Castration is Where it's 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
one of the coolest things I've ever heard of."
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.
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.
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.
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
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.