Today’s Post Is Brought to You By The Letter C!


Last week my mother came down to visit me. My mom is pretty cool. She’s easy to talk to, she can swear like a sailor, and to date she is the only person to beat me in a game of cards against humanity. She accepts me for the terrible person I am and has no problem sinking to my level when we hang out.

That being said, there has always been one thing I could say that was sure to have her frowning and exclaiming my name in the tone of irritation and disappointment that all moms know how to do. One word that never fails in offending her and getting me in trouble. The C-Word.

It makes no sense to go on talking about a word while completely avoiding the word itself so lets just get the shock factor out of the way and say it together on 1… 2… 3… Cunt.

There we go. Now we can move forward with our mature conversation about slanderous terms for female genitalia.

I didn’t grow up in a home free of cursing. “bad words” were pretty commonly heard around my house though not wildly used by myself until my teen years. I’d picked up many colourful terms throughout my childhood but cunt was not one of them. I don’t think I even heard the word cunt until I was maybe fifteen and it was probably a good year after that before I found out what it meant. It was just a bad word. A really bad word. I didn’t think I needed to ask what it meant, I just knew it was one of the worst words you could use based on the reaction it provoked from the adults around me.

When I did finally find out what it meant it lost a lot of stigma for me. You mean to tell me that this whole time people were so upset about being called a vagina? That’s it? Vagina. It seemed silly. Since that revelation the word cunt has had a spark of humour for me. I decided I liked it. It had the silliness of ‘vagina’ but packed the punch of ‘fuck’. It was shocking, but to me it was just another animated piece of vocabulary, even if my computer doesn’t acknowledge it as a word even now. I started using. Sporadically at first and never in front of my mother. Now I probably use it on a daily basis, though my reasons for doing so have changed.

I haven’t lived with my parents for two years now. I’m not terribly far away from them but far enough that it’s not unusual to go two or three months between visits. This has improved my relationship with my parents in a lot of ways but it has completely dulled my ability to censor myself in front of them. As my mom was visiting last weekend I couldn’t help but have the c-bomb drop in front of her. She was not impressed. I felt the need to defend myself and my use of what is arguably my favourite word.

“What’s wrong with saying cunt?”
“It’s not a nice word. When people use it it makes them sound ignorant.”
“But it’s just another word for vagina. Are you offended when someone says vagina?”

She said it wasn’t the same. The context of vagina and cunt are two different things. She’s right. They mean the same thing but the intent behind someone saying vagina and someone saying cunt are completely different. Vagina is clinical and objective. Cunt is used when you want to call someone the worst thing you can think of. Why is it that the worst thing people can think to call someone is a cunt? Why is it that the worst thing someone could be is a part of female anatomy?

On the flip side penis is a clinical term and dick is an insult but when was the last time you saw a rational person be genuinely upset at being called a dick. People brush it off. No one is offended at being referred to as a dick or a prick the same way people are offended by cunt or even pussy when there really shouldn’t be any difference. One genders private parts aren’t any worse than the others. It’s the stigma that being a woman is a bad thing that makes cunt such a bad word.  In a world where we still tell people they, “throw like a girl”, or that they need to, “man up and stop acting like a chick”, it’s not surprising that cunt is still considered as derogatory as it is. It’s sexist.

For some people the word being loaded with sexist connotation is why we shouldn’t use it, but for me it’s exactly why I feel I should use it. I use cunt ironically mostly. As a term of endearment in the same way close friends call one another “bitch”, “asshole”, or my roommate’s personal favourite “dickhole”. I nearly never use it in an angry context and when I do it’s mostly reserved for inanimate objects. I used to joke I was “taking it back” but the more I made that joke the more I realized that was what I wanted to do.

Upwards of 80% of incidences where I’ve ever heard cunt used it was a man using it to berate, shame, or devalue a woman. Occasionally I’ve heard women use it to tear down other woman, and once I heard a man use it to insult another man. It’s disproportionately used as an oppressive term towards women and that shit needs to stop. The best way to do that is to repurpose the c-word in the same way rappers repurposed the n-word.

We use it on our own terms and when some jerk uses it in a derogatory manner we come down on him like a ton of politically correct bricks to let the rest of the asshats know that their cunt privileges have been revoked. Then it’s use among misogynists will be confined to comments on the morally bankrupt cesspool that is 4chan where the rest of us will never have to see it.


The Next Step In Women’s Lib

I’ve decided to take it upon myself to tackle one of the world’s few remaining “Taboo” subjects in gender inequality. Every day, women are forced to suffer in silence, and it’s time that we, as a society, were able to establish an open dialog about menstruation.

What brought about this topic? Let me tell you. A couple weeks ago I was stocking up in the feminine hygiene isle at the drug store and I took notice of Tampax‘s new Radiant line of tampons and liners. They were on sale and came in a pretty box so I figured what the hell and bought them. Surely they had some kind of new super absorbent technology. Had they managed to improve on the reliable Pearl?

