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if i was a pearl i’d feel itchy scratchy stuck inside an oyster shell if i was a tree i’d  be a big fat redwood fantasizing about Julia Butterfly Hill living and peeing around me if i was a dog i’d be a Catahoula hound if i was Italian i’d be Sicilian if i was pasta i’d be spaghetti if i was Icelandic i’d be Bjork if i was a rock star i’d be Elvis Presley Bob Dylan Jimi Hendrix Jim Morrison John Lennon Bruce Spingsteen Maynard James Keenan if i was i writer i’d be Herman Melville Mark Twain James Joyce William Faulkner Thomas Bernhard Yukio Mishima Naguib Mahfouz Phillip K. **** Gabriel Garcia Marquez Annie Proulx Lydia Davis if i was a poet i’d be Walt Whitman Sylvia Plath Ted Hughes Gwendolyn Brooks Pablo Neruda  Heather McHugh Carl Sandburg Robert Frost Arthur Rimbaud Dante Alighieri Homer if i was a painter i’d be Leonardo Da Vinci Michelangelo da Caravaggio Johan Vermeer Rembrandt van Rijn Paul Cezanne Marcel Duchamp Jackson ******* Mark Rothko Ad Reinhardt Anselm Kiefer Susan Rothenberg if i was a photographer i’d be Man Ray Ansel Adams Edward Weston Diane Arbus Robert Mapplethorpe Sally Mann Helmut Newton Richard Avedon Annie Leibovitz if i was a philosopher i’d be Socrates Plato Aristotle Jean Jacques Rousseau Sören Kierkegaard Immanuel Kant Karl Marx Georg Hegel Friedrich Nietzsche Henry David Thoreau Ralph Waldo Emerson  Jean-Paul Sartre Jean Baudrillard Michel Foucault if i was a singer i’d be Woody Guthrie Otis Redding Grace Slick Bob Marley Joni Mitchell Marvin Gaye Johnny Cash Patsy Cline June Carter Patti Smith Chrissie Hinde Nick Cave P J Harvey Beyonce if i wa a band i’d be Velvet Underground Ramones *** Pistols Clash Cure Smiths Joy Division Uncle Tupelo Pixies Nirvana Nine Inch Nails Madrugada Sigur Ros White Stripes Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra Justice of the Unicorns if i was a boot i’d be Chippewa Frye Ariat Red Wing Tony Lama Wellington if i was a shoe i’d be Christian Louboutin Jimmy Choo Kedds Chaco Chuck Taylor p f flyer if i was a dress i’d be Channel Dolce & Gabbanna Giorgio Armani Marc Jacobs Comme des Garçons if i was a cowboy shirt i’d be H bar C Rockmount Temp Tex Karman Wrangler Levis Strauss Lee if i was a hat i’d be a Stetson Borsalino Stephen Jones if i was a fruit i’d be a mango apple banana blackberry if i was an scent i’d smell like fresh perspiration jasmine sandalwood ylang ylang the ocean if i was a doctor i’d be a gynecologist neurosurgeon if i was a flower i’d be a hibiscus rose orchard if i was a stone i’d be a sparkling ruby diamond opal if i was a knife i’d be a k-bar switch-blade machete if i was a gun i’d be a Remington Winchester Beretta Glock AK-47 if i was a car i’d be a Lamborghini Ferrari BMW Saab Volkswagen GTO Ford Mustang Dodge Challenger if i was a  TV show i’d be Law and Order if i was actor i’d be Charlie Chaplin Humphrey Bogart Steve McQueen Robert De Niro Ed Norton Shawn Penn if i was an actress i’d be Marlene Dietrich Ingrid Bergman Natalie Wood Audrey Hepburn Marilyn Monroe Helen Mirren  Meryil Streep Brigette Fonda Robin Wright Julianne Moore Angie Harmon if i was a female comedian i’d be Gilda Radner Lily Tomlin Nora Dunn Joan Cusack Sarah Silverman Tina Fey if i was a  football player i’d be Sid Luckman George Blanda Walter Payton **** Butkus Mike Singletary Joe Montana Jerry Rice Payton Manning LaDanian Tomlinson  Drew Breeze if i was a celebrity i’d be Charlotte Gainsbourg if i was a rapper i’d be Tupac Shakur if i was a movie director i’d be Sam Peckinpah Robert Altman Stanley Kubrick Roman Polanski Werner Herzog Rainer Fassbinder Louis Bunuel Alfred Hitchcock Jean-Luc Godard François Truffaut if i was a bird i’d be a eagle hawk sparrow bluebird if i was a fish i’d be a dolphin shark narwhal Charlie the tuna if i was breakfast i’d be a French toast pancake folded in half with 2 strips of bacon in between if i was a cold cereal i’d be snap crackle popping rice crispies shredded wheat cheerios oatmeal if i was tea i’d be Japanese green matcha Irish breakfast Tulsi Thai holy basil Lapsang souchong Luzianne Lipton if i was a soap i’d be French hand milled ayurvedic Avon Ivory Dove Pears Aveda  if i was a man i’d be a football basketball baseball tennis swimmer athlete if i was a woman i’d be a track star runner writer painter gardener doctor nurse yoga mom i'm just scratching the surface and the beat goes on lahdy dah dah
“Women think that I'm a gynecologist because my last name is Gynecologist.”
Jenny Cassell Mar 2010
People ask me all the time what my major is, what I’m going to do with my degree, as if that somehow defines me, somehow is a mold into which I should fit. As if being a teacher, a doctor, a lawyer, a mechanic, or a nurse makes me real; as if calling myself a statistician, a technician, a psychiatrist, an ophthalmologist, a zoologist, a gynecologist, an herbologist is any more definitive than calling me by name. Because somehow the letters AA, BA, MFA, LDS, EE, DD, or PHD are supposed to make me who I am.

