Following my last blog post concerning my vagina’s PR company, I received this infuriating email. The nerve of some people.
I don’t often put on my blog-vision spectacles, but I had to see a little of what you’re talking about, and bam! It was like-at-first-sight. Tell me more about your vag-tastic P.R. stunt. I got a little cousin who’s got a bar mitzvah coming up. You think I can book your vagina for the reception? Maybe conduct some of the ceremony inside it? Let me know!
Umm… STUNT?! You think this is a fucking joke? Let me tell you something mister, my vagina is no joke. In fact, it’s one of the most powerful and influential personalities on this Earth. You would know this if you hadn’t spent the majority of your life living under a rock.
So no, you can not book my vagina for your cousin’s bar mitzvah. Who do you think my vagina is? Regis Philbin?. More people know about my vagina than about Michael Jackson, ok? It doesn’t do crumby bar mitzvahs. And even if it did, it would never be able to fit it in. It’s booked solid for the next five months, after which it is taking some personal time to recuperate. (My vagina is not Alicia Keys, ok. It has its limits. It can’t work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week with no rest like she can.)
Oh, and just so you know, my va-jay-jay is more gangsta than Jay-Z, and it will not hesitate to murder your Jewish ass, so you best be watching your back from now on, you get me?