So he says, “I wanna murder your vagina.”
Well, in this scenario, that makes the unfortunately woo-d woman Amanda Bynes to his Drake. And frankly, she should be a little insulted. As should Ms. Bynes.
Then I wonder how the vagina would feel. Emotionally, that is. (The other way would result in minor chafing at a minimum.) Is it flattering to be wanted? Is it more tragic to be underused than to be much frequented? By whose standards do we measure a vagina’s role, its responsibilities, its needs? Should it be treated like a delicate flower, open only sparingly and on special occasions? Or does it have a spiritual and physical destiny to actively fulfill?
At what point does (if ever) the vagina transcend its corporeal duties? Is there any shame in celebrating it, and inviting others to pay homage?
In its current state of (mis/under)use, what’s the real loss? Should I feel sorry for my vagina; or it, me?