I cannot be defined by the classes I took or the papers I wrote or the tests I failed. I am far more complex than that and I refuse to be satisfied with a label, so when you ask me what I’m doing in school, what I’m going to do afterward, and I tell you I’m gonna teach home economics, don’t look at me like I’ve gone off the deep end, like I’m wasting my brains and wasting my time and wasting my money, like I’m negating every feminist victory and reinforcing female stereotypes. Don’t look at me like I’m never gonna make a living, never gonna make anything of myself, because it’s my brains and my time and my money, my living and my self.

And how else can I be, how else can I fit my definition if I give in to the pressures of you, the pressures of him, the pressures of them, the pressures of it, and do what someone else thinks is right for me because they want me to be defined by what I do instead of who I am. I am a girl who snores when she’s sick and hiccups after she eats. I’m the girl who dated your youngest son and had a crush on your older brother. I’m the wild woman in love with her mountain man. I’m the girl that is sometimes eloquent and often awkward and twice as likely to hug you as shake your hand. I am the adult who eats peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a tall glass of ice cold milk and the Floridian, who if offered a slice of pea-can pie would say “Don’t you mean pe-cahn?”

I’m the girl who loves to cook and cooks to love, and if you don’t know what I mean by that think of how a homemade meal makes you feel and then get back to me. Sometimes I’m the girl who crochets and is learning to knit, but I don’t know if I like it yet. I am a victim of the techie generation and I am helplessly addicted to facebook and youtube and myspace and stumble and twitter and flicker and all of that stupid stuff. I am a ****** who loves movies and has to get there early because it’s just not the same if I miss the previews and I’m the girl who loves to eat but hates to exercise and always complains about her flab.

I am the daughter of a sweet southern woman and a hard working ex-Marine and I am the sister to the brother who is almost taller than me and the granddaughter of the four most amazing grandparents you will ever have the chance to meet. I’m a family and consumer science major who loves biology and algebra and is fascinated with the manipulation of words and sometimes sings a song or two and used to play the flute and is practicing piano. I’m the girl who works in the weight room and turns on the light when you come to play racquetball in court number three and mops up those scuffs you left because you didn’t wear non-marking shoes. I’m the neighbor at your apartment who’s always sewing late at night and parks her car in your space.  

