vaginal rejuvination
so, my day job is writing queer ass content. it's just such a gosh darn great use of my writing talent.
fucking hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate it.
but a girl's gotta make a living, doesn't she?!
today, I spoke to one o' them plastic surgery sites.
the guy said, "we need implant, reduction and vaginal rejuvenation content. do you know anything about those topics? Specifically vaginal rejuvenation?"
"enlighten me." I says tah him.
he goes on, in painstaking detail about drooping pussies, lip lightening and sculpting, etc. etc."
I squeezed my legs together. I was so freaked out!
I'm not a hypochondriac. I fear death. There is a difference.
I said, "how do I know if my down there is drooping? like what are the symptoms?"
as he droned on, I dropped my pants, grabbed a compact and threw my legs in the air, TERRIFIED I HAD A DROOPING POOKIE.
I became so stressed out, I said, "I have my vagina in front of me. Can I please describe it to you?!!"
before he could answer, I screamed, "I don't want loose lips and the last thing I need is to send men between my legs with a miner's cap because I'm a lippy dark mess! Help me to help me!"
he was silent.
"hello! hello! vag-man, come on!" I was screaming.
He didn't want to hire me. like I wanted it anyway. ya know what, I WAS NOT TAKING that gig. No fucking way. I would spend my days comparing my pookie to the rejuvenated pookies and shopping for a new one.
fucking hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate it.
but a girl's gotta make a living, doesn't she?!
today, I spoke to one o' them plastic surgery sites.
the guy said, "we need implant, reduction and vaginal rejuvenation content. do you know anything about those topics? Specifically vaginal rejuvenation?"
"enlighten me." I says tah him.
he goes on, in painstaking detail about drooping pussies, lip lightening and sculpting, etc. etc."
I squeezed my legs together. I was so freaked out!
I'm not a hypochondriac. I fear death. There is a difference.
I said, "how do I know if my down there is drooping? like what are the symptoms?"
as he droned on, I dropped my pants, grabbed a compact and threw my legs in the air, TERRIFIED I HAD A DROOPING POOKIE.
I became so stressed out, I said, "I have my vagina in front of me. Can I please describe it to you?!!"
before he could answer, I screamed, "I don't want loose lips and the last thing I need is to send men between my legs with a miner's cap because I'm a lippy dark mess! Help me to help me!"
he was silent.
"hello! hello! vag-man, come on!" I was screaming.
He didn't want to hire me. like I wanted it anyway. ya know what, I WAS NOT TAKING that gig. No fucking way. I would spend my days comparing my pookie to the rejuvenated pookies and shopping for a new one.
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