This chapter starts with a person monologuing, but we don't know who is speaking yet. Mysterious, hmm? Intriguing!
"A queef," the speaker began, "Is a pussy fart."
"That's what I figured," said the other mysterious conversational participant.
"Yes, I know. I chose the word carefully.
"You see, 'queef' is one of those words... you can just tell what it means. It has that feeling, you know? 'Fuck' isn't like that. 'Fuck' is good, you know, it's visceral. You can picture fucking. But there are different kinds of fucking. Fuck can be angry, aggressive, joyful, weird. And so using 'fuck' can invoke any of those feelings.
"'Queef' only means the one thing.
"I'd like to think that there's some language, maybe a tribe those linguists care about in Papua/New Guinea, where 'queef' means something benign. Like 'butter' or 'read a book.' So then if, say, one of those tribesmen came to America and went to a juice bar in the early afternoon in Los Angeles, they'd hear something like "Oh man, my husband took me from behind this morning and I totally read a book at bikram. Like a huge book."
"Miss Professor?" asked Douche or Douché or whatever.
"What, Douche?" Miss Professor exhaled.
"While queefs have a loose biological connection, I question the value of this rant in a high school biology class."
Douche was sent to the principal's office.
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