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Rant #228
(published May 26, 2005)
Coochie Blasters!
Thirteen Ways of Viewing Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation
by Kurt Nadie
Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation Institute of Michigan | Testimonials

This is so fantastic, I don't even know where to start!



I live in Michigan! I was born in Michigan! The Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation Institute of Michigan is totally on the forefront of convincing the wealthy and shallow to permit their pussies to be burned with lasers! Some folks point out that the ole Mitten[1] now has the highest unemployment rate in the USofA, and I say "Fuck you, corporate America! Ship all of our fucking jobs to Mexico and India! See if we fucking care! Next year, every out-of-work auto-worker and teamster in the State is gonna be frying poontang for $3-10K a shot. Think folks are gonna go to fucking Myanmar to have their tuna roll toasted? Doubt it! This is made in the U.S.A crotch burning in the fucking Heartland! We'll be stinking of cash! Fuck you, West Virginia!"



In half of the testimonials linked above, the chicks refer to their vaginas as "down there." What the fuck?

Can you say the word vagina to another person? No, I couldn't possibly do that. OK. Will you give me several grand to sear your down-there-region with a mutherfucking laser? Oh, no problem, doctor.

When I was growing up, the rule was "If you can't say it, then you can't stick it in anyone or have it burned with a laser by a stranger."



This is apparently generally entirely unnecessary surgery!

From their website:

Many people have asked us for an example of the aesthetically pleasing vulva. We went to our patients for the answer and they said the playmates of Playboy.

Yeah, you could have a legitimate medical need for vaginal rejuvenation, but this seems to mostly be about aesthetics—either a gal has decided she doesn't like the looks of her cooz as compered to what one might see in a magazine or on the Internet (which is Cosmo Syndrome's worst case scenario, isn't it?), or her limp-dicked fella has bitched about her being to loose "down there"—and since his cock, by definition, is a paragon of perfection, then it must be something wrong with her. Jesus! Unnecessary genital surgery! Paging Dr. Mengele!



Insurance doesn't cover this crazy shit! These cats are paying out of pocket to have their genitals Abu Ghraibed! A doctor—in conjunction with Medicalized Child Birth[2], The Media, Boredom, and Too Much Fucking Spare Time—MADE UP A PROBLEM and is now solving it by mutilating female genitals! Welcome to Yemen!



The suburbs of Detroit, from which I hail and in which the Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation Institute of Michigan is located, supports one of the largest Arab populations in the world outside of the Middle East (some counts put Dearborn as #1, others have Paris as #1 and Dearborn as #2; whatever. Suffice to say that if you grow up in the suburbs of Detroit, you know a lot more about Middle Eastern customs and traditions than if you grow up in the suburbs of Butte, Montana.)

As such, as teenaged boys, once we heard of Female Genital Mutilation, there was always this subtle, silent, insidious worry insinuating itself, slipping around the conscious thought, in the muck of the pre-conscious: What if you were making it with an Arab chick, feeling around in her jeans down there and she was FGMed? What if you were feeling around down there and instead of _________ she was ________??? We were teenaged boys: our understanding of vaginas was 1 part swiped porno mags, 1 part health class and 2 parts rumor, but we still knew enough to know most of the action was inside, so what were these crazy Arabs even cutting off? Or did they just cut it up? Shit!!! How badly were these fucks mutilating their girl babies? And what kind sick fucks even touch baby pussy, let alone mutilate it?

Lotsa sleepless nights worrying about this.



Being a Jew from a Jewish community blended into a WASP community itself embedded in a protestant nation, every boy or man I ever knew was circumcised. To this day, I have never seen an uncircumcised penis in person.

This epidemic of male genital mutilation failed to impress us—or even earn our notice. Foreskins are gross, and all the girls we grew up with secretly worried about coming across an uncircumcised member[3] as much as we worried about coming across a sliced-and-diced, scarified red snapper.

Lotsa sleepless nights worrying about this.



"Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation Institute of Michigan" is an awesome name for both a band and a little league team. The only possible better little league team name is "Coochie Blasters!" (Imagine that on a jersey, with the exclamation point and everything. Imagine the mascot.)



It's "Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation." What the fuck do they do with the laser, exactly? The only thing I know of you can do with a laser is burn shit. How does burning something rejuvenate it?



From the Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation Institute of Michigan FAQ

Q. When can I resume sex after laser vaginal rejuvenation?
A. We ask that you abstain from sexual intercourse for 6 weeks. Oral sex may be resumed much earlier.

Q. When can I return to work after laser vaginal rejuvenation?
A. In general returning to work is dependent on the type of work you do. Most patients can return within 5 to 7 days.

There's a joke lurking somewhere around these two frequently asked questions being directly adjacent to each other but I can't . . . quite . . . seem . . . to . . . put . . . it . . . together



I grew up with this guy, Stein (he ultimately played sitar at my wedding) and his older sister lived in Georgia for a long while with a sculptor. The sculptor would frequently go to the local scrap yard, looking for material, and sorta became buddyish with the guy who ran the place, and who would subsequently keep an eye out for interesting junk, and walk around with the sculptor as he searched for materials. One day they're back there, in the yard, turn a corner, and come upon an old, rusted, steel gynecological table, with stirrups and everything. "What the hell is that?" the sculptor asks, looking at that horrorshow thing. "That?" the junk man replies. "That's a cooter stretcher. Makes 'em bigger; makes 'em better."

