My Holiday Wish: Bring Back The Good Old Days Of The Mysterious Vagina

At a time when America is embroiled in an increasingly unpopular war in Iraq and our society is splintered and divided along every conceivable cultural fault line, I have just one wish for this holiday season: Make the vagina mysterious again.

There was a time in this country when actually glimpsing a vagina was considered an achievement, a reason to celebrate with friends and loved ones. And I'm not even talking about a real live vagina belonging to a real live female. Merely peeking at a photograph of a vagina was once the stuff of boyhood legend. The level of intrigue, subterfuge and deception involved in attaining that first boyhood glimpse of the almighty made Allied intelligence's efforts to conceal D-Day look like child's play. Ten years ago, most American boys would have killed their best friend for a Braille edition of Penthouse Letters.

But then Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan decided that they wanted to share their well-worn vaginas with the world and now every boy in America knows exactly what Britney's fallopian tubes look like.

They're chubby too.

The trio's shameless, pantyless vaginapalooza over the past few months has effectively destroyed the work ethic of an entire generation of young American males. If every 12 year old can describe in graphic detail Hilton's nether regions as accurately as her 873 former sexual partners, what incentive does he have to do his math homework or practice his free throws in the driveway? Back in the days of yore, boys who were good at math and wanted to meet beautiful women and their beautiful vaginas would become investment bankers, boys who could write and wanted to meet beautiful women and their beautiful vaginas would become screenwriters and Hollywood producers, boys who could play sports and wanted to meet beautiful women and their beautiful vaginas would become DI and professional athletes and boys who couldn't do any of those things would outsmart all of them and learn how to play guitar. But there was hard work involved. Hours of homework. Hours of practice. Hours of lonely nights. Hours of wrist-straining frustration.

America is different now. Boys don't have to work hard in the hope of someday actually earning the right to see a vagina. Nowadays, boys expect everything to be handed to them on a silver platter; they're not willing to work for anything. Junior wants a PS3. He gets it. Junior wants an iPod. He gets it. Junior wants to see some vagina. He gets it. Forget about India or China stealing jobs. The gravest threat to America's economic power is the abundance of easy-to-find celebrity vagina on the Internet.

Don't think that the overflow of pseudo-celebrity cootches is a problem? Imagine that you're in 8th grade and you're taking a test that your teacher has promised will count for 50% of your grade. Now, imagine trying to take that test if you were up all night looking at pictures of Alyssa Milano's whoha. Or Lynda Carter. Or Meredith Baxter Birney. Or Christina Applegate. Or Nell Carter. Like you would care whose vagina you're looking at. You're 12. Vagina is vagina.

How do you concentrate on a test with thoughts of vaginas dancing in your head? Back in the day, most junior high boys could barely breathe if a girl's bra strap was showing. The appearance of post-summer vacation breasts caused heart palpitations every September in schools across America.

But not any more. Now, boys have nothing to look forward to, nothing to strive for. Who cares about a bra strap when you get to see Britney's super-sexy C-section scars? Who cares about tight gym uniforms when Lohan is doing panty-less cartwheels all over LA?

This epidemic needs to stop and it needs to stop now before another generation of American boys is corrupted into believing that seeing vagina is an everyday occurrence. So, in the spirit of the holiday season, I'm asking Britney, Paris and Lindsay to keep it in their pants. Just when you're outside. I'm not asking for any miracles. Once you get inside the club or apartment or hotel or locker room, you can flap in the breeze, free and easy. But when there are dozens of cameramen surrounding you, keep your babymaker under wraps. Give America's youth something to aspire to.