I had a new procedure called the “G-Shot,” which is kind of like plastic surgery, kind of a body modification – but you don’t see it. It is on the inside. It isn’t something I would necessarily normally do, because I am very happy with my vagina the way it is. It is one of the finest in the world, and really needs little embellishment. It has served me well for many years and there are lots of miles left on it.

I got the G-shot as part of my new VH1 show, “The Cho Show,” which I am filming right now and it is so fucking awesome you are going to just scream when you see it – I am so excited! Anyway, the G-Shot is an injection of collagen into your G-Spot that is supposed to enhance any kind of stimulation there. It is for women who have limited sensation in their vagina, which is me. My puss is more clitoral than vaginal. I am more into the outside than the inside. I am more about display than content. Whenever I go to a party, I tend to hang out on the steps rather than in the house and I never go into the backyard. And to keep the party analogy going, I don’t even have a G-Spot, per say, one place where the party is all centered, but there are lots of smaller events happening all over the area. Mine isn’t a G-Spot. More like a G-Block Party. My pussy is a lot like Coachella. There are a lot of bands hanging around waiting to play.

So I got it done at a fancy Beverly Hills gyno office and it was somewhat uncomfortable. First the G-Spot must be located. The poor doctor had to poke around in there for a long time, and it reminded me of this one guy who was looking for it many years ago, all thumbs in there going “Where’s your spot? Where’s your spot?” It didn’t feel good and I was like, “uh, I usually park on the street.” The doctor came upon an area that felt more sensitive than the other areas (more partying going on there than elsewhere) so she shot up that region with an anesthetic – which was painful!! I needed anesthesia for my anesthesia! It was so prickly and hurting that she had to shoot me up twice with the numbing agent. Then they got the big needle out, which I didn’t feel but looked so scarily long that I thought the end might poke out through my back! OW!!!!

So since then, I haven’t felt any sexual enhancement at all. If anything it makes me not want to do it, which is incredible because I always want to do it – so it doesn’t work as any kind of aphrodisiac, but would be a good punishment for sex offenders. Now my vagina just feels like there is a gel insole in there. Like my cervix is wearing boot socks. I am totally asexual and I feel like I am sitting on a hemorrhoid donut all the time. I really feel kind of bad complaining about the procedure, because the doctor was so nice, and I am all about supporting anything that benefits women and their sexuality. I totally think that the spirit of the thing is cool. Women should feel good in their bodies and if surgery can enhance that, I am all for it. Unfortunately, the G-Shot just wasn’t for me, but it might be for you. There are lots of raves from women about it, and more often than not the results are supposed to be mindblowing, just not for me!

It lasts for four months so I will be at the convent until the swelling goes down.

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Note: Margaret is on the road and away from her computer (she’ll be back on Monday), but said we should post this story:

South Carolina state representative Ralph Davenport (Republican, SC) has proposed a bill that would make sex toys illegal in SC. If passed, selling them would be a felony in the state. More info on the babeland blog. What’s worse is that Davenport readily admits that he doesn’t know what a sex toy is - yet he wants them banned.

This guy is from my home state, and represents my home county, so I find this especially infuriating but also embarrassing. Of course, he’s the same representative who proposed a bill to erect a fetus monument on the state house lawn.

If you’d like to contact Rep. Davenport and let him know what sex toys are (probably not a threat to national security for starters) you can find his info here.

- Keri Smith

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Thank you Jess, for the topic today. Jess is a young woman with an amazing mind and is a person who makes me really trust that our future will be secure and we will not blow ourselves up and forever have to live in a really dusty plain where we have to build walls with old tires and fortress ourselves within them, because everyone is killing each other over gasoline and dog food that we have to eat with our hands. Thank you Jess for being smart and beautiful and political and knowing it up and down with the rocking knowledge, which is the way her good mama raised her. Shout out to Jess and Jess’ mama!!! For real tho!!!! Jess was peeping CNN where again the dummies that go on and on until the break of dawn about how the morning after pill spreads stds and unwanted pregnancy. This is just in line with the ridiculous logic that abstinence is the only way to teach the younger generation about sex. Your body says one thing - like “This feeling that I have inside is soooo goood and I want to do it, and here is whoever who is gonna do it with me, I don’t really understand because everyone is telling me to practice abstinence, but fuck that. So, since we are both in trouble anyway - fuck it. LET’S DO DIS!!!” Preaching abstinence is not right, is not realistic, is just stoopid, ignant, duh-duh-duhm.

