Issue #20/101, October 12 - 26, 2000  

The Word’s Worth:
Why My Ass Smells Like Stale Beer

By Suzanne Thompson

My period is here: mesyachniye (месячные). This is the samoye uzhasnoye vremya (самое ужасное время), the most terrible time, of the mesyats (месяц), the month. This is a subject about which Alexander Pushkin, that velikiy Russkiy poet (великий руссий поэт), or great Russian poet, who had bakenbardi (бакенбарды), sideburns, and a chlen (член), a penis, would hardly have written about. But sometimes I wonder why he ignored this particular phenomenon, which is often so damp, bloody and smelly in this latitude, when my applicator tips relentlessly downward away from the gushing mess in what can be a seven- to nine day hibernation from warmth and light.

Certainly, this period of mine has been relatively sukho (сухо), dry, and, for the most part, bez strashnikh zapakhov (без страшных запахов), without horrible odors. This is especially welcome during a time when my zadnitsa(zadnitsa), or ass, tends to stew v svoyem soku (в собственном соку), in its own juices, creating a zapakh (запах), an odor, which could kill a nosorog (носорог), a rhinocerous, at a distance of sto metrov (сто метров), 100 meters. The smell is especially discernible when I sit on my stul (стул), chair, causing the pressure from the stul (стул), chair, to expel into the room the smertelno vonyuchiy vozdukh (смертельно вонючий воздух), the deadly stinky air, which has accumulated inside my dzhinsi (джинсы), jeans, over the course of the nedelya (неделя), week, since I last changed my clothes.

The reason, of course, that I don’t change my clothes is that I am chrezvuichaino zhirnaya (чрезвычайно жирная), extremely obese, which makes it hard for me to find pants in my ogromniy razmer (огромный размер), my enormous size, in this this gorod (город), city. So I have to wear odni i te zhe zhinsi (одни и те же), the same pair of jeans, every single dyen (день), day.

It has been more than ten years since anyone has seen what is under those jeans. And yet, sometimes I wonder... Sometimes I wonder what would happen if kakoi-nibud negr (какой-нибудь негр), some anonymous black man, were to stop me in my podyezd (подъезд), my doorway, and demand that I let him inside my apartment. Once inside, he would throw me on my knees, reach for his zipper, and dostanet svoi ogromniy neobrezanniy negritansky chlen (достанет свой огромный необрезанный негритянскй член), whip out his enormous uncircumcised black member. “Sosi, suka,” he’d say. That’s when I would start sucking—kak puilesos (как пылесос), like a vacuum cleaner.

Alas, it is not to be. Instead, I have my mesyachniye (месячные), my period. From the vast expanses of my pisda (пизда), or pussy, there flows a substance that strongly resembles tvorog (творог), or cottage cheese. It is tainted red from the krov’ (кровь), or blood, which is also flowing. This results in a situation in which the dary prirody (дары природы), or bounty of nature, can be easily harvested from my prokladka (прокладка), or maxi-pad. Many a forest-trekking mushroom-lover will be on the lookout for the eminently edible belye griby (белые грибы), white mushrooms, while studiously avoiding their poisonous cousins: the pale blednaya poganka (бледная поганка) and the red mukhomor (мухомор) with its telltale white spots.

Now maybe that is why Pushkin loved mushrooms.

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