And the best pussy of 2006 goes to...

It's Saturday. I'm bored. Superbowl's not for another 24 hours. I'm flipping channels and I come across a frosted effeminate latino dude kissing his anorexic, silicone-enhanced wife. It's E!'s "Dr. 90210." I settle in on the couch, Cheetos safely resting on my silicone-deprived chest. Then another doctor dude comes on and starts talking about vaginal plastic surgery, for women who want their punanis to look like the Playboy centerfolds. Mother of God. It's bad enough I have to get the outside looking like I haven't spent the last four months indoors with several cases of Betty Crocker Chocolate Supreme Frosting. Now I have to worry about how my pussy looks?!? Hell, I have no idea how it looks. Yeah, I went to one of those clinics once where the gynos were of the hairy, Lillith Fair ticket-holding variety, and they insisted on bringing out a mirror to show me how to do a self-examination. I preferred to stare at the pre-requisite Georgia O'Keefe reprint on the wall. And now there's some perfect pussy model out there and my punani may or may not pass muster. I mean Christ, I don't think I have a muff burger (what's a muff burger, anyway?), no one who's ever dropped by there for a visit has shrank back in horror and handed me the Beverly Hills Yellow Pages. The adult film industry, while intriguing, does not seem to be in my immediate career future. So is it OK to save my $5000 for, say, something more important, like toe enhancement surgery?