Remember that girl who went to France to take RU-486 and then get right back on the plane to return to the US to flashing cameras and police? What the fuck is wrong with people? I am not saying that everyone should fuck themselves insane BONOBO (pansexual apes that are out closest living relatives that negate the ‘homosexuality is not found in nature’ argument) style and then throw their shit all over the place, but what is this puritanical attitude? Like she needed a big “A” sewn on her chest to show all that she ABORTED. I want to sew a big “I” for ignant on everyone involved with putting this woman through fucking hell for having a body and the courage to do what she wanted with it.

Plan B should not be up for review. There should never have been a recall. We never finished counting the votes from 2000.

What is Plan A? Abstinence? And we got rights over everybody and their mama’s uterus? Put it in the A-SS only?

I am not pro-death. I am pro-choice. I am of the mind that young people will find a way to do what they naturally will do without possibly hurting themselves even if we tell them NOT TO DO IT. Young people have strong emotions, intense hormones that will not be silenced as easily as saying A-B-S-T-I-N-E-N-C-E. What they need is education, options, condoms, counseling, help, confidence, gentle awareness, trust in teachers, confidentiality, equality, reality, the fucking truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help us all God - not GUILT.

Because ABSTINENCE = GUILT.
Guilt = Low self-esteem.
Low self-esteem = everything you going to get if you offer only abstinence as your only solution.

I think that if they are looking at Plan B and they are thinking about getting rid of it, then I would like to propose Plan C.

C stands for CUNT. Not a curse word, not a slur, not a bad thing. As Inga Muscio’s brilliant and important book of the same name, CUNT is the celebration of the woman and the world, as we are one and the same. We would have no world without the CUNT, so anyone who uses this as a negative, transgressive word, is denying the fact they are alive. We are all born from cunts. Where we all have as a human race, our very first home address. No matter where your mail gets forwarded now, everyone everywhere ever had this on their mailbox first -

Me, CUNT, The World.

This makes the cunt powerful. And that power includes the power of choice, the power of knowledge, the power of attorney, the power of cunnilingus, the power of veto, the power of everything it wants and DOES NOT WANT anytime, anywhere, anyway all the time for all time. For real. That is what I am talking about.

“And if you want to argue with me you better call TYRONE.”-Erykah Badu

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The Roman Catholic Church is talking about how condoms don’t block AIDS. I don’t know what to say about that. And taking the vow of celibacy doesn’t prevent pedophilia. What is wrong with them? If they oppose all forms of birth control, then when do we get to actually fuck? Or how do we get to fuck? Do they promote pulling out? Douching with a Coke right after? Only taking it up the ass? So now since the Vatican has issued the health warning about condoms, which they justify is just the same as they have about the hazards of smoking, there has been a major spike in HIV infection, with more than 42 million wrestling with the virus. Okay, condoms are not 100% protection, but 90% is better than nothing, or ‘abstinence,’ which nobody practices, never did, never will.

The Pope is one press release away from selling indulgences to buy space in heaven, like in the days of Martin Luther - not the King, the father of Lutheranism, Catholicism Lite. I am so angry, I don’t want to just rip up a picture of the pope. I want to rip him a new asshole, wearing a condom, and I don’t even have a dick, but this is the one time I wish I did. Fuck you John Paul whatever the fuck your fucking name is you fucking gold vestment tall ass hat wearing shit head. Why don’t you just fucking die already? Doesn’t God need a personal assistant? Fuck Fuck Fuck you. No seriously. Fuck you. You are not God’s representative. God would not do that to people. God loves unconditionally. All are welcome in the true House of God. We need Angry Jesus to storm the Vatican right now, kicking out the money changers and the temple prostitutes and the child molesters. I love me some Angry Ass Jesus. Make your own loaves and fishes muthafucka! Get out of my Father’s house!!! I want Jesus to evict your ass, throw all the millions of dollars worth of sacred art and gold and relics and Liberace style robes bought with the blood of the countless believers who give you everything and more so that they will be saved, and you do nothing but let them die, condemn them, judge them, molest them, kill them. I want the Vatican front lawn littered with the garage sale of the Judas Iscariot of the world, which would amount to much more than thirty pieces of silver, and to give the money to the people who are dying of AIDS because of you, the children who have had their innocence stolen by you, the innumerable crimes you have committed against the people in the name of God. We are made in the image of God, we are fucking GOD!!!! You don’t know Him. You just front like you are God are down and shit, but you don’t have His pager number. You don’t two-way message Him. If you did, you would care about the people that believe in you, you would treat them like you worship them, because we are all GOD!!!!! GOD is nice. God wants you to wear condoms. God wants you to have fun. God loves everyone. He doesn’t care what you do. He is going to love you no matter what. God also has many names, like Buddha, Vishnu, Allah, Mohammed, Jehovah, Beyonce, you. Don’t listen to the Vatican. They don’t know shit and should just have a fucking bake sale and shut the fuck up.

