Well…have at it, if you must, ladies, and God’s best to you. But I’m convinced that to address that play or Eve Ensler with anything approximating seriousness and deliberation is to give the whole Vagina Endeavor a patina of credibility and seriousness it simply does not deserve.
Eve Ensler’s foul-mouthed, talking, raspberry-blowing,”goodraping,” hiccupping, whining, slobbering, sloppy drunken vagina of a play really, really deserves nothing but your scorn and your cheerful, energetic mockery.
Someday, I’d like to organize a group of conservative women to go see a performance of The Vagina Monologues. We would go equipped with kazoos, and every time a vagina spoke, we would kazoo a sad or happy tune, depending on the vagina’s story.
Because whenever I think of Eve Ensler’s Talking Vaginas, all I hear are…kazoos! Tootoootoooot! Bahtooot! Bahtoot!