The Virgin Mother Of God appears disguised as Marlene Dietrich on a slice of toast
Biblical literalism is not just the enemy of truth and beauty. It is not just a vile saboteur of rational thought and intellectual freedom. It is not just the ideological assassin of fiction, of science, of art, of the rapidly vanishing hope that H. sapiens might not eventually emerge as the #1 laughingstock of the cosmos, and of the ability to buy liquor on Sundays.
It is also the enemy of right-thinkin chicas everywhere.
A couple of barbarians known as Matthew and Luke—dudes, it must be said, with serious issues—deftly invented* The Virgin a hundred years after her human inspiration was dead as a doornail. They did this to give a little extra boost of superhuman charisma to the ghost of Jesus (whose questionable paternity would otherwise have been more redneck than royal), and by extension glorified all male dudes everywhere. And ever since, women have been defined exclusively in terms of sexual function.
The good old supernatural Virgin. She’s done more than anyone in the past 2000 years to seriously fuck women up. Some day soon I’m going to take a long, luxurious stab at her. But until then, take this here woman, whose identity has been so debased by the pervasive literalizing of this absurd virgin myth that she has had one of those imbecilic revirginification surgeries as a “gift” for her husband.
I have not been exactly silent on the subject of cosmetic pussy surgery. Surgeons who hack up labia for a living rate pretty high on the blame-o-meter. But labiaplasty for the purpose of Hustlerizing the human vulva in an effort to increase its appeal to pornsick sex partners is, it turns out, only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to invasive body modifications that are of no imaginable benefit to the patient beyond the gratification of some masochistic impulse to demean herself at the altar of commercial male fantasy.
What is actually going down here? How do you convince yourself that this surgery is anything but asinine and barbaric? Why aren’t you saying, “Fuck this shit, I’ll get a new hymen when you get your dick stitched to your leg, Jack!” I mean, I don’t know how many of you have had sex with men, but if you have, you may recall, if you weren’t mercifully drunk at the time, that the first time was likely a painful bloodbath, and not something you’d care to repeat.
But you hymen-refurbishers, you’re saying, what’s a little pain? You love patriarchy and you want patriarchy to love you back. But first you have to reboot your filthy cunt, because if there’s one thing patriarchy pretends to hate more than anything, it’s a filthy cunt. Then you agree to pretend that your sexuality up to this point is now null and void. You are not a human, you are a pussy, and your pussy isn’t even a pussy, it’s a symbol, and it’s not even your symbol, it’s some fetishized male Christian symbol. You are an empty fuckhole.
At least your husband of 20 years can relive the “thrilling conquest” and pound you (sort of) like an 18-year-old for about 3 minutes before his 40-year-old dick busts through your fresh, $5000 scar tissue. That’s gonna fucking hurt, but he’ll be all right with it, because after all it’s only your blood and pain, which after all is “natural,” and how can that compare to scorin’ one off a virgin? It’s every motherfucker’s dream to be the most virile dude there is: a cherry-poppin’ teen throbber.
And guess who gets to launder the bloody sheets afterward.
*Well actually, they totally ripped her off; the Virgin Mary who shows up weeping tears of homophobic blood on today’s grilled cheese sandwiches and highway underpasses descends from a long, lively tradition of chaste mothers-of-gods. In addtion to Jesus of Nazareth, Krishna of India, Mithras of Persia, Zoroaster, Adonis of Babylon, and Indra of Tibet all sprang from dainty little unfucked women, although today these gals are seldom seen glaring at prostrate pilgrims from moist-eyed statuary in tiny European villages.
[via The Road To Surfdom]