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I love hip hop. It is a language that speaks to me, with the complexity of the beats, the dexterity of the rhymes, the posture and pride of rappers that makes me swoon. It is like opera to me, with all the sturm und drang of Wagnerian proportions, but with modern values and transformative knowledge. My newest obsession is The Neptunes song “Pop Shit”. I have never heard anything so beautiful in my life. The layering of the samples, the vocal harmony perfectly dovetail with the mc’s swagger, there is small heaven in that song. I believe that we get complimentary snack size portions of the afterlife, and we all receive them in a different way. For me it is the arrogant smirk in Pharrell’s voice, the skittish percussion and the dizzying freak I get on whenever I hear that song.

The overture that captured me for life was Public Enemy’s “Don’t Believe the Hype.” In the late-eighties, I worked at Stormy Leather on Howard Street in San Francisco, a leather dyke emporia. On Sundays, it was quiet, and we would listen to a radio station that would put Malcolm X and Martin Luther King speeches under phat beats, which felt like the birth of something great. Word was born and the DJ would spin you right into Chuck D’s booming voice. There was such truth to rap right then, and there was no apologies made to anyone about anything. It was the first time that it struck me that music could be political, even though I grew up in San Francisco at the tail end of the Summer of Love - those musicians were rebelling against their own establishment, and even though there were amazing poets during that era, their rhymes didn’t affect me like the epics of Afrika Bambattaa or Grandmaster Flash. Who gives a fuck about “Howl?” What was that supposed to mean anyway? Wasn’t that dude in NAMBLA?

Chuck D I took to as my new leader. His righteous anger and eloquence was infectious, the beats hypnotic, the passionate struggle of not only people of color, but really all minorities were expressed in his lyrics. I got it. We all did at the workshop, toiling over the sheets of black leather, the scent getting into our skin as we bobbed our heads. We understood oppression, as below poverty level women, as queer, as Asian, Latino and Black. Not only that, as sex workers, we were vilified by feminists as traitors to our own movement, as sadomasochism was seen as an accommodation and supplication to the patriarchy. We were also blasted by the established queer community for wearing chaps and making the entire GLBT constituency look like perverts. Like we were the ones in NAMBLA.

For the first time, we got to make our shame into rage, and rap gave us the formula, the “pi” for our feelings of misery and displacement, which had before remained an unanswerable equation burning into our just-born political brains. Yes, Public Enemy were talking about the ghetto, but we all lived there, no matter what our street address. In the projects of the mind, 911 is and always will be a joke. It would take a nation of millions to hold us back. The revolution will not be televised. I am a black man, and I will never be a veteran.

Things turned around when Ice Cube released “Black Korea,” a wrathful, venomous anthem against the Korean merchants of the inner city. I felt like I was cast out of a tribe I so desperately needed to belong to. Gangsta rap, still powerful, had sexist themes that I blocked out because I still wanted to have that hardness, something that would exist as a melodic talisman inside me when the ‘rainbow was enuf.’ I was partly in agreement, as the song was about people that I knew, relatives who had banished me years before, so there was an odd satisfaction to it, but then again, my face was the uniform I could not camouflage, even though my mind belonged behind enemy lines. I also felt that weirdness like when someone makes fun of your mom - a sense of propriety like “I can say that but you can’t” stance. Also, the undeniable racism and violence of the song was this indelible mark on my precious amulet, and it just felt like bad luck. Ice Cube eventually apologized for the song, and made the genius film “Friday”, yet that same antagonism between Koreans and Blacks exists, in a mythological realm, in that neighborhood between “Do the Right Thing” and South Central during the LA riots. I don’t care.

