If you're like me, you're waiting for the day Scarlett Johannson somehow becomes aware of your existence and hunts you down like a Terminator robot hellbent on sucking face and riding in go-karts. You might also spend your off hours learning terrible things that don't seem to fit in with your mostly ignorant worldview, in a vain attempt to broaden your horizons. Well, get ready for some broad s**t, because I found out about some insane sexual enhancements for ladies that are way crazier than my "penis pump plus prayer" regimen.
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I'm torn between thinking that labia puffing sounds like something I should be doing during a sexual encounter and thinking it sounds like a highly specialized yoga technique which, if done improperly, could result in the movie Up happening in your boy shorts.
In real life, labia puffing is a nonsurgical form of genital enhancement for when your hangy poontangy's got you down in the dumps. You just go see a nice plastic surgeon person and pay them to jam a needle full of something like Botox into your special place, and presto! No more wrinkled, Shar-Pei-looking lower lips. Instead, you've got a big, poofy smile down there that's ready to do puffer fish impressions or seal cracks in your windows.
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The would-be reason for this procedure is that, as you age, your labia lose elasticity and apparently turn into a bowl of overcooked lasagna noodles or something. Giving them the ol' puffer treatment gets them shiny and new again, looking like your vagina just rolled off the factory line. It also saves you the embarrassment of having all those face lifts and tucks to make you seem younger, only to have your auditor lift your skirt and point with a self-satisfied "a-ha!" at your decrepit and apricot-like vag, outing you as not being ageless.
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Also known as a hoodectomy, clitoral unhooding (NSFW) almost sounds like a procedure to out superheroes and villains alike. You battle the Dark c**t from rooftop to rooftop in the rain, as police and citizens watch in rapt anticipation below, the fate of the very city hanging in the balance. And just as the Dark c**t lifts the detonator that will nuke the metropolis, you hit it with one of your trademark throwing knives. As the Dark c**t reels in surprise, you leap from atop an air conditioning unit, land with a furious knee to the solar plexus, and then grasp the hood upon their head. "Time to see who you really are," you growl in your trademark emphysema voice. And in one swift motion, you unhood the c**t, only to reveal ... (as if I'm spoiling the true identity of the c**t here).
Would that it were so simple. Alas, this procedure is far more complex, but also far less nefarious. The purpose of the unhooding is to strip naked that little man in the boat so he can stop being such a reclusive p***k, and instead start partying up some orgasms for his host's boat.
The hoodectomy is for women who generally have trouble achieving any significant form of arousal from genital stimulation, as well as those who have what I like to call "meat curtains," but which you may know more clinically as "vagina chubbins." Both essentially mean you have a little more flesh than you'd like down there, and like wearing a tiny p***y parka, it makes it hard to do much.
The hoodectomy involves a small incision about a quarter inch right through the little hood part, hence the clever name. The whole procedure takes around 30 minutes, and as an added bonus, you can watch them do it, since only a topical anesthetic is being used. Just grab a mirror, spread your legs, and you're in the most badass science class ever.
Once you've been cut, you get sutured and you're on your way, ready for people to compliment your shiny new c**t for coming out and smiling at the world. But of course, the truth is that it's not new at all, and instead parallels the movie She's All That. Your c**t was beautiful all along; it just had to come out of its shell and realize it. Next step: Your c**t takes the captain of the football team to prom!
"G-Shot" sounds like a dope energy drink, perhaps endorsed by a popular rapper. You'd do one mixed with vodka at the bar, and for the rest of the night your chest would hurt just a tiny bit, but not so much that you'd tell your doctor.
Awesome in a totally different way is what the G-Shot actually is: an injection of something called hyaluronan into the G-Spot which expands it to Godzillian proportions for about four months. So if anything goes shuffling around your lady cave, it's going to feel like the Fourth of July and Christmas happening in your crotch at the same time. Or so I hear.
The idea is basically that by increasing the size of a pleasurable spot, you're increasing the pleasure it can produce. Seems reasonable -- I'm no gynosaurus to dispute it. Dr. Dave Matlock, the gynosaursus who invented the technique and runs a Laser Vagina Rejuvenation Center, as though that were a real thing, has "G-Spot Rejuvenation" parties at his office, where I guess everyone draws numbers from a hat and goes into the closet with him to get their vaginas expanded? He's been doing the procedure for years, and some clients seem to think it's the best thing since having a non-surgically-enhanced orgasm.
