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Dear Sabrina's Vagina...
Dear Sabrina's Vagina is a weekly column that gets published when the parts connected to the vagina get up off their ass and reply to poorly written letters, very poorly. If you feel the need to have a vagina berate you with insulting comments please send all messages here. Otherwise, you can visit the author here and watch her yell at countless amounts of other people.
Dear Sabrina's Vagina,
Recently I went on a trip where I didn't have the ability to take the time off of work to go. I called in and said that a family member had a horrendous car accident and I had to rush to visit them as they were close to death. In reality, I was getting really loaded and having sex with snowboarders in and about the slopes in Denver. After I returned home I realized I was pregnant and had to get rid of that problem as soon as possible. I guess some loser snowboarder out there has a higher sperm count than his weed, coke & alcohol addiction had previously lead him to believe (don't worry this is not about contacting said sex machine to inform him I had to kill his unborn child). This "miscarriage" is going to cost me an additional five days at work according to the fabulousity that is Planned Parenthood. These five days could cost me my job. If I do not figure this out, it could cost me the amount of raising a child. Sabrina's Vagina, exactly what sort of excuse do I give my boss for being out of work for five days so that I don't end up baby free, but living out of dumpsters?
Sincerely?
Dear Tanya,
Sincerely? Are you confused if it is a sincerely written letter—cause besides being a knocked up slut, you're an idiot. I just wanted to reference that before I got into the bulk of your problem. Now, I have to admit, you are a total fucking whore. Some people may not know this, so let me point out that there is a distinguishing factor between being a whore and being a slut and that line was crossed in a big way by Tanya when she decided to let her slut ways fuck up other factors of her personal life. Congratulations on being a potential guest on the Maury Povich Show. Now, I'm not pointing fingers because I've been known to partake in social shenanigans from time-to-time, and by that I mean getting pounded harder than a piece of flank steak by your fat, virgin butcher.
Basically, you need to suck it up & march into your boss’s office and tell him you need to have surgery on your nether region. When he questions the validity of it make a huge deal asking him if you need to explain the details of your “inner workings” and if he would like pictures taken, of course, by your gynecologist. Then you simply explain to him that you cannot put off this surgery. It is “life threatening.” If he continues to press you for information burst into tears and tell him that you’ve got an ectopic pregnancy and that you have to kill your baby or your baby will kill you and do not stop crying. Just sit in his office and moan. Pretend you’re watching Beaches and stupid Barbara Hershey is fucking dying, or something. After this he will shut up and then you’ll march over to Planned Parenthood and tell them to give you a doctor’s excuse (which they will) and start being a smarter whore. Jesus, you’re giving all us regular sluts a bad name.
XOXO,
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Sabrina’s Vagina
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