The Vagina Festival in Japan. While most people know about the annual phallus festival in Japan, less well known is the vagina festival in a nearby town. The Lady Biest is all in favour of Australia celebrating Snizz-fest each March and will lobby parliament to make it happen.
(If you don’t know (and can't guess) what a snizz is, check out our Glorious Glossary of Naughty Anatomy.)
The Lady Biest would celebrate Snizz-fest by making her own Fallopian Crotch Puppet (left) and even has a marketing strategy: sell the separate parts with McDonalds Happy Meals…
The McFallopian Crotch Puppet
Hey kids, the NEW female reproductive system comes in five groovy collectable parts, the vagina, uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries and vulva. Get them all and collect the whole set! Trade with your friends! Vulvas are optional in making your McFallopian Crotch Puppet®, but you'll need all the other parts to get started.
With each puppet part would come a helpful description (below) about its role in the female reproductive system:
Ovaries, like fluffy die, come in two-packs. Don't rip them out to play craps, though, because they're oval, not six sided. There’s one on the driver's side of your uterus and another riding shotgun to the left. You'll know if the cat eats both your ovaries while you're asleep because you won't ovulate anymore.
Not having heard of Playstation or xtreme sports, your ovaries spend all their time producing eggs. No need to worry that that freaky looking Chicken Little with his encephalitic head and no whites in his eyes has hatched and is lurking in your ovaries because the eggs that your ovaries produce are released into your fallopian tubes and then uterus. Which means Chicken Little is moshing with his encephalitic pals in your uterus. (Get an ultrasound now!)
Ovaries are also card carrying members of the endocrine system, which is not a galaxy far, far away, but a fancy-pants term for something that produces hormones. While you go about being a decent, productive member of society, your ovaries are cooking up oestrogen and progesterone in their crazy meth kitchen.
Quite the little diva, an egg relies on hairs in the fallopian tube to bear it towards the uterus. Some eggs have even been observed standing at the top of a fallopian tube screaming for a taxi. This process of the ovaries producing, storing and releasing eggs into the fallopian tubes is called, rather boringly, ovulation. Better marketing would have seen it called EGG-XTREME FALLOPIAN LUGE or SHREDDING REPRODUCTIVE PIPE.
Semen-hungry emissaries of Satan, your eggs loll about on the street corners of your uterus, playing loud, obscene rap music, using foul language, smoking crack, and freaking with absolutely any old sperm that blows by. Nasty little crack whores that they are, your eggs get quite snippy if the baby-batter fails to appear and jettison themselves out of your uterus in an angry red menstrual huff.
Menstruation, then, is simply your eggs' way of saying, “There ain't no gentlemen callers in this here lame ass uterus. Let's blow this popsicle stand.” If, God forbid, one of these semen-gobbling hussies does manage to bag herself some sperm, and the vixen gets herself fertilised, then go buy yourself some photographic equipment and cabbages. In nine months time you can start cranking out your own pirate Anne Geddes calendars.
Your fallopian tubes are the spaghetti straps on the foxy ginch gown that is your reproductive system. Fallopian tubes have fringed ends and somebody needs to drop a word in their ear that fringing on top of spaghetti straps is just a tad too-too and that less is more unless they want to look like a Dolly Parton impersonator.
All that we can say about the cervix is that she hates being kissed by an oversized Ding Dong McDork. In fact, whenever cervix reads this in a novel she cringes.
All muscle and no brains, your uterus longs to challenge The Rock to a wrestling match. Thwarted in this ambition, some uteruses become enraged and ensure that painful monthly menstrual cramps ensue. Unlike The Rock's biceps, your uterus muscles can expand enough to accommodate a baby and then contract sufficiently to deliver it. In your uterus' mind, this means it has all the talent but The Rock gets all the fame. Don't be surprised if an FBI profiler tracks death threats made to The Rock back to your uterus. Best not to allow your uterus access to pen and paper.
Unlike men's junk, the human female's reproductive system is designed much like Ikea furniture. Lots of expandable storage space all tucked away out of sight. If the vulva came in pine, we'd know for sure that Ikea had been involved in their design. The vulva is the external part of the female reproductive organs and is pretty dependable in that you and your friends can always find it chillaxing in the same place between your legs. Your vulva takes care of all its little reproductive homies by covering them. Somebody trying to get through your vagina's opening and to your reproductive organs? “Not on my watch,” says the vulva. Vulva actually means 'covering' in Latin which means that in Hollywood shoot-outs people could say “Vulva me, I'm going in!”
The fleshy area located just above the top of the vaginal opening is called the mons pubis. A wee bit pretentious, it likes to speak French with a lisp and often refers to its lady-garden neighbours as ‘mes amis’. Always keep berets out of its reach.
Two pairs of skin flaps called the labia (which means lips) surround the vaginal opening. They have the distinction of being the only adult female lips in the world which do not have lipstick foisted upon them (though if lipstick were to be made for them, the Lady Biest wants her own signature snizz-stick called 'Hot Merkin Mama').
The clitoris is the CIA operative of your snizz—small and clandestine (and apparently undetectable to most men) it’s located toward the front of the vulva where the folds of the labia join. Always remember it's your loyal lady-friend and it loves you, so don't lose it.