This is a story I started for a dear friend of mine named Joe Schmoe and his now ex-girlfriend Pissy Missy.  It stands a better chance of completion if I post it up here.  Enjoy!

“Where am I?” Joe bolted upright out of his sleep, banging his head on the corner of a tiny countertop.

“Fuck!” He rubbed his head, all the while squinting at his surroundings:  back of a VW van, carpeted couch at his feet, mattress on the van floor, and Princess Lea’s metal bikini poster from Return of the Jedi taped to the ceiling of the van.

It was all coming back to him now.  He and Missy had spent the past couple of nights parked under the bypass on the edge of Asheville.  They had left South Carolina a week before in a beat-up VW van outfitted to run on bio-diesel.  The van had been a steal, sold to him by an old hippie who claimed that he just couldn’t handle the bio-diesel smell anymore.

“What do you mean?” Joe had asked him.  “Bio-diesel is great for the environment.”

“”Dude, great for the environment, but hard on the nose!” the old hippie replied.

So, technically, Joe had been warned.  He didn’t listen, though, because he was just excited to find a van that would hold a mattress.  They were going on a road trip across the country.  He had hoped to make it to Colorado by mid-summer for a Libertarian convention.  Missy didn’t really care for Libertarian politics, but she loved him and was willing to follow him anywhere.

They bought the van, and customized it to his liking.  A “Frodo Failed, Bush Got the Ring” bumper sticker adorned the back.  Princes Lea got the coveted space on the van roof because she had ushered Joe into manhood with that metal bikini.  They left home with high hopes of adventure and free love.

They made it to Asheville, NC before the smell of fried oil started to make both of them sick, and the question of “Where exactly do you purchase bio-diesel?” was starting to become an issue.  Asheville, of course, was a mecca for bio-diesel travelers…and vegetarians.

Joe had spent the past two days sitting in an Asheville vegetarian hangout, plotting on a map how far they could make it before running out of fuel again.  For the moment, he was content to leave the van parked, as the fumes were making his pure, vegetarian system heave with nausea.

This trip meant a lot to him.  He had always wanted to be a hippie.  The last chapter of his life had ended with a boring teaching job and a divorce.  This chapter included a beautiful, bisexual woman who actually listened to him, and was willing to grow out her armpit hair.  He knew she was the one…the one who would experiment with him and would make him feel free.

Waking up that morning in the back of the van, he felt around for his glasses.  On the one side of him, he felt the familiar, soft skin of his dear Missy.  On the other side, however, he felt the unfamiliar feeling of coarse dreadlocks and shea butter skin.  He felt around some more.  “Ok, boobs and a very hairy cunt,” he said to himself.  “That’s definitely another woman!”

“Oh Lea,” he glanced up at the blurry image of the Princess.  “What have I done?  And where are my glasses?”

 

Clit quietly does the secret knock on the Back Door. 

“I’m here to speak to Ass,” she whispers to the Doorman, who lets her in and escorts her into the dark cavern.  Ass is bulbous in nature, so her lair is roomy, yet oddly inviting.  As Clit enters the main chamber, she is greeted by a strange smell and the soothing voice of the Ass.

“Hello Clit.  Does El Punto G know you’re down here?”

“No, I’m tired of answering to that dramatic bitch.  She’s now talking about staging a revolution in Vagina.  I don’t think I can sidekick for her any more, so I’ve come to offer you my services.”

“Me with a sidekick?” Ass laughs.  “Few consider me a super heroine.  Legend has it that in the great alternate universe called Macrocosmic Father, I am celebrated and enjoyed, but in Mother…no, it is not so.  I am considered dirty, lacking both respect and glands.”

“But you ARE a source of pleasure!  I know this…even El Punto knows this, when she’s not thinking only of herself.  El Punto G has lost her way in her own mystique.  Let me kick for you, and together we will turn you into a Super Heroine and we will save Vagina.”

“I owe Vagina nothing.  In fact, I am frequently blamed for Vagina’s infections.  But, I will consider your request.  Rest on a polyp whilst I think.”

After waging yet another day of war against the collective identity crisis of women, El Punto G rests her weary super-heroine self.  She needs ambiance to do anything, so the lights are low and the incense burns.  Her pragmatic side-kick Clit sits at her post.

“Why am I here?” moans El Punto.  “I battle the evils of disbelief every day, and they STILL deny my existence!”

“You’re too much trouble.”

“Too much trouble?  That’s rich, coming from a little easy thing like yourself.  A few quick rubs and you give them what they want!  It’s a cheap thrill!  I make them work for it, sure, but I’m the source!  I am pleasure itself!  I should be revered and pursued…worshipped like the Goddess herself.”

“But instead, you sit here whining existential nonsense…and in a red superhero cape sporting a Spanish name no less!”

“Hey, some of the best instructional videos ever made about how to find me come from Spain.  I honor that!”

“Well, like I said, you’re too much trouble.  Why would any women pursue something so elusive?”

“Ahh…maybe that’s it!  I exist to force them to delve deep!”

“You’re not battling the identity crisis…you are the crisis!”

“Go rub yourself!!!!!!”

The bickering continued long into the night, pausing only for estrogen release breaks courtesy of the macrocosmic mother.  Join us next time when El Punto decides to instigate revolution and Clit ponders side-kicking for a different body part.

 ”So here’s my dilemma…when meeting new lovers, at what point do I tell them that I’ve been exposed to Mad Cow Disease?”

“You can’t be serious,” said the Barista.  “You telling me you have lovers?”

“Yes, I’ll have you know I’m polyamorous.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Multiple loves.  I have a husband and a girlfriend.  Well, actually I don’t HAVE a girlfriend, but I’m looking for one…That’s why I’m concerned about the Mad Cow thing.  Women frown upon disease.”

“No one likes disease, but I don’t think Mad Cow is sexually transmitted.  Do you want soy milk in your latte?”

“Yes, please.  No, of course it’s not an STD, but people look at me funny when they find out.  Oh and the stigma attached to not being able to donate blood EVER again…you have no idea of the shame.”

“Well maybe not, but at least you don’t have herpes!”

“Herpes implies sex.  Mad Cow implies I ate beef in Britain in 1992.  There’s nothing sexy about that!”

“But you don’t have Mad Cow, you’ve just been exposed to it!  Trust me, you should be more worried about herpes.”