No one suspected on the fateful eve that the great beast awoke that such a creature even existed, but it required no cult following to subsist, sought no acceptance of the masses to justify its existence. No, fueled by the might of its own anger it rose out of the harbor, waddling its way onto the land, slowly plowing its warm and moist path across the phallic-ridden city like the Godzilla-sized, Velcro-lined flesh-clam it was.
The papers quickly gave the enormous sentient sex organ a name, warning the populace of the Vagiant's hungry death canal, which evidently feasted only on the additional-appendage-bearing members of the species, apparently hell-bent on eradicating them from the face of the cock-conquered planet. The true feminists found it to be more than a wee bit of an overkill, but the sexists who called themselves feminists, they rooted for the man-eating monstrosity, only dimly aware, so it would seem, that if it continued its binge to the logical conclusion the human species would be done for.
The old white men in positions of power attacked the tight-lipped terror with everything in their arsenal but were unable to successfully target the creature's one and only weak spot, even when the more enlightened males of the species told them that this spot in question was the clitoris.
"That's where I've been shooting, you fool!"
"No, that's the urethra! And no! No, no, no -- that's the fuckin' birth canal, poop-dick!" The wise men would tell them. "Up at the top, under the hood -- no, there! There, damn it! The man in the boat, for the love of man, the man in the boat!"
Yet to the ultimate peril of the species these pleas and simple instructions of wise young men fell upon old, white, deaf and disturbingly hairy ears. And so it was that the men died grossly ignorant, and they died horribly, and they suffered their fate within a shameful three weeks time, but in the least they were spared the vicious, clotting, red tsunami of Aunt Flow that soon followed.
The papers quickly gave the enormous sentient sex organ a name, warning the populace of the Vagiant's hungry death canal, which evidently feasted only on the additional-appendage-bearing members of the species, apparently hell-bent on eradicating them from the face of the cock-conquered planet. The true feminists found it to be more than a wee bit of an overkill, but the sexists who called themselves feminists, they rooted for the man-eating monstrosity, only dimly aware, so it would seem, that if it continued its binge to the logical conclusion the human species would be done for.
The old white men in positions of power attacked the tight-lipped terror with everything in their arsenal but were unable to successfully target the creature's one and only weak spot, even when the more enlightened males of the species told them that this spot in question was the clitoris.
"That's where I've been shooting, you fool!"
"No, that's the urethra! And no! No, no, no -- that's the fuckin' birth canal, poop-dick!" The wise men would tell them. "Up at the top, under the hood -- no, there! There, damn it! The man in the boat, for the love of man, the man in the boat!"
Yet to the ultimate peril of the species these pleas and simple instructions of wise young men fell upon old, white, deaf and disturbingly hairy ears. And so it was that the men died grossly ignorant, and they died horribly, and they suffered their fate within a shameful three weeks time, but in the least they were spared the vicious, clotting, red tsunami of Aunt Flow that soon followed.
