Three different colored covers of the book "The Vagina Bible" by Jen Gunter, MD, are displayed side by side against a gradient background.

A vagina by any other name

By Nancy Ford

Hang onto your labias, ladies. Just when you think the War on Women can’t possibly become any more absurd, it does.

Canadian gynecologist and author Dr. Jennifer Gunter has a new book called The Vagina Bible — a Newer Testament, if you will to which many women would eagerly become devotees.

The book is raising eyebrows (no, not Karen Pence’s eyebrows), and you’ll never guess why.

Get this: Twitter, in all its prudent wisdom, blocked publishers from using the word “vagina†in posts promoting the book. (Insert your own “But what about Trump’s obscene daily Tweets?†jokes here.)

I’ve written before about how the English language is practically overflowing with alternative wee-wee terms. So why should refer to the love cave portion of a woman’s anatomy by its medical, scientific, real name be restricted?

A quick Internet search (and what a journey that was!) reveals an almost limitless supply of amusing terms for a woman’s down-there area to distract ourselves from the real issues at hand, like protecting women’s reproductive rights, affordable healthcare for all, and equal pay. You know — girl talk.

Hands down, a woman’s Velveeta is most frequently paralleled with food items, including the appetite-taunting bacon hole, bald biscuit, whisker biscuit, bikini biscuit, banana box, juice box, bologna flap-over, breakfast of champions, bubble gum by the bum, burger bar, cold cut combo, cookie, fur burger, hair pie, hairy doughnut, honey pot, peach, bean, bearded taco, pink taco, tuna taco, meat massager, roast beef curtains, scrambled eggs between the legs, sugar basin, sausage wallet, dinner roll, crotch waffle, sugar hole, pastrami flaps, enchilada of love, ham sandwich, fortune nookie, vedgie, pancake fold, pocket pie, pork pie, fruit cup, Arby’s with fur, jelly roll, lobster pot, Little Debbie, knish, the Golden Arches, clamarama, slurpee machine, pink cookie, poontang pie, meat crease, tongue roll, salami garage, pink truffle, meat counter, pound cake, beef tomato, cherry pop tart, cooter muffin, salt water taffy factory, Mommy’s pie, meat wagon, pickle pocket, cucumber canal, egg drop box, nice slice, rack of clam, candy kiss, and goodie basket.

Do you want fries with that?

Second most common are terms straight out of the Museum of Natural History: bear trap, beaver, beetle hood, Brazilian caterpillar, big bud, bird’s nest, bunny tuft, buffalo gums, bearded clam, dead clam, black hole, black oak, cat, flower, grassy knoll, kitty kat, rattlesnake canyon, serpent socket, rosebud, cat’s paw, chia hole, Venus butterfly, rooster jaws, deer hoof, conch shell, flycatcher, lotus, bush, kitty cage, snake lake, and pole magnet. My personal favorite is Margaret Mead.

For pop-culture fans, there’s Lawrence of a Labia, The Notorious V.A.G., Count Flapula, Indiana Bones and the Temple of Poon, Furby, and Courtney Cocksleeve.

Geographical euphemisms for a woman’s Land Down-Under include The Great Divide, Erie Canal, Twatlantic Ocean, and the Republic of Labia. Others sound like towns on a Texas roadmap. Looking for Dove Breast? It’s just past Choocha, down the road from Wagon Ruts, south of Mound. Go down Red Lane east of Sweet Briar, then take the first turn at Chicken’s Tongue. If you reach Spunk Pot, you’ve gone too far.

Nonsensical, Seussian catchphrases for one of humankind’s most mystical organs include the happy flappy, fuzzy wuzzy, nana, quim, snooch, poody tat, scrumpter, frum, cooch, cooter, twat, nookie, and wookie.

For those whose education of women’s anatomy stopped at Vacation Bible School, we offer baby oven, baby zipper, belly entrance, birth canal, love canal, fetus flaps, and DNA dumpster.

Speaking of the Bible, for the more spiritually inclined, there’s the altar of love, love hole, a slice of heaven, hairy heaven, snake handler, Holiest of Holies, Holy Grail, door of life, Red Sea, and the supremely biblically paranoid Death of Adam.

Into sports? There’s the catcher’s mitt, home plate, nappy dugout, tackle box, the man in the boat, boy in the canoe, skin canoe, and penalty box.

Feeling patriotic? Try Ground Zero.

The good news is, Twitter eventually came to its senses and removed the ban following the public (or maybe pubic?) outcry.

But whether we called a vagina a vagina, a pussy, a vertical smile, trim, muff, flesh cavern, hatchet wound, yo-yo smuggler, furry cup, cupid’s cupboard, fun hatch, spasm chasm, hump hole, pink circle, silk igloo, vulvic vacuum, hungry minge, slot pocket, moneymaker, crave cave, toolshed, flesh tuxedo, or tunnel of love, one thing is true: Every American vagina-owner over 18 years of age has the right to support — or not — any social media platform (or priest or politician) who tries to exert control over their love box, male box, jewel box, fuzz box, or Pandora’s box. Call it what you will. I believe I’ll call mine the Ballot Box.

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