I’m a best friend, a sister from another mother, a daughter, a niece but not a nephew, one day an aunt, a roommate, a one-time lover, a student, sometimes a teacher, a cousin, an employee, a visitor, a customer, a someday-degreed-and-lettered member of society, but before that, during that, and after that, I am Jennifer Marie Cassell.
This is something a little different for me.
"Just a minute there," Hanna Barbera said to her normal gynecologist, "you're not my normal gynecologist." The gynecologist smiled, his big yellow teeth reflecting natural sunshine like bikini models eating breakfast in France do. "I am your normal gynecologist. You just don't recognize me because I had my nose straightened. You see, it all happened 44 years ago when I was a wee lad in Canada. My father was a tall man, 7 feet high, and my mama was a ******, no bigger than a peanut butter and jellyfish sandwich. Well one day, while I was having my left thumb cut off by the Mafia, the Korean War started again. I rose to my feet and ran to the army department to become a gynecologist. Years passed and my thumb slowly grew back on and now I'm the greatest gynecologist in the world and women love me a lot."
Westley Barnes Oct 2014
When you die
People you will have never met
will give your family condolences

When you die
Spurned former lovers will
send delicate flowers

When you die
People will be summoned to
make you look beautiful

The way that you felt on nights
you enjoyed being yourself the most

When you die
Cautious children will cry
without ever learning
of your conflicting views on children

When you die
They might hang the church wall
with pictures of weddings
and graduations

When you die
You may not be alone

When you die
You might be the first and
the others will all follow

Having made no preparations of their own.

When you die
They might play your favorite song
or they might play a more "appropriate" song
as they lead you away
and some people will be scolding themselves
about forgetting where they parked

When you die
They may have forgotten that you didn't
believe in the afterlife
Quotations from Leviticus notwithstanding

When you die
You could be the the one who made
the most important impact on your daughter or son's life
You might have their life worth living

When you die
It may be to no applause

When you die
It may inspire your mother's gynecologist
to visit a church for the first time in almost half a decade
and feel genuine empathy for the rituals of human dignity
regardless of the tribe

When you die
none of your siblings may attend
the rain might pore on your last parade
and people might go home early

When you die
Everybody may just have a great time
heads beaming, shoulders high

When you die
It might be the longest day of Summer
with waterfights in the park near you were born.

When you die
You will have lived to see
all your ambitions come alive
Even if that penpusher "Reality"
explicitly states otherwise.
Persephone in Greek mythology is the daughter of Zeus and Demeter, and is queen of Hades, the underworld.
Legend has it that her mother went to Hades to try and persuade her to return to Mount Olympus, with no success.
Q: What is the difference between
riding
a bicycle and a woman?
A: Riding a bicycle you fix your *** &
move your legs, riding a woman you
fix
your legs & move your ***.
------------------------------
----
Q: What three things are common
between the sun and woman's
underwear?
A: Both are hot, both look better
while
going down and both disappear at
night.
------------------------------
-------------
Q: What is the closest thing similar to
a
woman's period?
A: Your salary, it comes once a
month
lasts about 5-7 days and if it doesn't
come means you are *******.
------------------------------
---------------
7 qualities of a perfect wife:
Beautiful
Responsible
Energetic
Adorable
Sweet
Truthful and
Self-Organized.
In short, she must have good
B.R.E.A.S.T.S
------------------------------
--------------
­Q: Who is a gynecologist?
A: He is the only fool on the earth
who
looks for problems in a place, where
most people find pleasure.
------------------------------
------------------
Q: What is the similarity between men
and rats?
A: Both keep searching for new
HOLES.
zebra Dec 2020
he watched her excitedly
eat **** shaped food
especially eclairs
as she languidly tongued
the white buttercream
from the sides of her mouth

thinking of her
his masturbations
powered the lights
of the Catskills

it wasn't just his profession
it was his obsession

just another horney
borsht belt gynecologist
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=bordchtbelt+humor&docid=608009001296593341&mid=97D5DA384A98BD24BFED97D5DA384A98BD24BFED&view=detail&FORM=VIRE
our second of two lasses conceived
sometimes within a blink
the exact moment auguring conception
difficult to identify or pinpoint

whence seminal liquid
******* from a ******* *****
birth of second daughter thyself and spouse created
while immersed in the ****** drink

generally occurred during
our naked lunch sans primal cop
yule la shun, via carousing with amorousness
when a seminal dollop
of passion circa May 1998 that pregnant verity
became definitive when the ultrasound
evinced a miniscule glop

