Women got the Vagina Monologues, and I think men deserve something exactly the same or something very similar about their penises

The Vagina Monologues is an interesting play. I remember seeing a reproduction of it at my school and being asked what my vagina smelled like, and I just sat there and marveled at the audacious question. “Wow,” I said, “wow.”

Some women, mostly the loud ones, shouted out stuff like “Heaven,” or, “Him” pointing to the bewildered sap sitting right next to her with his head down. I shouted out “Snozzberries!” in a very womanly (or what I thought was womanly) voice and thought that it would go over quite nicely.

Needless to say, it didn’t, and the women of the Vagina Monologues didn’t think this was appropriate because one of them dropped the f bomb out of character in my direction. The other actresses chastised her for that little scene, and I ended up looking like Prince Valiant (with the haircut and everything). I smiled back at her while she scowled at me and I put my hand beneath my chin and twiddled my fingers like The Little Rascals. I felt like a superstar that evening.

So anyway, I think men should have a play about THEIR private parts, and I’ve already thought of a title for it: The Scrotum Soliloquies.

Each segment can be a different pun on the word penis.

Like one of them can feature an Asian guy wearing a Red Lobsters bib. I would call it: Wang’s Lament.

Another one could be Dick’s Dilemma, and so forth and so on.

I’m already taking reservations.

Yes, my belly button is gay, but so what?

My belly button has gone through many different phases. Back in the 20’s (when I wasn’t alive) my belly button got sloshed at bootlegger parties and believed it was a Communist. Back then, my belly button was named Sacco. Flash forward a few years (about 86 or so) and my belly button, with mutton chops and a handlebar mustache is going through another transition—it thinks it’s gay.

Just the other day, while walking down the street with my belly button I accidentally bumped stomach to stomach with another belly button, this belly button called himself “Bruno.”

When I woke up the next morning, my stomach had a searing headache and was coughing up pills; it also said it felt like it was in the wrong body.

It told me it was now playing for the other team and wanted a name change (at this time, I had named it Leonard Asskicker !!!—and yes, those are exclamation points I used to indicate that he was third in line in the illustrious Asskicker name)

So anyway, my belly button said it didn’t want that name anymore and was tired of being an inny. It now wanted to be outy, and by outy, I mean outy the closet.

Being the fair, beneficent body I am, though, I said, “No, you’re my belly button, and I’ll call you what I wish. You’re straight and that’s that.” But then my belly button started fighting back and turning green and collecting more lint and what not.

Some people said it even started to stink and suppurate. The doctor told me it’d have to come off if I didn’t do something soon.

“For God’s sake, man, just give it what it wants.” The doctor shouted at the full force of his voice as he stood up from listening to my belly button’s pleas with his stethoscope. “Can’t you see your belly button is in LOVE, man?! Let him marry this “Bruno” fellow and give him your best blessings.”

So it’s been two months now, and my once, smothered inny belly button is now a prominent, protruding outy named Lawrence. He gets to see Bruno whenever I go to the YMCA, but I must say, it is quite awkward. Lawrence insists at least one kiss of Bruno every time they encounter, but do you know how awkward it is to have to rub bellies with another man? Oh, brother, it is aaaaawkard.

But I still love my Leonard, er, I mean my Lawrence. Without him, I’m really not sure I’d want to go on living.

21 Jump Street and Jumping Jack Flash Both Have the Word Jump in Them

I’m not sure who thought of it, but jump is a fun word. Kriss Kross made me do it back in the day (with my pants zipper over by butt), and I’m doing it right now while I type, so this simple BLoG entry will probably take me about 22.7 minutes longer than it should since I dragged the trampoline inside and am currently typing this at one letter per *boing!*

Also, I don’t really remember Jumping Jack Flash all that much (the movie, not the horrible Rolling Stones song) but I remember it had a leading black roll. Possibly Mekhi Phifer from 8 Mile. I don’t know, but I know it was a man with braids or something.

C’mon, man, you know who I’m talking about, whatzhisname! That guy who was also in Sister Act 1 and 2. Well, I don’t know, I can’t remember his name right now, but I’m sure it’ll jump into my head next time I’m on the shitter.

Anyway, back to Jump.

No wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait…wait. First, I have to talk about 21 Jump Street. I mean, it IS mentioned in the title, right? RIGHT? Answer me, asshole!...oh, yeah, this is a BLOG. Meep. Sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes.

Anyway, back to 21 Jump Street.

That show was great, or at least the intro song was. I don’t really remember that show either but I know it had that guy who looked like Johnny Depp. I wonder if Johnny Depp ever sued him for looking so damn similar to him. Poor sap, I think he even had his name in the opening credits as Johnny Depp. Some people are just so deluded.

Okay, but back to jump (the word).

Um…I don’t know what to say about it. Wow, to think you read a whole BLOG entry and there was no real money shot (spoot!) in the end. You should be pissed. If I were you (which I’m not), I’d get into your Sunday best clothes and grab a torch to burn this motha down! Only then, through random acts of violence, will you feel better and be making this world a better place, for you and for me, and the entire human race. You guys need to get together, and riot in the streets for all mankind.

Oh, yeah, and go ahead and JUMP!