The Vagina Monologues By jtmd24.pdf

The Vagina Monologues By jtmd24

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7154948/1/

"Instead of warning pregnant women not to drink, I think female alcoholics

should be told not to fuck" ~ George Carlin

Chapter 1 - Arby's Anyone?

BPOV

I hate kids.

I never planned on ever pushing a human out of me and turning my vagina into a

pile of roast beef that no man would ever want look at, let alone bang.

Let's face it: no one was ever honest with you about child birth, not even your

mother.

"It's a pain you forget all about once you have that sweet bundle of joy in your

arms."

Bullshit. I CALL BULLSHIT.

Any friend, cousin or nosey-ass stranger in the grocery store that told you it

wasn't that bad was a lying sack of shit. Your vagina is roughly the size of the

girth of a penis. It has to stretch, and open, and turn into a giant bat cave so the

life-sucking human you've been growing for nine months can claw its way out.

Who in their right mind would do that shit willingly? So what, you were just

walking along one day and thought to yourself, "You know, I think it's time I turn

my vagina into an Arby's Beef and Cheddar (minus the cheddar) and saddle

myself down for a minimum of eighteen years to someone that will suck the soul

and the will to live right out of my body, making me the shell of the person I used

to be that can't get laid even if I pay for it?"

(Disclaimer: in no way do I condone the act of paying for sex since it's illegal,

except in parts of Nevada and Rhode Island, as long as you don't go to a brothel

or solicit anyone in the street. Or so I've heard. From a "friend".)

It just stood to reason that after all the years of preaching I did to everyone

around me about how I was never having children, I was the first of my friends to

have one, much to their horror which I was highly offended by. I mean really,

any idiot could raise a child. You should look at my mother. She was a giant child

herself that needed constant attention and praise, and I turned out just fine.

Okay, maybe that isn't the best example. Let's put it this way, I'm not a serial

killer.

Maybe saying I hated children wasn't exactly accurate. I strongly disliked dirty

faces, snotty noses, sticky hands and screaming, puking, shitting, no-sleeping,

whining, arguing, crying little humans.

At least I did up until four years and nine months ago, give or take a few months.

Now, I just hated other people's dirty faced, snotty nosed, sticky handed,

screaming, puking, shitting, no-sleeping, whining, arguing, crying little humans.

They said that when you had your own child, the first time you looked into his or

her eyes, you would instantly fall in love and nothing else mattered. They could

do no wrong and you would love them unconditionally.

Well, whoever "they" are should seriously limit the amount of crack they smoke

and stop talking out of their ass while their Arby's vags are flopping around in

their grandma panties.

The day I had my son I looked down at him and said, "Who the fuck are you? You

look nothing like me."

Not all babies were cute when they were born. This was yet another lie the half-

baked "they's" lead you to believe. Some babies were born looking like old men

with wrinkled faces and age spots and a receding hairline.

When I was born my father Charlie took my hospital picture over to his friend

Billy's house while my mom was still recuperating in the hospital. Billy took one

look at my picture and said, "Oh, sweet Jesus, Charlie. You better hope she's

smart."

It was no different with Mason. He was funny looking. He had a huge head and no

hair. All I kept doing for four days in the hospital was speak in a Scottish accent

and quote Mike Meyers from "So I Married an Ax Murderer."

"He cries himself to sleep at night on his huge pilluh."

"That thing's like Spootnik. It's got its own weather system."

"It's like an orange on a toothpick."

I think he heard me talking about him to the nurses and decided to get back at

me. I firmly believed at night, in the nursery, he and all the other newborns

struck up a conversation and decided it was time for a revolution.

Viva la newborns! Taking over the world one crappy diaper at a time.

I knew I should have kept him in my room the whole time I was there. But come

the fuck on people, I needed some rest. These were the last days I would ever

get to sleep again. I should have kept a better eye on who they put his bassinet

next to. I knew that little brat Aro would be a bad influence on my kid. He had

"anarchy" written all over his face. And who names their kid Aro anyway? That's

just asking for an ass-kicking on the playground.

Mason was quiet, never fussed and he slept all the fucking time in the hospital. I

laughed in the face of my friends that came to visit and said he wouldn't be like

this once we left.

In reality, it was Mason doing the laughing the whole time and waving his tiny

little fist of fury in the air for his brothers in the Newborn Nation. I swear I heard,

"I'm in charge here," every time he cried.

The moment I got him in the car to go home, the jig was up. He screamed his

head off like a wild banshee and didn't stop for four days. I had no idea what a

wild banshee is or if they even existed, but if they did, I was sure they were loud

as fuck.

The only good thing was the fact that my kid refused to leave my body via

vagina. All the baby books written by women who had the most perfect birth

experience in the world said you should talk to your child in the womb. So I did.

Every day I told him if he ruined my vagina I would video tape his birth and show

all his future girlfriends what happens to your hoo-ha when you have sex,

ensuring that he will never, ever get laid.

Fuck playing Mozart and reading Shakespeare. I went with the scared straight

method.

All my threats in the womb paid off. He sat there with his arms crossed for twelve

hours and refused to move down the shoot. Even my vagina was stubborn. It

never dilated at all. She must have heard my threats to Mason and decided that

keeping her trap shut was the best option. Smart vagina. It was perfectly fine by

me. C-section here I come.

I would go through another C-section in a minute if I could skip the whole baby

part and just get the four days at an all-inclusive location that served you

breakfast, lunch and dinner in bed, gave you a twenty-four hour morphine drip

and sent you packing with a thirty-day supply of Vicodin.