pronounced by obstetrician and gynecologist
with an impending due date
yet unpredictable until the wife did evince
a swelling abdominal area, an ordinary fate

once pregnancy without doubt
ascertained both of felt great
lee excited at prospect thee eldest
would become “big” sister,

which less than total devoted attention
she would naturally hate
upon begetting youngest punim
indubitably saw her (Eden) irate

yet any jealousy temporarily deferred, offset
and thwarted upon the birth
of Shana, whose anniversary
she exited birth canal when a dearth

of being cocooned in the womb
suddenly necessitated adjusting to life on Earth
when formerly inducing
a bulge within the uterine hearth

and this papa nearly nineteen years
wept tears of joyful delight
with a complete set of anatomical features,
and gender as the girl found wife excite
head, cuz decision asper circumcision,

a moot point re difficult conscience fight
club and prediction as per average adult height
of female progeny, number two found the sight
a biologically whipped miracle I held tight.
Martin Narrod Jan 2018
What a blessing to realize
That the gynecologist in my dream
Is not real, that his diagnosis about my ****** are not real

And that my ****** is not real,
And really was just bits of subconscious particles, cerebral filaments shuffling up
My cortex and flowing through my pathways

To my post-memory. And that her reports
About my venereal disease was only a screenshot I saw two days ago while perusing
The internet; I opened a new browser and still was without a ******. And my ex-girlfriend

Curled like lumpy milk in the backseat of the car I don’t own was also without venereal disease, but that she wasn’t also driving this
Dream that I was driving. This dream built of syntax and broken promises.

Though I wish the publisher that put my book into print had been real. That the newspaper with its four-star review had been real. That the gorgeous woman at the party who assumed I was some famous poet and lead my hand up her *****-less dress had too been real,

But was in fact an explosion of Azeroth, as was her twin succubus kissing my neck passionately when my wife approached from behind. And her lips fell off of me like autumn leaves onto. Pond, and her twin shriveled into a scrap of paper,

And the wind took them out into the sky,
Far above my eyes. Her taste dissolving heavily Into my mouth with only an inky taste of her
Dulciloquent compliments to remember her

And the way she tasted like my 20-something
Debaucheries. I’m already forgetting them, and forgetting what it felt like to have men only Want me for the ****** I’m already
Forgetting that I had. I’ve already forgot their Names and the words they used to address me.

I’m already minutes away from the days of that,
That inky dream where they undressed me
Sticking their tongues into my throat. And I had four throats and twelve Eyes. I was an idiot to believe that I was the only one in the world

Worth never forgetting. Which for that moment
Was worth having venereal diseases and doctors
Calling me during parties on weekends. It was worth all of it, and the disgraces, and now

Now it has all vanished, along with all of them in it, and this short blurb of words is all of their existence that remains
Kyle Dal Santo Sep 2018
It was a summer of mad mistakes and river crossings
Still young enough to not care about our futures
Yet old enough to know who to blame for our failures
Reckless birthdays, lethal college incursions, weekend exclusives
We stopped searching for answers and began hunting for prizes
In the midst of another wrestling match with the establishment,
We found ourselves stranded out in the heat of summer
And a familiar voice called out from the past
My name echoed across the humidity
I noticed her long legs before anything else, they were hard to miss
Her blond hair shimmered in the tiki torches, her eyes wrapped in black
It was an unexpected reunion, and we did not complain
A plot twist I never imagined, but welcomed with open arms
The kind of surprise I was excited to be surprised about, and I hate surprises
A turn that makes a bad movie suddenly interesting
An antagonist from the first Act, who returns from the dead to help the good guys
She was the punch line to a night of glorious mistakes
The cherry on top… and on bottom (we were both flexible in terms of analogies)
As were we passionate, and in need of something romantic, and *****
And it worked in both of our favors, and we took advantage of each other’s position
And it was glorious. We were glorious
It was a time when I was lonely enough to look for answers, but not so lonely
that I would lock my years away in solitude yet. Opportunity was still on my side  
I was still young enough to hope for the future
She was on a vendetta for a reason why her last relationship ended so badly
Looking for someone other than herself to blame,
To take the rage out on another unsuspecting body
And I was always looking for the next fight
And thus we both played ******* for the first hour or so
Followed by a game of “Hard-to-get” the next
By the third hour the liquid courage had peeled back some of our layers,
And we started to open up, recapping the gap in years since we last had saw each other
Turned out, our paths were more parallel than we’d thought
We were holding similar pains behind our bad boy and girl personas
I was amazed to find beneath it all the same girl I remembered last
Still a good girl despite all she’d been through, still an angel despite her horns
And she smiled when she realized despite all my misfortunes,
There was still a bit of the little wanna be bad boy from our teenage rebellions
We were still the ones we were into so many years ago
It scared us I think, because the next hour was spent on opposite sides of the front yard
There was fear in both our eyes, we were revealing too much way too early
Suddenly the walls went up, we both began to stutter even the easiest words
Pretending we weren’t constantly looking over our shoulders at each other
I was into her more than ever, and all I wanted was to tell her
But now I was afraid to say anything to her, terrified I’d scare her away
I’d rather wonder what if then hate myself for blowing it
But every minute I checked to see if she was still alone

