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xmag.com : May 2002: The Cum-Hungry Genius

Female Castration is Where it's At
 

At three o' clock in the afternoon last Wednesday, I fell upon a protest as I left my local Denny's after having the three-egg special, two slices of crispy bacon, and a glass of warm milk. Here we go again, I thought to myself, wiping the film of grease from my lips, another group of dildo-chomping sex-positive brown mystery people frothing at the mouth about my consumption of meat products. As I got closer, I could feel the heat rising off of the crowd; they sure were angry about something. I wondered what the joke was this time. Save the
Rain Forest? The war on ink pens? Stop the anguish caused at the hands of Germany's dairy farmers?

"Well, I thought about it long and hard,
and in the end I decided female castration
is one of the coolest things I've ever heard of."

 

A feral monster with breath like a bag of drowned dead cats stomped up to my face and screamed, "Labial sushi is on the dinner plates of fourteen million Americans in this year alone!" A fearful "Huh?" slipped from my lips. As I called on God to deliver me from this frightful scene, a cave scrawling caught my eye: "Lay Down Your Lives For The Labia Of Our Sisters!"...what in the name of mother and country were these beasts protesting? I straightened my spine and marched to the pamphlet-loaded folding table, its weak legs trembling under the stress of such responsibility. The crowd parted. I leaned down to feel the cool gloss of information under my fingers.

A hand with hair up to the thick knuckles reached my own before I had a chance to turn and run. I looked up into the eyes of my human nightmare. Words are forming in the mouth of the beast, and I'm helpless in the worst sort of way. I see lips consumed by cancer; I see a face shaking with helpless, unknowing rage; I see too much, so I close my eyes. I feel the pull of the hand on mine and turn to run, my veins full with bile. Paper in my pocket and Felony Assault charges narrowly averted, I make my way back home.

Looking up at the sky to see where the stars will soon be, I reach past the lint and to my prize, a full-color photograph of a twelve-year-old girl with her legs spread. Her face is a red, eyeless mask, a picture of something broken and embittered. The spot at the top where the legs connect has been sliced and sewn shut, the identifying parts missing. Did a dog bite her? A red puddle of herself has spread off the table to which she's tied with sets of Coca-Cola shoelaces. The
puddle coats the floor like a thick, wet rug. A man in a turban stands over her, smiling twenty thousand watts, giving the camera the thumbs-up. Sexy.

Inside is written, "When will the pain stop?? In the time it takes you to read
to the end of this sentence, forty billion women and girl children will have been castrated. The amount of suffering this nearly always forced and unhygienic unnecessary procedure causes is unknown but guessed to be at the top of the
suffering chart in between being a Jew and just plain old being a woman. Don't let our sisters suffer at the hand of our male oppressors any longer. Rise up and say, 'no more!' Stop The Oppression Of Women In General!! Stop Female Castration Before It Starts!!!" This delightful diatribe was followed by a caricature of an older black lady with a rubbery face shaking a disapproving claw at me.

Well, I thought about it long and hard, and in the end I decided female castration is one of the coolest things I've ever heard of. I can't think of something I want more. In fact, I know what my birthday present to myself is going to be this year. And if I ever have kids, not only will I lock them in the closet, but I swear that they will have the most unsanitary painful cunt-slicing in the history of mankind.

 

 

 

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