With salons all over the West serving up specialties like "Barely Legal", removing all hair from the area to replicate the genitalia of an underage g… - Margaret Cho

There was this really prim and proper British woman who used to run horse races for the lesbians on the ship, and the lesbians would get to name the horses, and the really prim and proper British woman would have to read out the names. "Horse number one, Galloping...Clitoris. Horse number one, Galloping Clitoris. Very well, carry on. Horse number two...No Dick for Me. Horse number two, No Dick for Me. Rather a rude name, don't you think? No Dick for Me? Should be, No Dick for Me, Thank You."

If you've ever bought drugs before, you understand that for some bizarre reason you have to feign this relationship with your dealer. It's like you're not really going to him to buy drugs. You're going for a social visit. Drugs are the surprise that just happens when you get there. "Oh, hash? I didn't know!" And he's talkin' to you and you're tryin' to be interested, you know, "Oh yeah? No, really...I love Foghat. No, seriously." And inside you're like, "Just fuckin' give it! I hate you. Your house smells like cat pee!" Why do all drug dealers' houses smell like cat pee?

Ugly. Is irrelevant. It is an immeasurable insult to a woman, and then supposedly the worst crime you can commit as a woman. But ugly, as beautiful, is an illusion. A matter of taste, a whim, an eye, a beholder, an opinion, a spin, light crossing the frame, paint, projection. The moment. Context.