When I saw her sitting cross legged on the driveway,
I knew I it was time to confess to her
So I approached as honestly as I could, and she knew I wasn’t playing with her
When she asked to share a smoke, I knew it was certain
I sat across from her the same way, and the game began
It was equal parts flirting and insulting, poking and prodding for any falsehoods
And the harder we looked, the harder we fell
We were suddenly lost, and for the first and only time,
It felt like freedom. The chemical madness overcame us, and set us free
Gods didn’t have such freedom
We could feel the eyes upon us, we were the secret attraction of the night
It made it even more devious, and we played to their jealousy
Let them watch, let them burn with envy at the two star crossed lovers in the driveway
We had been making out so long, we hadn’t noticed our audience had disappeared
Those who didn’t leave or go to sleep had made their way to the backyard
We could hear laughter… and splashing?
“Are they ******* swimming right now?”
We slipped through the gate to find a testosterone fest beneath the water
Obviously we weren’t gonna let them have all the fun, so we stripped down and dove in
And were greeted with a rather awkward situation
One of the boys noticed our swim suits with disappointment
“Wait, do you guys still have clothes on?”
“… You don’t?”
We were bold, but we hadn’t prepared for that
We politely refused, we had our own game to play
Still we joined in the tidal wave contest amongst one another
Splashing like children at summer camp
One by one the boys surrendered to their exhaustion
Until we were all alone
Suddenly I noticed she looked even better without her clothes
She was wearing all black lace, like the liner around her eyes
Which were daring me to make a move
I pulled her close and she pulled at my boxers
And we both smiled like criminals after a bank heist…

Gynecologist Warning: *** in the pool is dangerous and increases the risks of contracting an STD, as well as potentially damaging the walls of the reproductive organs

The dance is more fun when it’s dangerous… but that’s just my opinion.
Plus it was her idea, and it was pretty awesome
It wasn’t my first rodeo underwater, but it was certainly the best
Particularly when it’s not your pool…
Our only regret was probably that we should’ve started about an hour or so earlier
*** in the pool at night is exciting… *** in the pool at sunrise is asking for it
*** outdoors can go from romantic to perverse once the lights are turned on
And the neighbors would never forgive us if we were the sugar to their morning coffee
So we bolted for the back door, leaving our undergarments behind in the pool
We found an open couch in the abandoned basement, and threw a blanket over each other
We only stopped laughing to kiss again, and our hands refused to let go
It was like we forgot we were naked in someone else’s home
Or knew **** well, and were turned on even more because of it
Nothing mattered beyond the blankets
Nothing mattered but her smile and mine
And everything beneath them
I don’t know when we finally quit, but it was long after the sun had risen
And only after we were too exhausted to kiss any longer
I woke up alone, bare as Adam beneath the covers
Exhausted and exposed, yet nothing close to loneliness
For a moment I felt like a king in a conquered land
I laid back with my arms behind my head
And exhaled with a satisfaction I hadn’t felt in forever
And then the nearest door creaked open,
And the matron of the house entered my throne…
The blanket did little to hide my terror
And the realization of my exposed predicament
“Oh! Morning Karl, would you like some breakfast?”
Kyle D.

— The End —