the Capilano Courier

In all seriousness, there’s really nothing much you can do about this particular issue other than what you’ve already tried. To offer you some consolation, frequent queefing is pretty minorleague in the vast galaxy of vaginal issues that are available. Just treat it the way you would a big zit or a cowlick.

Option a) Try to avoid fucking in utter silence. Put some tunes on. Like, loud tunes. LOUDER. If the neighbors complain, tell them right to their faces that it’s better than hearing you guys shag. Now I’m going to catch flak for it in the office, but I suggest R. Kelly. He based his whole career around making music to fuck to, so you’d better start with the master. I don’t see nothing wrooong with a little bump ‘n’ griiiiind! (Ooohhooo- woaaaah! Oh!)

Option b) Girlfriend, you need to make queefing your main attraction. This is your ticket to sexual hall of fame! Just think about it. Out of all the people you’ve ever slept with, which ones can you remember? Sorry, which ones stood out from the crowd? The answer is (ok, after the ones who you actually liked), the people who had some freaky shit going on! The guy with the fuckedup ball configuration, the one who wanted to role-play your parents, the lady who lactated. Guess what? Now you’re one of them. The one people will tell all their friends about after bedding you. Your nickname is probably Queef Girl. This isn’t anything to be ashamed of! You’re fucking infamous! People are going to remember your vagina for the rest of their lives. You should probably even give all your future sex partners a hilarious little caveat before getting into bed. Just like a preview before the movie! “Hey, just so you know … I am the fucking Empress of Queefs. They use my vagina as a stand-in for the special effects on The Terrance and Philip Show.” Funny and sexy! Boys love that shit. Let’s use a real-life example to illustrate this phenomenon:

My friend Treashawn once dated a man from Holland named Stein who was extremely quiet and reserved. His English was less than stellar, so I expect he felt pretty shy around our group of friends. One weekend, we all took a trip up to a cabin on the Sunshine Coast, and the first night there we ended up getting blackout drunk. I was just waking up Saturday morning to a peaceful day of being hungover when the silence was shattered by a deafening, guttural moan from the next room: “YOUR PUSSY FEEL SO GOOD YEAAAAAAAARRRRGHHHHUUUUH.”

For a second I assumed that my worst cabin-related fear had come true: a psychotic hick had broken into the house and was going to rape and murder us all, one by one. Then I recognized Stein’s distinctive tenor. “UHHH. DO MY COCK FEEL GOOD BABY. OH YAH BABY. UNNGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH. ” This went on for about 15 minutes, during which everyone in the house pretty much died laughing. The best thing is that it turned out he had absolutely no control over his … pleasure yodeling … as it was an entirely involuntary reflex. Treashawn sheepishly confessed that most of the time, he had absolutely no idea he was even doing it.

“The first time we had sex, I started screaming myself,” she said, “Because I was in complete shock. Now I kind of tune it out. At least I know he’s enjoying himself.” Alas, Screamin’ Stein – as he is now known – took his show back to Holland, where I assume he continues to frighten the shit out of women. But he’s a legend back here. I mean, we still talk about him and his awesome screaming all the time! Not a single party, ladies’ night, or hangover brunch goes by without a Stein impression. Like I said, he’s a legend.

Some people moan. Some people scream. Some people want to talk about their feelings while spanking the shit out of you in an executioner’s mask. You queef, and that’s totally cool. Besides, it could be way worse: you could have a problem with sharts*.