After the correspondence about quasi-mingos and deformed sploshers, I got really worried. This is a photograph of mine [not to be published — Ed]. Does it look normal to you?
Please find enclosed a snap of my girlfriend's meat locker. It's not right is it? I mean, it is her fault that I can't get a chubby, isn't it?
These are just two of the many letters and pictures we have received concerning the knotty problem of clunge aesthetics. To the above the answers are, respectively, yes and bloody hell, yes!
And to Distressed Susan: it starts off OK, but then seems to lose all structure and the will to live. Rachel: you appear to have another body part, possibly an ear, inserted. Helen: it's quite normal, but you're right, the colour is striking; I suggest a matching thong. Karen: that's just showing off.
As promised, here are some of the names you've given to your and your beloveds' organs of generation. First, the girls: Hidey Hole. Crouch End. Oh, Yes, Yes, Yes! Maude. Pencil Case. Sargasso. Not Tonight. Downton. Sunny Intervals. Orca. AlloAlloAlloWhatAveWeEre? The Mighty Quim. 'Er Indoors. Judy (said in a high-pitched voice with "That's the way to do it"!). Scotty (Beam Me Up).
And, the wee lads: it seems there are apparently dozens of you walking around with a Woody Woodpecker in your pants. Shane. Arnie. Scart. Voldemort. Brat Wurst. Emergency Dildo. Jabba the Hutt. Betty. Ye Faithfull. Happiness (said in a French accent). Belgrano. Bismarck. Red October. (All post vasectomy — full of dead semen.)
I would have liked to have published photographs so that you could have matched the name to the shame. But they say we have no space. (If you wanna see no space, take a gander at Laura Pitt-Gibbons; maybe next month.)
We got a lot of enquiries about vaginal orthodoxy and I can't reply or indeed bear to look at them all, but if you're worried and you'd like a second opinion do email us a photograph, care of the editor, and a panel of experts will put a considered and discreet reply on your Facebook page.