I Can't Tell You How Many Times I've Dreamed of Resting My Head on a Big Clitoris

For Sale—beautiful pink “vagina couch” that I made in art school and no longer have space for. The couch is large: measures 5′ 3″ long, 3′ 3″ wide at the middle, and stands 2′ 3″ tall (and is heavy like a couch). The pics are from my portfolio and are several years old; as a result, the couch has some scuffmarks and stains around the bottom from …


I stopped there, because, frankly, I didn't like the direction that description was going in.

Needless to say, I refuse to believe anyone could “no longer have space for” that couch. Simply. Refuse. For the record, I would never grow tired of it.

In fact, I'd keep it until my dying day. And in my will, I'd ask my executor to have it converted into a coffin, so I could spend eternity resting peacefully, up to my neck in vagina couch.

By the way, that second picture is exactly why no one likes kids. Just when you've got the fit the way you like it, one of those bastards comes along and stretches it out.

And, yeah, the professionals can sew it up after the tear, but it's just not the same—just not the same.