reason to invest in a pair of portable stirrups

Last night I went to a very Hollywood club. By "very Hollywood" I mean "exactly the reason I don't go out in Hollywood" kind of club. An hour in line if you don't know the doorman (or his first cousin, Eugene), twenty dollar cover, bitches wearing next to nothing accompanied by dudes with the worst cases of Guido hair in town, et c. Not my scene at all, but our friend Alison was turning 21, so we showed up and played the part for a night. We wound up getting bottle service which put us in the VIP-- nothing to brag about, I swear.

I've been watching TMZ On TV and I keep seeing all these girls flashing their vajayjays to the cameras and I keep thinking to myself, "Who are these people and where are they going?"... Well, the mystery was solved last night when I realized that I was surrounded by every single one of them... at the same time. Ladies whipping out their vaginas everywhere. Like, their actual vaginas. As in, you know, the thing they pee and have sex with. Visible. At a bar. One vagina was so close to my face that I was bummed out I wasn't an OB/GYN. I could have made some good money on the fly last night.

I'm not high and mighty, trust me. I've whipped out a body part or two in my day... but not the vag. That's not even heard of where I'm from. And why? Why would you put yourself in that position in the first place? Because you're having so much fun that there's nothing else you can do but expose your privates? That sounds like a serious communication problem, if you ask me.