The Bloody Truth

There is nothing in this world I despise more than the one thing that makes me a woman. P E R I O D S! (Well, I despise Cher and the wanker who invented the baby mop more, but for the sake of this blog) P E R I O D S, FUCK YOU!

Now, every lady’s experience with the crimson river is different, but I’m betting pesos it ain’t all fine and dandy. Gentlemen, you are blessed with two things. Ball and Cock. Granted, I am sure your jewels dangle too and fro, which can not be all that comfy, but us ladies have a vagina. Yes, I love my clam, but with every clam is some chowder and not always the lubey kind. 


Vagina’s clean themselves, and do so by letting the goo ooze out, sometimes red wine, sometime white. Boys, got the ball stink, but with some baby powder and a spray of Febreeze they are good to go. We need to wipe our baby maker clean, get into the creases, trim or wax the nether regions to make sure she is sparkling gold.

Periods, ain’t no icing on the cake. I swear God hates us! (Definitely hates my savage beast ass for sure).

The first time I got my period I was 13 years old (grade 8). I woke and went to the loo and looked in my panties. There, I saw dribblets of blood. I just thought I cut myself grooming the kitty. I changed my underwear and continued my day. Around 11 am, when I take more morning shit, I sat on the porcelain and noticed some more red drops. That’s when I clued in, I’m cursed, God has it out for me, I need to go to church or whip myself or something. 

For two years after that, I padded myself up (was not at the tampon stage quite yet). I resented every moment Aunt Flo was visiting. Yes, it was once a month for about a week, but it was terrible. I would rather butt chug egg yoke then see Aunt Flo.Image

I personally made it my mission to find a way to keep my beaver damn closed. Obviously, I failed. The only way to stop your period from flowing is to A) get preggerz or B) menopause. Ya, um out of question for me.

When I was in high school however, my hate for the painters subsided. Reason being, when you are a little prostitot your period is your best friend, well more like you frienemy and here is why. {SIDE NOTE: I was at the tampon stage by now}

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: She cramps your belly and back. I’m not talking I need to fart kind of cramp. I’m talking hot, punches to your mid-drift and back side. 

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: Your jubbilies are crying. They are sore and tender and all they want is to be left the fuck alone, in a nice sports bra. Booby pain, is not good pain.

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: PMS!

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: When a dude doesn’t want to break your beaver dam and let the waters run free, he plugs up the other side. Two plugs, one girl. OH HELL NO!

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: Bloating. ‘Nuff said.

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: Some people will think you eat to many chocolate bars.

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: Rags are expensive.

Frienemy for fucking sure. 

Currently, my thoughts on periods are essentially the same. Not a fan. After all, who would be a fan of bloody uterus lining eroded from a gal’s piss flaps. That my friends is the bloody truth.


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