Some other experts in the field have been quick to point out that not everyone even agrees the G-Spot exists, thus making it hard to imagine Dr. Dave is able to find yours then stick a needle in it within five minutes of meeting you. Others have noted that not all women even enjoy G-Spot stimulation, so if you make it bigger, you're essentially producing a larger shrug for a woman who isn't having a good time.
Sticking with Dr. Matlock, there's this handy procedure, which he calls "mons pubis labia majora liposuction," because he has to maintain a professional demeanor and not giggle uncontrollably when he works on patients. I'm not bound by that Hypnochronic Oath, however, so I can call it Camel Toe Lipo and giggle like a schoolgirl who got extra gas at the dentist.
According to Matlock's website, "Fatty accumulation in [the lady zones] can create aesthetic issues in clothing, undergarments, bathing suits, and when nude." Basically, he's saying some ladies feel that their meat curtains are so robust that they show up through a layer of denim, and this is embarrassing to them. Guys, if you're not sure how this works, try to imagine your ball sack after a few wasps sting it, so it's all swollen and awkward, and maybe your one ball keeps disappearing in there somewhere like they do sometimes, and you just don't have the confidence in your sack that you want to have, especially when it's so huge that everyone's looking at it.
CarolinaUmberto / pixabay
Personally, I like a stout vagina -- the kind that can carry luggage and order for itself in restaurants. But I guess society has convinced some of us that a petite and lipless Ray-Liotta-mouth-like vagina is the way to go. Hey, whatever makes you comfortable. Shrink it down to a wizened husk if that's the only way it'll fit into your jeans, but let me just say this: You can still buy bigger jeans.
The procedure works much the way any liposuction works. The doctor bops your noggin with a mallet, and then they hook a vacuum up to your problem areas until the internal bag is filled with fat, which is then sold to Brad Pitt to make soap. Also, one website suggests that you get a local anesthetic and an injection of some substance that makes your fat a little more oozy. Then it's Slurpee time! A little poke here and a jab there, and Dr. Matlock turns your Macy's Thanksgiving float into a more manageable everyday float.
As a fun tangent, it was at this point in my research that I noticed that Dr. Matlock offers a before-and-after photo gallery of pretty much every procedure he performs. Let me just say, on behalf of anyone who hasn't seen a plethora of vaginas deemed in need of elective, purely aesthetic surgical procedures: wow. Wow and a half, in fact. When you think of a vagina, you generally have a pretty general idea of what that is. But man, when you look at the galleries, you appreciate how much like a dog a vagina is (go with me on this). All dogs are said to come originally from wolves, but try to wrap your head around how that's possible when you compare a chihuahua to a Great Dane to a bulldog. Now imagine that sleek wolf is your general impression of vaginas, and man, there's a whole Westminster show out there. I hope that wasn't nearly as offensive as it so obviously is.
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Grab a brownie and read this:
I wish that could be worked into the Pledge of Allegiance somehow. Anal rejuvenation is for the elite amongst us -- for those who say "I am the best, inside and out, and that includes my shithole." And then, to prove it, you pay a man to adjust your shithole until it's better than mine. Like, if we bent over in front of each other and just looked back between our legs, you would frown when you saw my a*****e, and my hair would turn white when I saw yours, and I'd start gently weeping, muttering "I didn't know?!" over and over again.
How does anal rejuvenation work? Well, aside from the obvious ass bleaching, it may include tightening of the sphincter and re-strengthening. But wait, there's more! When you visit the doctor, "you will have the opportunity to discuss your ideas about the aesthetic appearance of your anus." So if you feel it needs mood lighting, or maybe bucket seats, the doctor will take that into consideration. Then he'll iron out all those damn wrinkles that have shown up over the years, ruining your anus' game. Turn it into the smoothest little flesh button you ever saw.
From there, your excess a*****e skin is removed, because surely you have just sheets and sheets of it hanging around back there, getting stuck in the back of your shoes when you're getting dressed and dragging on the sidewalk. This flesh will be removed. and your hole will effectively be transformed into a meaty Lifesaver's candy. Gross.
Zoroastrianism used to be one of the biggest religions in the world, but their idea of heaven had a slight twist on it: To get there you'd have to cross a bridge, sometimes rickety, sometimes wide and sturdy. If you fell off, you'd go to the House of Lies for eternity. Fun! Not terrifying at all! This month, Jack, Dan, and Michael, along with comedians Casey Jane Ellison and Ramin Nazer discuss their favorite afterlife scenarios from movies, sci-fi, and lesser-known religions. Get your tickets here, and we'll see you on the other side of the bridge!
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