My Transformation Zone

Oh. Whoops. I think that just made me an enemy of the state according to those freethinking folks who run Concerned Women for America. When they’re not out trying to get bloggers fired or arguing that no, really, they would never endorse a candidate, they seem to spend an awful lot of time thinking about women’s hoohaws. Their cunts. Their pussies. Their vaginas. (See? That’s how you’re supposed to use those words—to refer to that place of pleasure that women have between their legs.)

So, there’s this group of candidates who are throwing the word “transformation” around. And, then there’s this dire warning about a girl’s transformation zone. The transformation zone, is, of course, a precious thing that all unmarried girls are warned to keep safe from the wandering fingers or tongues or cocks of randy boys. But what’s a girl to do if she really wants to date a candidate who offers her dreams of transformational leadership? Do I have to be married in order to vote? If I’m a virgin, am I excluded from considering these dashing candidates with their naughty talk?

Of course, I’ve been trying to find my transformational zone myself. I do it at home, in the dark. I think it’s somewhere between my clitoris and my cervix, but truth be told, since the CWA would prefer that as a lady, I never discuss these things, I think I’ll have made myself blind before one of them gives it up and tells me where to find it.

Once again, those righteous ladies would rather that a young, sexually active, unmarried woman should contract HPV and potentially lose her transformational zone to cervical cancer rather than get a series of vaccinations. And since boys are fully formed at birth. Erect. Complete. they’ll never need to worry about protecting their own transformational zones. They won’t be able to be penetrated by the rhetoric of the transformation-toting candidates and can therefore, be trusted to vote the correct way.

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