The Perfect Vagina

So, there they are in Iran, trying to get the uprising going---but they are being taken down like dogs.

Whether a spoiled American like me is sitting comfortably in the Arclight Movie Theater in Hollywood watching kids diving into mountains of feces in some Indian epic or reading Google News at 2AM in my big box apartment in Manhattan about the horrendous government of Iran, it all comes down to the same thing: I picked my vagina wisely.

The vagina is the worm hole to your future. Any of us could have picked the wrong one. Most of us do. Though my particular worm hole was a bit nicotine laden, it was still, at the time, young, healthy and surrounded by law and order, banks filled with money and nearby was the guy who was about to invent the shopping mall.

How did I get so lucky? How did you?

I now take certain freedoms for granted. As a teenager and in my twenties, I was terrified of enslavement. Of course, this United States of America is a work camp and you better do SOMETHING or you will have a miserable experience here, but other than a little bit of work (and you can even have fun work here) you really are not so controlled.

I really have no intelligent way of talking about what it would be like to live in Iran. I have never been anywhere near the place. I have known some Persians in Los Angeles, good ones, bad ones, nice looking ones, scaryass ones. I cannot draw any conclusions from these encounters. After all, these are Persians in the USA, wearing clunky jewelry, putting up columns in front of their Beverly Hills ranch houses--nothing pejorative here. I come from a column building people, too—shopping at Trader Joe’s and having backyard BarneyBounce parties. So I have no idea.

But it does seem like The Middle East is having their SIXTIES. You can feel it. It is about time. And maybe the young people there are thinking, “I was born perfectly, at the right time, extruded onto earth through the correct vagina. Praise Allah and pass the ammunition.” Nicely, the ammunition is Ghandi stuff.

We’re behind you, kids. Welcome to your lives. Your perfect lives. Plus, there were only so many Western vaginas you could have chosen from and many of them, well, they were filled with Joshuas and Peppers, clever beasts who elbowed their way into an easy existence, so there was no room left in those inns.