Yeah, of course he bought the fucking thing and dragged it back to the apartment. How could he not?



I work at an alternative school, and our middle school group was having a problem with foul language, so the middle school teachers and students sat down and agreed to a list of what was and wasn't appropriate language. This was all explained to me by the middle school program co-ordinator over lunch. For example, it was agreed that while there was nothing wrong with the word "cunt" in general—it's a crass word, but still just a word—it certainly could not be used as a pejorative; calling someone a "cunt" was entirely unacceptable.

"What about saying 'country matters,' like Hamlet does, making a sly sexual reference—it was a pun at the time, same as now. 'Cunt-ry matters'. Get it?"

"I'm sure that would be fine."

"What about using it as an exclamation, like yelling 'Cunt!' when you stub your toe?" I asked.

"Probably that's a problem," our middle school teacher explained, tearing off a piece of tortilla, "because someone might think you're calling them a cunt."

"But 'Cunt-ry matters' is OK, even though I'm actually saying something crass, where-as if I exclaim 'cunt!' there's no real content to what I'm saying, just an exclamation."

"It's on the list; you can't just say that word."

"What if I yelled 'monkeycunt'; could I use that as an exclamation?"

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, probably."





I have yet to exclaim "monkeycunt" at the school where I work.



I studied in Venezuela for a while, and one weekend a bunch of us went whitewater rafting. While rafting we stayed on this ranch, sleeping in hammocks under a free-standing awning. The rancher who was putting us up had this spider monkey. Spider monkeys weren't native to the area, but he'd seen this one for sale at market and had bought it because he thought it would be fun to have a spider monkey. He named her "Cheetah."

As it turned out, it wasn't fun at all; spider monkeys are very social, and so in the absence of other spider monkeys, they become wickedly co-dependent. And, like any pet, they want to be in on everything. Unlike most conventional pets, they have agile hands, a prehensile tail, and strong arms and legs, which means they are in on everything.

If there is one thing you need to know about spider monkeys, it's this: Huge Fucking Clits. Spider monkey clitorises are the size of spider monkey penises; early primatologists mistook spider monkeys for being universally gay, on account of the gargantua-clits on the ladies, and the fact that all spider monkeys look pretty much the same.

So, out first day there, we're eating lunch in the rancher's kitchen, and Cheetah is there, alternatingly sneeking down to the table to steal papaya and sitting on top of the cabinets, eating papaya and tucking her huge clit down between her legs. She wasn't very particular about which hand she was using for what job.

One of the guys there with us, Brett, couldn't handle it, laughing hysterically, disgusted and confused: "What the fuck is wrong with that monkey? I thought it was a girl monkey."

"It is; spider monkeys have big fucking clits."

"Damn! Couldn't we cut that thing off or something?"



In Spanish, "tight pussy" is "coño estretcho." Say that a few times out loud: coño estretcho. Hit the first "o" in "coño" hard. Roll the "r", and really streeeetch out the "estreeeeeeetcho."

'Nuff said.


Disclosure: I didn't find something this awesome myself, but had a little help from my friends at Plastic.com. Those poli-geeks rock.



1. N.B. that Michigan is shaped like a mitten. Fun Fact: One euphemism for masturbation—coined by the ska band Mustard Plug of Grand Rapids, MI—is "dating Miss Michigan", making reference to the mitt-like shape of our fine State, and the fact that most men masturbate using their hand.

2. Just briefly, on medicalized childbirth: a dog—an animal whose claim to fame was figuring out early on that humans have tasty stuff in their trash heaps—can crawl under the porch and have a litter of puppies with 0 complications. But, if a human being—that is, a member of the same species that CONQUERED THE GODDAMN MOON!—wants to have a baby, she needs to pay $8,000 or $12,000 to drop that normal, no-complication kid-loaf—A TASK WE ARE EXPLICITLY EVOLVED TOWARD DOING! We are fuck-machines and baby-ovens! Why the hell is it so goddamn expensive to have a goddam baby? Imagine you had to have a doctor present to watch you have sex, and he charged you $8,000 a squirt. Who would put up with that? But if you tell folks you aren't going to have your baby by lying supine in a building full of terribly ill people while shooting some really heavy dope, and then likely have your pussy slit open by some guy in a mask, everyone treats you like some crazy, man-hating, luddite hippie terrorist. Again, America, what the fuck? Why you gotta burn your pussies with coherent light?

3. Well, all but one; this one gal I knew presumed that the several penises she'd seen were in their natural, uncircumcised state (although they were circumcised), and thus believed that circumcision involved some more extreme trimming. Specifically, she thought it involved cutting off the entire head of the penis.

So, in contrast to her female schoolmates, this gal worried about coming across a circumcised member. And bear in mind that she had heard that most American men were circumcised; she had every reason to believe that the mangled, horrorshow headless cock awaited her somewhere in the future. Shit, I don't spend much time looking at cocks, and I worry about coming across what she fully expected to one day see. Heck, as I summon that image, I can actually feel my penis protectively drawing up into my body.

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