Before I get too excited thinking about legal narcotics without the ear-bleeding

scream of a baby, maybe I should go back to the night that got me into this

mess.

My horoscope that day should have been a warning of things to come.

"You'll score a bunch of great stereo equipment and furniture from your

neighbors who happen to die when you go into their house and stab them and

take all their things."

I didn't know what it should have been a warning of, but come on! Did that not

have "omen" written all over it?

The one and only time in my life I decided to have a one-night stand so I could

finally give up the V card, I got pregnant.

I'm telling you, the universe hates me. I was 20 years old and in my second year

of college. Aside from the constant ribbing from my best friend Alice on the state

of my virginity, life was good. Well, college student good. I didn't have VD, none

of my friends had been roofied and at the end of the semester, I avoided needing

to sell my body to science to pay for food and pot.

(Disclaimer: I do not condone illegal drug use in any way. Unless it's an all

natural herb that doesn't make me feel guilty for eating an entire box of Peanut

Butter Captain Crunch while laughing hysterically at the Teletubbies. And it chills

Alice the fuck out during finals so she isn't climbing the walls like a rabid spider

monkey. Remember that whole "Hugs not Drugs" shit they tried to cram down

our throats in high school? We fooled them. You didn't have to choose. You could

totally have both and not die. But seriously, don't do drugs kids.)

It was Friday night and we were spending it the usual way, at a frat party with a

bunch of drunken frat boys and sorority freaks of nature. I could hear two

completely wasted tools arguing back and forth about who was more popular and

who fucked the most guys last week.

These were the future leaders of our country, ladies and gentlemen.

Christ, I felt like I was watching a live scene from "Heathers."

"I brought you to a Remington party and what's my thanks? It's on a hallway

carpet. I got paid in puke."

"Lick it up, baby. Lick it up."

Thankfully, Alice interrupted me before I handed one of them a cup of draino.

"Oooh what about that one? He's cute. And he has good teeth."

"Jesus, Ali, he's not a horse," I moaned.

"But you could ride him all night long if you play your cards right," she said with a

wink.

Aside from a used car salesmen, Alice was the only one that could pull off a wink.

"I'm concerned about you Ali. I really think you spend entirely too much time

thinking about my hymen. Admit it- you're totally in love with me aren't you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she replied. "Although I did play in the minors in high

school a few times. Never got past second base though," she mused.

I looked at her like she had two heads. Or her hand in a vagina. Every time I

looked at her, I was going to picture vagina-hand. Tiny little vagina-hand chasing

me around the house and watching me while I sleep.

Alice looked beyond my shoulder and then leaned in closer. "Two tangos staring

at us at your six."

In another life Alice thought she was a Navy Seal.

"Five bucks says free drinks will be ours if we have a little faith, trust and pixie

dust."

And quite possibly Peter Pan.

"Ali, we're surrounded by kegs of beer and we were given a plastic cup when we

walked in. I'm pretty sure that equals free booze."

"Oh shut it. You're ruining the moment. If we were at a bar right now, they'd be

buying us drinks."

"If we were legal."

"Details," she scoffed.

She took her tiny vag hand, fluffed up her hair and then pulled the front of her

shirt down lower so she showed enough cleavage to blind a man.

"Ali, if you sneeze there's going to be a nip slip. Put those things away before you

poke an eye out."

"They're coming over!" she squealed, completely ignoring me.

I shook my head in amazement. "Your tits are like Bounty. The quicker dick

picker upper," I muttered as I finally turned around to get a look at who was

coming over.

I'm pretty sure to an outsider I looked like Elmer Fudd when he saw Bugs Bunny

dressed up like a girl and his eyes popped out of his head and his heart stretched

out the front of his shirt.

If the music weren't so loud you would be able to hear "ARRROOOOOOGA!"

"Hello there, ladies. Can we buy you a drink?"

Alice not so subtly elbowed me when the guy with the muscles spoke. But I

wasn't focusing on anything except the one standing next to him with his hands

in his pockets. He was beautiful. And I wanted to punch my own face for calling a

guy beautiful but it was true. He was so pretty I wanted to frame him and put

him on my nightstand in a totally non-creepy, non-Hannibal Lector skin-suit-

wearing kind of way.

He looked bored and like he'd rather be anywhere but at this party. Before I

could introduce myself and tell him he was my soul mate, someone bumped into

me roughly from behind and I stumbled forward, smacking gracefully into his

chest. Fuck, he smelled good, like boy and cinnamon and a tiny hint of cologne

that made me want to stick my nose in his shirt and take a deep breath. Okay, so

that bordered on creepy. I didn't want him to start calling me the shirt sniffer.

That was a nickname that just didn't go away, like tiny vagina hand.

His hands flew out of his pockets and grabbed onto my arms to steady me while I

was busy trying not to motorboat his tee shirt.

I heard the sound of cackling laughter behind me and turned to see that one of

the Heathers was the culprit. It turned out slamming into someone is fucking

hilarious and her equally offensive twin joined in on the finger pointing and

laughing.

What are we twelve? Did they expect me to stomp my foot and go tell the

teacher?

"Jesus, what's your damage, Heather?"

Their laughter immediately stopped and they looked behind me in confusion. I

whipped my head around and stared at the guy in awe.

"Did you just quote 'Heathers'?" I whispered.

"I had a huge crush on Winona Ryder before the whole shoplifting thing," he said

with a shrug.

"My name isn't Heather," a whiny voice protested behind me.

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