seigneur, pretend to the contrary. Please try to not use any furniture for a whole day and get back to me, if you will. No, "camping" is not an adequate mental substitute, even if you went up in some hillside palm-in-ass and had a great time. The furniture wasn't there, which does make a difference, much in the same way people managed to organise both their finances and their productive lives at a time before there were any banks, but just go and try it now, with the "banks" right there!
- No, I'm not proposing differences do not exist or anything of the kind, absolutely not.
I am saying that "female culture" consists entirely of and exclusively springs from the rejection of the factual consideration. They do not wish the matter be considered, at all, because "it must" be replaced with hallucinated alt-matter "or else the world stops" etcetera. [↩]
- Yes, should. The multi-millennary experience of human life on Earth shows, with insistence that knows no respite and with constancy that knows no exception, that individual women will live happier as dogs in men's houses than as whatever else among their own kind.
The island of the Amazons doesn't exist not because "it doesn't exist", but because you couldn't fucking pay them to live there. It's not like people've not tried, you know.
And mind that this is in no case an argument that women would have to live as dogs in your house, either. [↩]