The first question on your lips is going to be: “why?” And I’m afraid that, like many of the decisions I make in life, there is no real answer. People do all kinds of things just to be able to say that they did: eat bugs; swim with sharks; have a threesome. I read a book called “The Haunted Vagina”.
The Haunted Vagina, by Carlton Mellick III, belongs to a genre of fiction known as “bizarro” (a word that I had previously only heard inside a cheesy Sandra Bullock film). And that is exactly what it is: bizarro. I could just leave this there and feel that I had done an accurate job, to be honest… but I wouldn’t be too proud of myself. So we’ll continue, shall we?
But if you are planning on reading this book for yourself, you’d best stop here, because I am going to give the plot away.
Our protagonist, Steve, is quite possibly the most laid-back guy in all of motherfucking history. Like, Moses – he was pretty open-minded, yeah? He goes out one day and sees a bush on fire, it starts talking to him, and instead of wondering whether some funky herb he ate was playing tricks with his mind (or it might be a toomah?) he just accepted that it was God having a natter. Just rolled with it. And told a heap of people about it, all cool-like, and then they all rolled with it too. That’s… yeah, pretty open-minded.
But this guy, Steve, is engaged in a mutually beneficial oral sex act with his girlfriend when he hears a voice coming from her lady-region, continues with the act as her stomach swells so much that he is lifted several inches and, after an exquisitely timed orgasm, watches as a skeletal figure starts clawing its way out of her vagina. He’s such a sweetheart though, he doesn’t run; he instead helps to drag the creature out of her, kills it, covers it with a blanket – and then takes her out for a drink.
Turns out her vagina is a portal to another dimension.
And Steve is pretty cool about it.
Long story short: he goes spelunking inside her lady cave, comes out the other side, meets the locals and metamorphoses into one of them, and then lives forevermore inside the secret world that now exists inside the baby she falls pregnant with after having some casual sex (and almost drowning everyone in the process… I’ll let you think on that) because she’s jealous of Steve falling in love with a freaky-deaky rubber girl in… there. In there.
Oh god *facepalm*
I would like to take a page from Steve’s open-minded book, though, so I’m going to try not to rag on the subject matter and plot. To each their own, ja? And it’s because of the subject matter and plot that the book works, and by “works” I mean that you keep turning the pages. Because you simply have to know what the fuck is going to happen next. And it does have some genuine ZOMG moments. Like when Steve places his ear to her vagina and it’s “like listening to the ocean in a hairy flesh seashell.” Or when he is struggling to make his way through her love tunnel and he has to “push the meat ceiling up with the back of [his] head as [he goes].” Or, or, wait, my favourite: when the inhabitants of her inner dimension feel an earthquake and all gather to watch the cliff-face that contains the entrance (ie. her cervix) and “a geyser erupts out of the side of the cliff, a burst of white fluid. Then another burst of white fluid. Then another.”
(and there’s your answer to the question I placed in your mind earlier)
Hey, I just said “ZOMG moments”- I didn’t say in what sense
I have to say, though, in a totally non-snobby way – the writing is pretty bad. Like, ok: “The cries are coming from one of these houses. I can hear them coming out of a window. When I slam open the square metal door, the cries stop. I search the ground floor. It is empty of statues and furniture. There’s nobody here. I take the winding stairs.”
And then I was hungry. I went into the kitchen. I took two pieces of bread and I placed them in the toaster. After they toasted, and I spread them with butter, I ate them. You get my drift?
But you know what? This guy has a market. He has a following. This story fits within a genre, a genre that exists (look, proof!), and this Carlton Mellick III has published something like 40+ pieces, while I sit here bitching about shit on a blog that no one reads.
So I’m going to give The Haunted Vagina, as ridiculous as it is, 4/10. Because I paid $4.99 for it, so fuck it – he wins.