The Vagenda

Where Are The Flaps?



Sex. Sex sex sexy sex. We all like sex, right? It’s OK to say that now, it’s the twenty first century! Don’t be shy: SEX.
Before we get this month’s troughful of magazines critiqued, we just wanted to say something about sex, and the way the media peddles it. The sex that is sold to you, in a magazine such as, ahem, COSMO, is a version of the practice of copulation that it so alienated from the physical realities of shagging someone that, if you were say, a seventeen year old reading such a magazine (because, despite insistences to the contrary, teenagers make up a large proportion of the readership), and you were then abruptly confronted with, say, male ejaculate for the first time, you’d be like, EW.
Sex, shagging, fucking, making the proverbial beast with two backs: whatever you want to call it, you have to admit that it can be sweaty, smelly and sticky. Women’s magazines like to pretend this isn’t the case, but you and I know the truth. Far from being the airbrushed, alienated sex of women’s magazines, where clean-looking men and women smilingly toss and tumble on a king-sized bed of LIES, shafting or being shafted by someone will render the two of you a shiny, heaving, grunting mass that is more animal than human, as you clumsily endeavour to adequately position your prospective flaps of skin to facilitate the most pleasurable sensations possible, all while trying not to fart.
What’s lacking in the media-driven, capitalistic version of sex that is being shoved down our throats (P.S. Cosmo- can we have an article on gag reflex PLZ! Thanx) is any kind of imagery or copy pertaining to the actual physicality of the act. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHERE ARE THE FLAPS, WE ASK YOU?
Sex is either clean clean cleany clean and polished OR unprotected, which is BAD and will inevitably lead to oozing of some kind. Women’s magazine sex is particularly plastic, and we’re not just talking about the things you’re supposed to be shoving up yourselves, either. The models are plastic, the act itself is plastic, the cock ring your boyfriend is slowly inching away from with a hunted look in his eye is plastic. What’s also missing from women’s magazines is any acknowledgement of the sheer fucking weirdness of nature.
Think about the first time you touched a Monkey Puzzle Tree. THEY’RE FURRY. Weird right? Well genitalia are as, if not more weird-looking than fuzzy bark. And no one seems to see the inherent comedy value, either (picture about a man, naked but for socks). Sex can be pretty funny. But magazine journalists are NOT realists, and often completely unaware of the impracticalities (not to mention unintentional mirth) involved in the advice they are doling out.
When a magazine po-facedly tells you to ”place a doughnut around his penis and nibble on it seductively”, they are ignoring some very basic factors, namely:
1.) Penises are pretty hilarious looking as it is. Adding a doughnut (or ‘rubber ring’) which makes his member look like a blind mole-child lacking the swimming skills to graduate to the big pool, might cause of a laughter spasm so strong that you could fall off the bed and break your neck. ITS DANGEROUS.
2.) What kind of man wants to entertain the possibility that his penis fits into a doughnut hole? (This was pointed out by our many twitter followers)
3.) It could lead to a whole new interpretation of the phrase ‘Krispy Kreme’.
Magazine sex is unrealistic and humourless, and bears little relation to what millions of people are actually getting up to in their houses at night.  Cosmo in particularly has taken the sexual revolution and rendered it commodity. But as my mother once said after a few wines, the establishment will always take a revolutionary movement and adapt it to suit their own agenda. It’s inevitable, and IT’S CALLED RE-CUPERATION MOFOS AND IT JUST AINT SEXY!

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