I enter a hotel room. Somebody obscenely rich is having a cocktail party. Nobody’s there that I know. This bothers me for a few moments, until I realize why: everyone’s face is a huge, pink vagina.
I approach a gentleman in a suit, whose face is of course a huge vagina. I try to make conversation. But all that comes out of my mouth is the word “vagina.”
Me: Vagina vagina.
Gentleman in a suit: Vagina vagina vagina
Me: (very confused) Vagina! Vagina! Vagina!
Gentleman ina suit: (becomes nervous, tries to calm me down) Vagiiiina… Vagiiiina…
Me: (I step back in horror. I look around me. All the vagina-faced people — guests of the party — are staring. I snap angrily at them) Vagina!!! Vagina vagina vagina vagina!!! Vagina!!!
Everybody: (embarrased, they drive me out of the party) Vagina…. vagina… Vagina! Vagina vagina!…
Me: (I run out. I crash on tables. I stumble on the door. I’m crying) Vagina… Vagiiiina. Vagina! Vagina vagina vagina!
– END –
{This makes sense only if you’ve seen Charlie Kaufman’s 1999 film Being John Malkovich. And if you’re a dude.}
{Image: Jamie McCartney’s “vagina statues” — casts of the interiors of actual vaginas.}

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