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In This Issue

• Idiotarod: Mushing Fun in NYC
• Desensitization: It Does a Body Good
• Shit Blowing Up is So Patriotic
• Letters to the Feditrix: Hot Pre-Teen Sex!
• Point: There's No State Like a Prostrate, Girls
• CounterPoint: Assloads of Bad Stuff
• I Could be the Spectator's Sex Columnist
• Hardcore CosmoGirls Have Some Things to Learn
• Point: Shocking Apathy for Homeless
• CounterPoint: Solution for Homeless is Lock and Load
• Burbery Scarves, Labia Elephantitis Linked
• Elimidate Plays Cupid, Stupid
• Anti-Life Comics: The Great Cookie War
• Wacky Fun Whitey
• Cowboy Bush
• Uncle PennyBags Gets His Due

I know there are many girls out there who wish they had a prostate gland. Granted, the addition of a prostate gland to my anal area might have a few small benefits, such as occasional brief moments of pleasure. I must, however, assert that the addition of a prostate to a girl's body would present a veritable snakepit of bad stuff and would not be worth its undisputed but paltry benefits.
The first and most obvious bad thing is cancer. The addition of a prostate would open me up to a whole new strain of malignancy. Aside from the pain and possibilities of life-termination associated with any serious illness, I would have what everyone knows is the most hilarious cancer known to man, and nobody likes to be laughed at when they're sick. I would also be in some very bad company: Rudy Giuliani closed New York's beloved strip clubs, and Tom Green is un-funny and really goddamn ugly. The last thing I want when I'm on my deathbed is to be associated with those losers.

But assuming I don't get cancer, there is also God to worry about. Aside from all the acts of sodomy in which I would doubtlessly be engaging, there is also the question of God's jealousy. If God saw me achieving higher levels of orgasmic bliss than any human ever before, He would strike me down faster than you can say "uuuungh" for fear I was getting too close to heaven. And, like a modern day Tower of Babel, my poor pleasured body would be torn apart, scattered across the land, and forced to speak all different languages - possibly even French. And everyone knows I'd rather die than have any part of me speak the language of those cheese-eatin', terrorist-lovin', democracy-hatin' Euro-fags!

But before God even glances in my direction with His catty glare of gonadal gripiness, I will have some more practical problems to deal with, not the least of which is time management. I would logically want to have lots and lots of butt-sex to try out/fine tune my new organ of wonder. However, all of this butt-sex would monopolize my schedule, and I would have to eschew minor things like class and homework in order to "fit it in." Basic tasks of self-maintenance would fall by the wayside. My garbage would pile up, and my room would become infested with rats. I would start to smell, and then no one would want to get near me, let alone have butt-sex with me. Only then would I realize the negative feedback loop my over-zealous prostate-pleasuring ways had caused. But by then, it would be too late. My grades would have dropped irrevocably and I would be forced to drop out of school. Also, with little or no time to eat, I would probably die of starvation. Woman cannot live on butt-sex alone!

But let's just assume the impossible for a moment. Let's say I miraculously manage to avoid dying of cancer and/or divine wrath, and I hide it from my parents that I have dropped out of school and become a drug dealer to support my butt-sex habit. The FBI is still lurking around every corner. If they were ever to catch me in the airport and cavity search me, I would experience the humiliation of cumming in front of strangers. Not only that, they could then steal my ejillulate and use it for their bizarre government experiments, creating three, possibly four hundred thousand clones of me. They would then most likely use this army of genetically superior girls-with-prostates for things I don't condone, such as war and world domination. The SEEJ kids would never speak to me again! As I would be crushed if I were not invited to the next vegan potluck, I think it's best to maintain my current prostate-free state.

Therefore, as I don't want to die, drop out of school, or be indirectly responsible for creating an army of evil clones, I must say no to the insidious pleasures of the prostate. I urge you, dear reader, to do the same. Yes, it would be cool to have one. Yes, your friends would all be jealous...but not for long. Before you go wishing you had a prostate, just stop and think of all the people who might die as a result (including you), say a prayer to Jesus, and carry on with your mundane existence. Think of Icarus and be happy you'll never get burned by the rays of that bright but oh-so-deadly sun of iniquity.