I still love hip hop. There isn’t the kind of unifying political message as there once was, but there is yet unending beauty there, that grows despite all the misogyny, materialism, mayhem, maleness, malevolence toward homosexuals, murder and yachts. The rhymes are still rebellious, and the styles have become sophisticated beyond what anyone could have ever imagined. Nothing is perfect, but the first heady years, when Sundays were all about Chuck D and the world that we, the freaks of all freaks, were bound to inherit and hopefully come to rule, but unlike our predecessors, we would do so with truth, compassion, justice and generosity, gave us an enduring hope that keeps Public Enemy on my iPod to this day. Fight the power.

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In the Colombian Parliament, MP Luis Eduardo Diaz was suspended for bringing out a rubber dildo during a parliamentary debate. He was using it as a prop, to demonstrate the need for mandatory sterilization to control the birth rate of the poor population of Bogota. After offending many members of Parliament, he lost his temper and left the dildo on the desk of the Minister of Health. Diaz was suspended for five sessions, as members complained about the inappropriate action of bringing a rubber dildo into Parliament, and most were so shocked about the dildo, they had no idea what he was talking about. That is what happens when you bring a rubber dick into the room. Everything shuts down. What is worse than the dildo, which is kind of a needless prop, because you don’t need visual aids in these types of situations as pretty much everyone in government should and would know where babies come from. Was he using it as a pointer? Trying to put some flair into his presentation? That might work somewhere else, like say, the Folsom Street Fair, but not in the Colombian Parliament. No rubber dicks allowed. To his credit, there was no rule on the books that states clearly that such prosthetics are not allowed in the building and must be checked in at the front security desk, where a guard would tag it and it could be reclaimed when the owner left the premises.

What bugs me about this incident has little to do with the rubber dildo. That aspect makes me kind of like him. Talk about thinking outside of the box! Impressive. He’s got balls. That is supposed to be a pun, but I actually do not have the information that confirms the dildo in question was one equipped with testicles. Sometimes the South American press can be very stingy when it comes to details. I have many problems with the idea of mandatory sterilization. What is that? Are people like dogs, to be spayed and neutered so they might not create a population crisis? Will the recently born be put up for adoption, so that friendly and caring citizens might peruse the cages for the one they like best and wish to take home, while the remaining infants, who have problems with chewing shoes and cannot be housebroken are put to sleep? If it came down to having a choice for sterilization, and making that an accessible option, as well as providing free birth control and family education, with the right to choose to terminate the pregnancy at any stage, according to the wishes of the mother, that would be something to bring to the Parliament. A rubber dick isn’t gonna do it. Neither is a decree of mandatory sterilization. I got into an argument with a young woman in Lincoln, Nebraska over the rant that I have against pro-life groups. She claimed to be offended and hurt as she was pro-life and felt that she had the right to be. I agreed. She is right. And I never said she wasn’t. I just said that I was pro-choice, which is “You have your opinion, I have mine, just let anyone who is going through it decide for herself.” Here is the true definition of pro-choice. It isn’t “Kill ‘em all, let God sort ‘em out!” That this is considered unreasonable by the pro-life movement, as they want to control over all the women’s bodies in the nation, whereas we are just giving everyone the free will to do what they want. We are pro-life too, but in doing so, we must examine our own lives first, before we can bring another into this world. To be truly honest and realistic about the quality of life a child that we could provide, remaining faithful to our own economic situation, our health, both mental and physical, our general disposition, whether or not we would make a good parent, whether or not it would be possible to carry the baby to term, a tenant living in your body for nine months, who would be a part of you - literally, and give that child up to strangers to raise as their own. There is much to consider, and it is never an easy decision, and to make that choice with consciousness, clarity and plenty of information is the true meaning of being pro-life. We are the pro-choice movement, and not the pro-death movement. We must consider the life that goes beyond the gestation period - the person that might be or not be. What right do we have to bring to bear more misery into the world? We cannot even bring a rubber dick into the Colombian Parliament.

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