Chick puts potato up punani and it grows tuberous cootch roots


I’ve heard of tuberous boobs before.

But a tuberous vagina?

Yep. When there’s an actual tuber… growing out of and into it.

In double-you-tee-eff news for this past week that I missed up until now, yes, this is a thing. A thing that happened. To a young girl who heeded her mother’s (hopefully sarcastic hyperbolic) suggestion on natural contraceptives when she told her daughter to dress up a potato with some of her lady cheese. Really? I’m totally imagining her just being really bad at reading the sardonic tone of a conversation while they were mashing up dinner in the kitchen that probably went something like, “Why don’t you just shove this up there instead?”

In order to sleep at night, I have to believe in my heart that that’s what happened.

Not that, ya know, the mother was really some twisted South American version of Carrie’s mom or something, suggesting her daughter treat her femme entry like some Malkovichian portal to throw random items into before copulating. I also have to believe that – whether or not the mom was joking around – that her progeny had an I.Q. full of just as much potato as her womb would be imminently.

Because these’re just rules I have to internally adhere to in order to accept this world.

And that no one’s just that gullible. They have to be a few French fries short of a happy meal and a few tater tots short of a cafeteria lunch to believe a spud will kill spunk. I mean, this bish’s 22 years old. Not 12.

Am I missing someth.?

I joke (and I’ll never stop doing just that), but the bummer part of this story is that her mom may be not been joking. Apparently contraceptives are enough of a mystery in some parts of countries like this (I believe this one happened in Colombia) that chicks get knocked up while they’re still kids themselves (not that this one was) because they aren’t sure how to improvise a jimmy hat with DIY home ingredients. So they end up using anything from cling wrap to the sammich baggy their moms sent ‘em to school with. (insert misogynistic joke about not having to make post coital sandwich because it’s already ready).

Anyway, as you might have guessed (and been waiting to hear the deets about, you perverts), the potato which she indeed slid up her she-chute, subsequently proceeded to do what it’d do anywhere where enough moisture is present: sprout and grow out of her like some sci-fi hybrid of Alien meets Little Shop of Horrors:

“My mom told me that if I didn’t want to get pregnant, I should put a potato up there, and I believed her,” the woman said. About two weeks after inserting the potato, the woman started to experience intense pain in her lower abdomen because the starchy tuber had germinated and was growing roots inside her private parts. Although plants do not normally grow inside the human body, the potato grew inside the patient’s vagina likely because potatoes are tubers that thrive in the dark. The plant, in fact, typically grows under the soil where it is dark. Fortunately, the patient did not have to go through expensive and life-threatening surgery to remove the plant. Doctors said that they expect no lasting effects on the woman’s body.

Is it bad that I’m not distracted enough with disgust by the cooter roots?

And that I still wanna know whether this worked? Ya know, as a contraceptive?

Guess we’ll never know.

(Of all the time I’ve used Mean Girls gifs, this *wipes proud tear away* is my fave)

Control contraceptives… with a clicker!


A remote control kid-preventer?

(No, darling. Birth halting rules are before or during. After is generally frowned upon.)

Mhmm. What you do is implant this device in your arm, tummy, or butt meat. Unlike a similar, current toothpick-esque implant that you can put under your skin for three years, this one’s an actual chip with Levanorgestrel – the same hormone you’d get orally in most birth control pills. The way it works, though, is kinda weird. The stuff’s stuck in an air tight seal, covered with platinum and titanium – which then dissolve after the impulse of an electrical signal. And you can set the ball rolling with a simple remote.

And while we won’t be able to control life with a clicker till probably a year or so (they’re still researching it), I’mma go ahead and say I’d just feel far too bionic-boning woman with all those alloys and currents up in my flesh for sexy time purposes.


I’mma pass on this one.

However, I know someone who might’ve found this pretty useful when she turned her stepmom’s diaphragm into swiss cheese at age ten in order to get a baby sister (Hi, you know who you are.) And that little anecdote also makes me wonder how many kids (who can use any new Apple device better than I can use my own iphone) might uncover this remote and do some life inducing damage. On the other hand, I suppose it’d be a cute (and quasi-weird?) way for parents to involve their old and boring kids in the process of “ordering” a new one from the stork like some OnDemand feature. Ya know, so they don’t feel less important when the new baby comes around and say things like this quote which is as timeless as it is eloquent:


-My sister. The day I was born.

Also, this will be good for the whorey collegiates finally free of parental tyranny and high schoolers who like to maintain a happy medium between being slutty and qualifying for Teen Mom.

Even so, remember ladies: pill-free Apri sounds great and all, but don’t eschew your latex barriers.

‘cause we can’t clap-on-clap-off the clap.

Not yet at least.