NOPE. Upon getting home and using the box for some toilet side reading I discovered there was no difference in the tampon itself. The Radiant was exactly the same as the Pearl in every way except one: the packaging.  The Radiant boasts a “quieter” and more “discreet” rapper, “protection that you can keep secret”.

And here I was, completely unaware that I was supposed to be keeping my tampons a secret. I’ve been waving them around on my way to the bathroom all these years with no idea that this was unacceptable behaviour. Man am I embarrassed.

The Radiant line has done so well it’s expanded to their pad equivalent Always. I now know without a doubt that it’s a bunch of old guys running the Tampax Tampon Empire. Only they would sit down to try to come up with a way to make pretending periods don’t exist easier. And only women would fall for they’re marketing ploys so easily. Even I was too distracted by the flashy new box to question them. I figured I could use a new centre piece.

It added a nice touch of class to my Thanksgiving table. 

Seriously, what’s so frightening about the idea for men that we’re constantly trying to find new ways to disguise our tampons. So much so that Wikihow posts like this and this exist.

Why do we fall for this crap? I work in a drug store where I’ve had women ask me to double bag their tampons because they’re afraid someone will put two and two together and deduce they’re currently surfing the crimson tide.

SH and Watson 1
“Elementary My dear Watson, either she has a leak in her roof or she’s menstruating.”

It’s ridiculous. 51% of the worlds population are now, once have, or at some point will replace their uterine lining in their life time. It’s an unavoidable aspect of the having a vagina, you know like crying at the end of ‘Moulin Rouge’, getting mad at your skank co-worker for being able to eat 500 recess peanut butter cups in one sitting without gaining weight, or rear ending someone with you car. Unavoidable.

Now my roommate will be the first to vouch for me in on this, when it comes to the second day of my period I do not suffer in silence. Unlike that golden-ovaried bitch, I am cursed with intense cramps. When I say intense, I mean INTENSE. I’m forced to bear the blunt of millions of tiny swords wielded by the ghosts of wasted and withered eggs as they try to stab and slash their way out of my abdomen to seek vengeance for the human lives of which they were robbed thanks to my failure to indulge in unprotected boning. I am very vocal about the pain I’m forced to endure while mother nature flips my uterus trying to find the perfect wallpaper that’s just the right shade of void-of-fetus red.

It’s nice and all, but I think we need some more clotting around the trim.

I may be single now, but eventually I’m going to be filled with enough self-loathing that I’m going to seek out a boyfriend or some shit to escape the anguish of being left alone with myself, and believe me, he will not be spared my grotesque similes. This leaves the poor sap with two options, grin and bear whilst he pops me full of midol, or peace it for five days while I send him regular text messages relaying the progression of my pain and trying to coax him into bringing my one of those 80% coco chocolate bars and a Tim Hortons chi tea latte. But I digress.

I like my chocolate the way I like my men: made of chocolate.

The point is I’m shameless when it comes to the seething hatred I have for two things, my uterus and that prick Joeffry Baratheon. Though my roommate is a sadistic cow who seeks enjoyment in my pain, I can’t say the same for any guy I know. Hell, my own father spent twenty years in a house with three girls and would still cuss me out for failing to flush the toilet while on my period (What can I say? I’m a let it mellow kinda gal).

I would totally understand if these guys were like fourteen years old and just learned that women are prone to bleed out their boxes. Fair enough. I used to be the same way with sperm jokes, but I’m not talking about fourteen year old boys, I’m talking about grown ass men. Aren’t periods kinda old news guys? It’s not like it’s something women just spontaneously started doing in recent years. This shit has been going on since we became a species. It’s not like I’m asking you check out the consistency of my flow, I just want the freedom to complain about what a cankerous bitch my lady parts are without half the general population running for the hills.

There are only 2 contexts in which I hear a guy daring to talk about the big-red-pelvic-boogeyman (boogeywoman?) and that’s when a comedian is talking about his woman’s menstrual habits for shock value or when a guy accusing a girl of being on the rag because he’s got nothing else left to defend himself with. It’s the final plea of a desperate man who doesn’t know how to deflate a crazy bitch. How does accusing a crazy bitch or being a hormonal irrational bitch ever make anything better? I have no idea.

I’m not on my period! I just live in a perpetual state of PMS!

I acknowledge that this isn’t all on the men. The women need to take responsibility as well. As mentioned above we’re way to susceptible to what we believe societies expects from us. That’s why the cosmetics industry rakes in hundreds of billions of dollars a year. We need to stop worrying so much, relieve ourselves of the humiliation so many of us must feel about the terms of our ovaries if things like Tampax Radiant are able too boom in the marketplace.

Ladies stop trying to hide the fact that you take monthly rides on the cotton pony. If we stop acting ashamed of having our menses, and stop trying to pander to men’s delicate sensibilities about bleeding snatches they’d have no choice but to get over their silly aversion. That or only date women over the age of 55.