>Before I left for Ocean City, Dr. P "visited" me during a 12 hour layover between a junket she attended in France and her return to Florida. I left The Police concert early so that I could get some time with her, but I still did not get home before the not exactly early hour of 11 pm. Throw in the time changes (it was 5 am in France), and it is a miracle that she was able to stay awake. Fortunately, she's Dr. P and has the stamina of a surgeon, so she propped her heavy eyelids open with toothpicks or whatever for a few hours so that we could catch up.
In our 90 minutes of quality time, not only did I hear about her trip and how things were going with her new life in Florida, but she also updated me on the latest innovations in minimally invasive surgery. It seems that a big article was scheduled ot appear in an important medical journal (I forgot which) about a new procedure (I forgot its name) that allows surgeons to remove body parts through existing orifices. Think about your existing openings. Yes, I am talking about pulling organs out of your vagina. (If you do not happen to have a cooter, I guess you are shit out of luck with new minimally invasive surgical procedures.) It seems that some model was afraid of the teeny tiny scar that laproscopic surgery entails, so they yanked her gall bladder out of her poonanie.
"Noooooo!" I cried and crossed my legs. "Keep your laproscopes out of my pootie!"
Dr. P laughed. Seriously, though, why on earth would you want crap stuck up your snatch when it seems just as easy to take bad organs out directly? A lot of maneuvering must be involved. What if they pull too much out? It's just fucked up. Plus, I like scars. They are a record of what a person has been through and lived to tell the tale. A scar is a proud mark of a warrior, to some extent. And scars let you know if something happened to you when you are knocked unconscious and kidnapped in Turkey. If they took your kidney out or performed a splenectomy through your vagina, you might never find out until you were dead, right?
I know I am a Luddite sometimes, but using my poontang for scarless spenectomies strikes me as nightmare fodder or even the plot of a slasher flick. My legs are locked at the knees.